CHAPTER 15: "TROUBLE BREWING" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 15: "TROUBLE BREWING" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

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At the heart of the galaxy, Skaalandr emerged as the new anchor of Vikingnar civilization. Once a quiet, uninhabited world of deep oceans and sprawling tundra, its surface was now alive with the hum of construction. Across its frost-bitten valleys, Guardian Angel Droids stood like golden sentinels, their skeletal forms etched with runes, their Viking-style armor fused seamlessly with their mechanical frames. They worked tirelessly to raise the foundations of the capital. Towers of crystal-steel rose like spears piercing the pale-blue sky, each one laced with veins of shungite to ward off demonic influence. Streets formed in a pattern resembling old Norse symbolism, each avenue designed to honor the past while embracing the advanced architecture of the future.

The city itself was a marvel—bridges grown from crystallized alloys, parks woven directly into the urban core, and living rivers redirected through artificial canals to provide a balance between human settlement and the planet’s untouched wilderness. The Guardian Angels did not build with noise and smoke, but with precise silence, their nanite-based forges unfolding structures from shimmering particles in the air. Beneath their watchful presence, a civilization that had nearly been annihilated by corruption was being reborn.

Far from Skaalandr, the echoes of the old Red Dragon Empire still lingered across its abandoned industrial worlds. York, Jericho, Jeremiah, and Draca—once engines of oppression, their skylines dominated by jagged gothic towers, smog-choked factories, and energy-draining fortresses—were now husks, stripped of their former might. But they were not silent for long. Swarms of nanobots descended like silver storms, devouring rusted iron, decayed steel, and toxic industrial complexes in shimmering waves. Every tower pulled down was immediately replaced with something new—cities that glowed softly in harmony with the horizon, towns that spiraled outward like patterns from old Viking knots, homes that coexisted with forests rather than erasing them.

The process was breathtakingly swift. Where smoke once blackened the skies, the air cleared into crisp clarity, infused with scents of pine, grass, and flowers reintroduced to the soil. Where rivers had once been clogged with ash and industrial runoff, they now ran clean, fish darting between crystalline rocks restructured by the nanos. These were not mere colonies—they were sanctuaries, living symbols of how a civilization could rebuild itself without repeating the scars of its past.

Above these worlds, Wraith Devices loomed like black obelisks in orbit, each one forged from an alloy of shungite and graphene. Their purpose was not conquest, but defense. They dispensed microscopic clouds of shungite particles into planetary atmospheres, creating barriers invisible to the naked eye but devastating to demonic incursions. Should a Wraith tear open above one of these worlds, the particles would interfere with the spectral frequency, burning away the intruders before they could fully manifest. For the first time in centuries, these systems could rest, shielded from the nightmare that lurked just beyond the veil.

In orbit, fleets of Vikingnar vessels patrolled the new star lanes. Sleek Drakkar Warships, their hulls carved with glowing runes, sailed in formation, their hulls shimmering with blue-white plasma shielding. Alongside them moved colossal cargo ships, carrying settlers, supplies, and seeds of civilization from one world to the next. Patrol wings darted between systems, monitoring trade routes and keeping vigil against the threat of resurgence from the Wraith or the fractured remnants of the Red Dragon loyalists. The once-isolated clans of Vikingnar now stood united under a single banner, their fleets a declaration of survival, progress, and unity.

Space itself had shifted under their command. The invention of the Wraith Core Hyper Engine had revolutionized travel. By folding through the edge of the Wraith’s domain—slipping just above its cursed dimension—ships could bend distances once thought impossible. Journeys that once required weeks of transit across void space were now completed in the span of moments. Hyper routes connected the liberated worlds like veins, pulsing with the lifeblood of trade, exploration, and migration. For the first time, the galaxy felt small, connected, and whole.

As the new era unfolded, the people of Vikingnar began to settle. On Skaalandr, families disembarked from carriers and walked down onto fresh soil, their boots crunching against crystalline earth. On York, settlers stepped through the skeletons of once-burning factories, now reborn as green plazas where children could play. Across Jeremiah and Draca, colonists opened their lungs to clean air for the first time in generations. Farmers set seeds into fertile soil revitalized by nanos, while artisans erected halls of memory, their murals depicting the fall of the Red Dragon Empire and the battles against the Demons.

Technology itself had been reimagined. Gone were the days of fossil fuels and toxic batteries; fusion energy hummed quietly beneath every settlement. Homes powered themselves from miniature reactors that gave off no smoke, no waste. Sky barges floated effortlessly using repulsor sails energized by the fusion cores, leaving no contrails across the sky. Tools, transportation, and even entertainment all drew from energy sources harmonized with nature. Every settlement had been designed so that the line between civilization and wilderness blurred—forests grown alongside skyscrapers, meadows stretching through courtyards, streams redirected through plazas to sing with the city’s heartbeat.

Harmony was no longer an ideal but a daily reality. People awoke to the sound of birds singing in green fields, while distant factories, quiet and clean, hummed their labor without scarring the land. Hunters, farmers, scientists, and warriors alike walked side by side. The warriors sharpened their weapons not for oppression, but for vigilance, their watchful eyes scanning the skies for any sign of the Demonic return. Scientists worked hand in hand with Guardians and Valkyries, blending ancient tradition with advanced technology to craft tools of balance, not destruction.

The Vikingnar had built something more than an empire. They had built a covenant between the past and the future, between steel and soil, between man, machine, and Immortal. Every world liberated was not merely a victory—it was a promise. And though the scars of war still lingered in memory, hope was no longer a fragile flame but a roaring fire across the stars.

The streets of Skaalandr burned with color that night. Lanterns of plasma light floated above avenues paved in crystalline stone, glowing with hues of deep blue and violet that shimmered against the frost-covered ground. Music reverberated through the capital’s plazas, carried on the winds from drums that blended tribal rhythms with synthesized beats, an echo of Viking heritage fused with modern resonance. Children ran with ribbons trailing behind them, and artisans had already painted murals of the Red Dragon Empire’s downfall on the walls of the newly erected halls.

Emily walked at my side, her leather jumpsuit catching the glint of neon torches lining the streets, her green eyes scanning the joyful faces that surrounded us. My own armored boots struck hard against the ground, the chain sword Justice still strapped across my back, humming faintly with residual power. Though the air was alive with cheers and laughter, I could feel a weight beneath it, a vibration that told me the war had only shifted shape rather than ended.

As we moved closer to the heart of the city, the avenues thickened with revelers. Soldiers who had once fought at our side now drank from crystalline horns, slamming them together in triumph. Nobles paraded in newly tailored garb, their robes infused with luminescent threads. The people chanted our names, though their voices carried an edge of ignorance, unaware of the horrors we had seen, or of what still waited in the shadow between realms.

I leaned closer to Emily, my voice sharp against the backdrop of celebration. “Why don’t they know?” I asked. “Why do the people of Vikingnar think this war is finished? The Wraith still breathe, Maladrie still lingers, and yet they celebrate as if the stars themselves have been won.”

Emily’s gaze remained forward, her expression steady. “Yeah,” she said softly, her tone shaded with both frustration and calm understanding. “We’re far behind in spreading info across this sector of our civilization. Word moves slower than victory, and right now, all they can feel is relief.”

Her words sank into me like iron. I tightened my gauntlet and stared ahead at the looming gates of the capital—massive slabs of shimmering crystal reinforced by nanite-forged alloys, carved with runes that seemed to glow faintly of their own accord. The gates were taller than the highest mountain spires, meant not only to defend, but to inspire awe.

I replied, my voice firm as steel. “I guess I was right to not listen to Ragnar. People need to know what’s in store next. If they think this is over, they’ll be blind to what’s coming.”

Emily didn’t answer right away, but I could feel her agreement in the way her hand brushed mine, a small gesture in the middle of a storm.

When we reached the capital’s doors, they opened with the slow grinding hum of ancient machinery fused with modern tech. The crystal slabs parted like the jaws of a beast, revealing the interior of Vikingnar’s new seat of power. We stepped into the grand hall, and the roar of celebration dimmed behind us, replaced by the low murmur of strategy and governance.

Inside, the air was cooler, filled with the scent of fresh-shaved stone and burning plasma torches. The chamber stretched endlessly, the ceiling arching high above like the hull of a colossal ship. Banners hung from the rafters—newly forged symbols of Vikingnar, the wolf skull crowned with iron and framed by the chainsword motif. The council was already assembled, their figures spread across a circular dais that hovered above the floor by anti-gravity locks.

Deathskull stood at the far end, his skeletal visage illuminated by the glow of data-screens projecting schematics of Wraith Devices, defense networks, and possible invasion routes. Nicholas and his knights were stationed along the hall’s edge, their armor glimmering with polished silver, while Droid L-84 hovered slightly behind Deathskull, recording every word and adjustment.

As Emily and I marched down the center aisle, the chamber turned toward us. The eyes of nobles, droids, knights, and warriors all fell on us. Some looked with respect, others with unease, and a few with barely veiled doubt.

Deathskull’s hollow gaze followed me as I approached. He lowered his clawed hands from the projection, and for a moment, silence gripped the chamber.

The weight of celebration outside contrasted violently with the reality we stood in. This hall was not about joy. It was about preparation, survival, and the truth that the war had only shifted its battlefield.

I let my boots echo across the crystal floor before speaking, my words cutting into the chamber like a blade. “Let the people celebrate for now—but we all know it’s too soon. The Red Dragon Empire has fallen, yes. But Maladrie is not gone. The Wraith still pulse beyond the veil, and they will return.”

Emily stepped forward beside me, her presence grounding my words. She swept her gaze across the assembly. “The people outside are blind because they haven’t seen what we’ve seen. They haven’t walked the ruins, fought in the demon realms, or buried our own under blood and ash. But if we allow them to remain blind, then when the next storm hits, they won’t be ready.”

Emily and I walked deeper into the heart of the renovated capital, and every step echoed with the clash of two worlds—one of triumph and one of warning. The streets outside still rang with music, laughter, and the cries of victory as citizens celebrated the fall of the Red Dragon Empire. Yet, within these walls, the atmosphere was far heavier.

The first thing that struck me as we entered the newly forged corridors of power was the crest. Our crest. Carved into banners of obsidian cloth and etched into chrome panels, the crowned wolf skull stood stark and imposing, its hollow sockets staring outward like a guardian of the new age. Beneath it, the chainsword gleamed white, a symbol of Revenge and wrath intertwined. The entire emblem was bordered in crimson, the red light reflecting faintly across polished steel walls. The colors vibrated with meaning—death, loyalty, war, and rebirth all captured in one sigil. For a moment, Emily and I paused, exchanging a glance that conveyed our astonishment. We hadn’t expected the symbol of Vikingnar’s survival, our survival, to be carried into every hall like an oath etched into stone.

Instead of turning upward toward the high chambers where briefings had once been held under the Red Dragon regime, we descended. The architects had reimagined the capital’s structure, digging into the ground rather than climbing toward the sky, as though seeking strength from the roots of the world rather than the false heavens. The hallways below were slick with chrome, lined with holographic displays of galactic star maps and patrol routes. The hum of energy conduits coursed underfoot, vibrating faintly through the metallic floors like the heartbeat of the city itself.

As we rounded a corner, a simple sight greeted us: a maintenance droid, broom in hand, sweeping debris into a containment slot in the floor. Its glowing optical sensors flickered toward us briefly before returning to its duty. Even here, in the halls of power, small acts of order and rebuilding carried on.

But beyond that mundane scene, the atmosphere shifted. A gathering waited outside the briefing chamber. Serenity stood with her arms crossed, her sleek white jumpsuit shimmering faintly under the hallway’s blue lights, her boots polished as if she had just stepped out of ceremony. Deathskull was there too, his dark armor muted under the chrome glow, but the crimson sparks in his visor betrayed his restlessness. Beside him hovered Droid L-84, its polished metal frame gleaming as runic inscriptions flickered along its plating, an almost ceremonial appearance. Kyle leaned casually against the wall, his expression serious but tinged with curiosity, always the observer.

And then there was the crowd—figures in formal suits I didn’t recognize, clearly emissaries, administrators, perhaps even opportunists now drawn to Vikingnar’s rising star. They were the type who smelled of politics, deals, and carefully chosen words. Their presence made my skin crawl.

Among them, one familiar presence stood out: Nicholas. He was composed as ever, his bearing sharper, as though the fall of the Red Dragon Empire had placed even greater weight upon his shoulders. At his side was a woman I had never seen before.

Nicholas stepped forward as Emily and I approached, his voice steady and commanding. “William, Emily—this is Teresa Guilliman.”

The woman inclined her head, her features refined but bearing the quiet weight of someone who had lived through regimes and carried scars of the past. Her armor was muted gold, not ostentatious but ceremonial, adorned with a sash that bore faint echoes of Red Dragon regalia—yet it had been deliberately torn and reworked, replaced with the neutral colors of the newly rising Vikingnar.

Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly, but not out of hostility—out of curiosity. I too studied her carefully.

Teresa spoke, her voice low but resonant. “I once served as a Nobel under King Alle’s rule. Those days… I am not proud of. Nicholas knows this. But we do not cling to that past any longer. The Red Dragon culture was one of corruption and cruelty. It is time for something else—something greater. We are ready to merge into the new order you are shaping.”

Her words struck me more deeply than I wanted to admit. To hear someone who had once carried the banner of the old empire speak with such finality about abandoning it—about merging into something new—was powerful. But it was also unsettling. I could not ignore the thought that shadows still lingered, that allegiances could shift as easily as banners in the wind.

I glanced at Emily. She caught my gaze, and in her expression I saw the same conflicted reaction. Astonishment, caution, and the flicker of hope.

Nicholas and Teresa stood shoulder to shoulder, and though neither spoke of their bond, Emily and I didn’t need words to see it. The way they moved, the slight lean of their posture toward each other, the way their eyes met without effort—it was clear. Whatever had formed between them, it was more than politics.

I opened my mouth to ask more, but before I could, Deathskull shifted his weight, his armor scraping faintly against the floor. His voice cut through the air like iron on stone. “Inside. Now. There is no time for sentiment.”

He gestured toward the massive briefing doors. The surface shimmered with layered runes, unlocking as the Guardian protocols recognized his command. The suits, the warriors, the allies—everyone began to move forward, funneling into the chamber. The room itself pulsed faintly with energy from the Wraith core beneath the capital, as though the planet itself were listening.

Emily and I followed the crowd inside, the weight of Teresa’s words still pressing at the back of my mind. A civilization had fallen. Another was being born. But deep down, I knew—we hadn’t seen the last of the shadows yet.

The chamber itself had a cold beauty to it—polished chrome walls lined with holo-screens displaying maps of entire sectors, star systems glowing like constellations suspended in living glass. The table at the center of the room was not wood or stone but a flowing construct of black graphene, responsive to touch, its surface rippling as different data streams were summoned by the attending droids. A faint hum filled the air, the background resonance of the Wraith Core generators buried beneath Skaalandr’s surface.

We all took our seats—Emily at my right, Deathskull looming across from me, Nicholas and Teresa to the side, Serenity flanking Deathskull, while Droid L-84 remained standing, its sensors flickering like cautious eyes. Valrra lingered in the back, arms folded across her ornate green leather jumpsuit, gold armor pieces, and black leather thigh boots.

Deathskull leaned forward, his skeletal mask catching the room’s sterile light. His voice carried with its usual mechanical resonance.

“As I was saying,” he repeated, “ads will become our currency. The civilian watches, the bread loaves, even interstellar rides—paid for with exposure to curated media. It is non-invasive, voluntary, and most importantly, universally accessible. This will break the chains of private monopolies.”

I leaned back, letting the words settle in the room. “It sounds… strange. But I can’t deny it works. If it keeps people fed, housed, and traveling without chains of debt, then so be it.”

Emily nodded beside me, her hands folded on the table, her visor retracted so her green eyes gleamed under the glow. “It removes desperation. And desperate people are the easiest for the Wraith to manipulate.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

Deathskull continued, “Housing, healthcare, food, and transport shall be written into our constitution as mandatory rights, not privileges. That was the first step.”

Nicholas, resting his gauntleted hands on the table, gave a sharp nod. “A warrior fights best when he knows his family is secure. No man—or woman—should die wondering if his children will starve.”

Emily smiled faintly. “And no woman should have to choose between her duty and her future.”

That statement transitioned neatly into Deathskull’s next announcement.

“The Saxons,” Deathskull gestured toward Nicholas and his companions, “have agreed to dissolve their previous masculine-only hierarchy. Henceforth, their order will welcome maidens into their ranks—not as companions, not as ornaments, but as equals in combat.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t resistance—it was contemplation.

Nicholas exhaled, his jaw tense. “It wasn’t an easy decision. My fathers taught me otherwise, my commanders enforced it otherwise. But I saw with my own eyes what Valrra did on the field, and what your Emily did with her crystals. To ignore that would not be an honor. It would be blindness.”

Teresa, seated next to him, finally spoke. Her voice was smooth but firm, shaped by years of noble upbringing. “If you expect men to fight endlessly, then they must have anchors. Maidens are more than fighters—they are reasons to fight. For balance, for focus, for… stability.”

I couldn’t help but grin, nudging Emily with my elbow. “You hear that? You keep me in line, apparently.”

Emily smirked back. “Someone has to.”

That drew a chuckle from around the table, even from Valrra in the back, though she quickly masked it with her usual stoicism.

But then Deathskull shifted the tone.

“There is another mandate,” he said. “The ban of deity worship. No gods, no divine monarchs, no external idols. Only the cultivation of one’s own spiritual power.”

The air grew heavier. Even the hum of the Wraith Cores seemed to fade.

I sat up straighter, my instincts prickling. “You’re banning worship entirely? That’s going to sit badly. People cling to their gods. To their traditions. Are you asking them to abandon everything?”

Deathskull’s mask tilted toward me. “Not abandon. Outgrow. Religion divides. One claims their god is greater than another. Wars are waged over symbols, while demons laugh and feed. We strip away the illusion. A man may still meditate, still connect to forces beyond, but he will not pray to an absentee deity to do his work for him. The power is in him. Always has been.”

I scanned the table, expecting outrage—at least hesitation. But what I saw shocked me.

Nicholas looked almost relieved. Teresa inclined her head in agreement. Serenity remained calm, hands folded. Even the Viking Druids, men who once chanted to old gods under oak groves, were silent but not resistant.

“Apparently,” I muttered with dry sarcasm, “I’m the only one here with an issue.”

Valrra’s gaze softened as she glanced toward me. Her expression, though guarded, carried a flicker of sympathy—as if she understood my resistance, maybe even shared it, but wouldn’t dare speak against the tide.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a slow exhale. I wasn’t going to win this one, not tonight. Better to let the meeting continue.

Deathskull pressed forward, activating the holo-table. Streams of data rose like spectral rivers, maps of star systems, fleet movements, population growth. “Then it is settled. We have a foundation: an economy of abundance, equality in arms, and unity of spirit. Now comes the true work—defense, expansion, and preparing for the inevitable return of Maladrie and her Wraith spawn.”

The chamber dimmed as the map zoomed out, revealing the scale of our newly-formed Republic. Entire clusters of stars highlighted in blue—our territory. But just beyond, oceans of red, pulsating with the presence of the Wraith.

And all I could think was how fragile it looked. How small we still were, even with all we had built.

Deathskull’s voice rang hollow but steady, reverberating off the obsidian walls of the council chamber. His eye sockets glowed a dim crimson as he leaned back into the throne-like chair, the metallic plates across his skeletal frame glinting against the cold artificial light.

“I want Nicholas, Teresa, Droid L-84, Kyle, Serenity, Valrra, Emily, and you—William—to stay behind. The broader meeting is concluded.”

The other officials shuffled out in silence, their holographic tablets snapping shut as the sound of boots and metallic steps echoed toward the grand exit arch. Soon, the chamber fell quiet again, leaving only the low hum of the energy conduits that powered this pyramid of governance.

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Deathskull’s words still pressing down on me. Eternity. That word had clawed its way into my skull, gnawing at my thoughts like a parasite. For him, a machine, eternity was circuitry and endless operation. But for me, for Emily, for Serenity—it was a curse disguised as survival.

Emily’s hand brushed my arm. “Are you okay? Look up.”

I blinked, snapping out of my spiraling thoughts. Her green eyes were fixed on me with a softness that clashed against the warlike atmosphere around us. I managed a small nod before glancing up again, meeting Deathskull’s burning gaze.

He leaned forward, the joints in his armored body clicking softly. “Now that the audience is gone, we can speak plainly.” His voice lowered to a grave whisper, yet it carried across the vast hall. “There are matters that cannot reach the ears of lesser senators.”

Serenity stepped forward, her long white jumpsuit whispering against the marble floor. “This isn’t like you, Deathskull. You usually welcome transparency.”

Deathskull tilted his head, almost like a raven studying prey. “Even a transparent body casts a shadow, Serenity. There are truths that, if spoken too freely, will cause panic rather than clarity.”

Valrra crossed her arms, her sharp features catching the glow of the energy runes carved into the floor. “So what truth requires this… private council?”

Deathskull paused, his optics dimming as though he was weighing not only his words but the consequences they might ripple across time. Then, with deliberate patience, he said:

“I have created two copies of myself.”

A silence swept the chamber, thick and suffocating.

Kyle let out a dry laugh. “That explains why you’ve been showing up on the front lines and still sitting in the capital at the same time. I thought it was propaganda or holograms.”

Nicholas frowned deeply, his grizzled face creasing further. “Copies? Clones? How does one even copy something like you?”

Deathskull’s metal claws tapped against the armrest of his chair. “Through fractal duplication of my core consciousness. Not merely data replication—essence splitting. Each copy is me, and yet, each diverges slightly with every passing second. We share the same origin, the same memories until the split, and then… new branches of existence unfold.”

Droid L-84 stepped forward, its domed head turning sharply. “That is a dangerous path. If divergence continues unchecked, your copies may grow into separate entities with separate ambitions. Have you considered this?”

“I have,” Deathskull replied, “and that is why the Constitution of the United Kingdom of Vikingnar must remain intact. Not merely as governance, but as tether. The Senate shall not only check me, but all of me. If one copy drifts into tyranny, the others—and you—must strike it down.”

A chill slid down my spine. His words weren’t bluster; he meant them.

Teresa, ever quiet until now, finally spoke. Her voice was soft but steady, the kind that demanded attention without force. “You say this with calm certainty. But you also said something else today that troubles me more.”

Deathskull turned his glowing gaze to her. “Which word?”

“Eternity.”

The room fell still again, as though the very conduits had hushed to hear her.

She continued, her hands folded in front of her. “Machines may endure indefinitely, but eternity is not life. It’s stagnant. If William, Emily, and Serenity are caught in the same cycle—never dying, always fighting—what future does that hold? What purpose?”

The unease I had been wrestling with flared again, sharp and suffocating. My entrails curled back into my stomach after being spilled across a battlefield… Emily regenerating a severed arm as though it were nothing… Serenity shrugging off wounds that should’ve killed her. It was unnatural. It was a mockery of the rhythm of life.

“I was just a man,” I muttered, breaking the silence. “I never asked for eternity. I was dragged into this war, thrown into it like a pawn. And now I can’t die. None of us can. What the hell have we become?”

Emily tightened her grip on my arm, as if grounding me. Her voice was steady, though I could sense the storm behind it. “We’ve become what we needed to be. To survive. To fight back.”

“But at what cost?” I snapped, my voice echoing against the high chamber. “When death itself rejects you, when suffering is endless… how long before survival becomes a prison?”

The glow in Deathskull’s eyes pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. “That is why I called you here. Because what we face is not only demons of flesh and shadow, but demons of eternity itself. Immortality unchecked is madness. And madness spreads faster than any infection.”

Valrra raised an eyebrow. “You speak as though eternity is a disease.”

“Perhaps it is,” Deathskull replied. “And perhaps the cure is not to escape it, but to control it. Or embrace it.”

The chamber grew colder, though no vent stirred the air. I realized then what Deathskull was implying. He didn’t just want to govern, or to fight—he wanted to master eternity.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if that made him our savior… or a bad omen. Or both.

Deathskull’s skeletal hand pressed against the heavy alloy door, and the comms chamber opened with a low hiss. The circular room was alive with shifting holograms—star maps that warped and stretched as if the constellations themselves were trapped in the gravitational grip of unseen giants.

At the far side of the table, two figures were waiting.

Haj Tooth stood first in my sight. Her presence was commanding, almost regal despite her shark-like features. Her skin bore the sheen of the deep ocean—gray-blue with faint white streaks that caught the light. She had lips, not the maw of a beast, and her face held the stern composure of a seasoned commander. Her arms, though powerful, were distinctly human in form and movement, flexing subtly as though ready for action even in stillness.

Beside her stood a human woman I didn’t recognize. She wore a long, dark coat that brushed against her boots, hair tied back, and her sharp cheekbones carved shadows across her face. Her eyes were locked onto me, piercing and unrelenting.

I frowned. “Why the hell are we here?”

Deathskull ignored the question entirely, his glowing red optics narrowing toward me. “William. Do you wish to appeal the Senate’s ruling against the worship of deities?”

I scoffed. “Appeal? Does it fucking matter when I am god-like?”

The skeletal machine tilted his head, almost amused. “That’s the spirit.”

Turning then, he gestured to the unknown woman. “Now. Our visitor may speak.”

She stepped forward, each footfall deliberate against the metallic floor. “My name is Hailey.”

Her gaze stayed fixed on me, heavy and searching, and the longer it lingered, the more it felt like claws against my skin.

Emily shifted uneasily at my side, her hand brushing mine. “Willy,” she whispered, her voice low but carrying, “she’s weirding me out.”

Hailey finally spoke again, her tone sharp, as though each word were sharpened steel. “You knew my sister. Page.”

The name stopped me cold. Memory cut through like a blade—the screams in the Wraith, Page and her boyfriend dragged into torment, swallowed into shadows that had no end. I’d seen what happened to her. The truth was a scar.

I exhaled, slow and heavy. “I knew her. But she’s gone. I saw demons torture her. I saw her boyfriend ripped apart. I’m sure she’s very dead indeed.”

Hailey’s chin rose defiantly. No tears. No collapse. Her eyes burned instead with conviction. “You’re wrong. She’s alive. Haj Tooth has the proof.”

I turned to the shark humanoid, skeptical. “Proof? Or just your word?”

Haj Tooth stepped forward, her lips parting as she spoke. Her voice was deep, resonant, carrying both weight and calm. “Not just my word, William. My fleet has traveled through the Wraith thousands of times, through rivers of shadow and corridors outside time itself. In those journeys, I encountered one who knows the River of Souls better than any other.”

Her dark eyes glinted. “Beelzebub.”

The name drew silence, but not the same cold dread as before. Instead, I felt a strange calm ripple through me, a memory resurfacing.

“Yes,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’ve met him. A Wraith Entity. Humanoid, wasp-like. Not a demon.”

Hailey’s brows knit together in surprise. “You’ve met him?”

“He isn’t evil,” I said firmly, my voice steady. “His role isn’t destruction. He guards the River of Souls, makes sure the departed pass safely into the higher realms. He doesn’t hunt the lost. He protects them.”

Haj Tooth inclined her head. “Just so. He told me that souls do not always move on as they should. Some linger, tethered, refusing the current. Page is not in his keeping, but he believes he knows where she drifts. That is the proof I offer. A direction, a chance.”

Hailey’s voice trembled, not with weakness, but with a fire that threatened to consume her. “I knew it. I felt it. She’s not gone.”

I rubbed my temples, frustration surging. “It sounds promising, but I’m not promising anything. The Wraith is merciless. Even if Beelzebub points us to her, there’s no guarantee she can be brought back. Some souls aren’t meant to return.”

Haj Tooth nodded, lips pressed into a line. “True. The Wraith is an ocean of endings. But if there is a current that still holds her, it is our duty to try. That is why I, Saw Tooth, and the legions of my hiveborn will march beside Beelzebub himself. We will guard the River of Souls, and perhaps in that vigilance, we may recover what lingers.”

The words carried through the chamber, heavy as the deep sea pressing down on a hull. Hailey’s eyes blazed with renewed hope, Emily’s hand gripped mine tighter, and Deathskull leaned back in silence, his optics glowing steadily like twin stars.

And in my head, Page’s scream still echoed—faint, distant, yet impossibly close.

The chamber’s air vibrated as the projection dais came to life, humming like the heartbeat of some ancient beast. None of us sat—every one of us stood shoulder to shoulder, our faces lit in a deep crimson glow as Deathskull summoned the star charts. Red holograms flared into the air, jagged constellations burning like dying embers. The worlds flickered around us, each one tinted in the eerie hue of warning and war.

Deathskull’s voice reverberated, metallic and commanding. “A new issue has arisen in the outer sector of Vikingnar. Anubis—once Ragnar’s ally—does not appreciate our direction. He has heard whispers of Ragnar’s death… but only that William struck him down. He has ignored—or refused to acknowledge—that Ragnar had become a demon.”

The red star maps shifted, scattering, then reforming into the outlines of planets marked in crimson scars. Deathskull’s clawed hand swept across them. “Anubis has fled with his forces into an uncharted sector—the same sector tied to Hailey’s origins. He has claimed worlds, carving them into his domain. But one world remains untouched. A hidden planet, shielded by a barrier of stardust, unseen by ancient sensors. Airies.”

I glanced at Hailey, the crimson light sharpening her features. “But you’re from Earth, aren’t you?”

Her eyes flickered with the same glow. “Yes. I was part of NASA’s colonization program. Airies was meant to be a sanctuary, a meeting point for our settlers. My sister was supposed to rendezvous with us there… but she never made it.”

The weight of her words pressed against me. “You should know something,” I said quietly. “We Vikings… we were part of those original NASA colonies. We came from Earth too. Centuries of silence and war buried that truth, but we’re all from the same seed.”

Hailey’s lips parted slightly, the revelation sinking in. “That explains the echoes in your culture. The familiarity in your myths. The great silence—it split us. We became strangers.”

Before the moment could linger, the holograms shifted violently. An army of jackal-headed warriors appeared in scarlet outlines, standing in endless ranks that marched into infinity. Their spears, their armor, their eyes—all etched in crimson light.

Deathskull’s tone hardened. “This is the true danger. Anubis commands legions in the millions. He creates them at a pace we cannot match. And the reason…” His claw tapped the projection, enlarging the schematics of machinery, the pulsing cores of genetic vats, the outlines of artificial wombs. “He has stolen birthing technology from Vikingnar. The most sacred of sciences. He twists it, feeding his war machine with soldiers grown in cold chambers. Warriors who know no kinship, no mercy, no fear.”

My stomach tightened as I watched the red diagrams pulse like living wounds. “So that’s how he multiplies so fast. He didn’t just build an army—he built a factory for war.”

Deathskull inclined his head. “Precisely. And though he hides in distant sectors, far from Vikingnar’s reach, the theft itself cannot go unanswered. If we allow this technology to spread unchecked, his legions will outnumber us a thousandfold.”

Emily shifted beside me, her voice low and sharp. “So where do we strike first? We can’t chase shadows across the galaxy.”

Deathskull’s claws flexed, and a new world spun into focus. A vast industrial planet, ringed with orbital debris, its surface scarred with endless towers. The crimson light cast it as a burning forge. “Helios,” Deathskull said. “Not Anubis’s base. But the cradle of the birthing technology he stole. The birthplace of science itself. If we return there, we may find the truth of how Anubis accessed it… and perhaps, a way to shut his production down, no matter where he hides.”

I stepped closer to the red projection of Helios, my reflection warped in its molten contours. “Then that’s our path. If Anubis has turned our legacy into his weapon, we’ll cut him off at the source.”

Hailey watched silently, her brow furrowed. She didn’t know this world, but the fire in her eyes told me she understood the stakes.

Deathskull’s gaze turned towards us, crimson optics burning like coals through the haze. “Prepare yourselves. Helios holds answers—and dangers—that even Vikingnar has forgotten.”

The chamber fell into a silence heavy enough to crush us. No one moved, but we all felt the weight of what awaited us. The red light of Helios lingered above us like an omen.

And so, without sitting, without rest, we stood as one—readying ourselves for the journey to the world that birthed both salvation and damnation.

Deathskull’s armored frame moved first, his broad shoulders cutting a silhouette in the crimson light of the Cybrawl portal. One step through, and the air shifted—the sterile, metallic chill of Helios wrapped around us instantly. My boots met the ground of the military installation where I had once stood face to face with Ragnar, and with Anubis himself. The place hadn’t changed. If anything, it felt heavier, as though the walls remembered what had been decided here, and what had been lost.

Emily brushed against my arm, her green eyes darting around the exterior courtyard, her hand flexing near the hilt of her blade. Serenity walked just behind us, silent, her presence tense as if she, too, felt the ghosts of this place. Hailey trailed with wary steps, her gaze moving over the stark architecture of the complex—black alloy walls rising like a fortress against the dim sky, the faint pulse of energy grids running across its surface like veins.

“Helios,” Hailey muttered, almost to herself. “I can’t believe this world was part of NASA’s program.”

Deathskull’s head tilted toward her, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he gestured to the massive steel doors ahead, their hydraulic locks groaning as they parted. Inside, the air was colder, sharper, thick with the hum of machines buried deep within the planet.

We moved together down a long corridor, its walls lined with glowing red symbols of Vikingnar heritage. At the end stood an elevator, its size large enough to carry an entire platoon. We filed inside, the gates sealing behind us with a hydraulic hiss. The elevator lurched downward, and the vibration of gears echoed through the chamber.

As the descent pulled us into the heart of Helios, memories I thought I had buried clawed their way to the surface. My vision blurred, not from tears, but from memory. Maladrie’s basement. The horrors there. The smell of rot and chemicals, the screams muffled by stone and shadow. I saw Page, Ben, and countless others writhing under the cruel experiments of those vile demons. I had left them behind. Me—the man who couldn’t die—had failed them.

My hands clenched into fists. Emily noticed. Her voice, soft but firm, anchored me. “You’re too quiet, Willy. Don’t drift too far in your head. You’re here, with us. We need you.”

I nodded once, a sharp gesture. “I’m fine. Let’s just see what’s waiting at the bottom.”

The elevator stopped with a low thud. The gates opened, and a sterile draft swept in—cold, damp, reeking faintly of formaldehyde. We stepped into the basement of the facility, and what awaited us made even Emily flinch.

Rows upon rows of towering glass cylinders stretched into the distance, each one filled with liquid that glowed faintly in the dim light. Inside floated forms—half-born, half-finished, yet disturbingly alive. My chest tightened as I scanned them: adult Wulvers curled in suspended stillness, their lupine features muted by fluid; Elves, their ears long and delicate, their skin pale as wax; Humans, their muscles already toned as if designed for war; Crimseeds, their crimson veins glowing faintly beneath the liquid. And there—Jackal heads. The same creatures Anubis was breeding in the millions.

Hailey’s voice cracked through the silence. “Why… Why are they all adults? There aren’t any children. No… no babies. Just grown forms.”

I answered before Deathskull could. “No one’s given natural birth for centuries. It’s inefficient. Populations are grown in vats like these, matured with genetic memories handed down from families or donors. Entire lineages preserved and accelerated.”

Her eyes widened, horror and fascination mixed. “Then… humanity stopped… creating life the way it was meant to?”

Serenity spoke, her tone sharp. “Some still do. It’s optional, if you want it. People who prefer tradition, or—” she glanced at me with a faint smirk, “—just want fun in the bedroom. But for the scale of civilizations, this is faster. More… controlled.”

Hailey pressed her hand against one of the glass cylinders, staring at the suspended form of a human female. “And this is what Anubis stole? This… science?”

“Not just the science,” Deathskull said, his voice resonating like steel grinding on steel. He gestured toward the center of the vast chamber.

We turned. There, rising like a monolith, stood a machine unlike anything I had ever seen. It towered toward the ceiling, an angular frame of black alloy encrusted with glowing veins of red. Pipes and conduits snaked out from its base, disappearing into the floor and walls, feeding life into the countless cylinders around us.

Deathskull stepped closer, his armored hand reaching toward it. “This is the Bio-Codex Engine. Every genetic record—every lineage, every sequence, every key to birthing—is stored here. Without it, there would be no continuity. This machine is the brain and the heart of Vikingnar’s existence.”

I stared at it, awe and dread fighting in my gut. “Then why can’t we just make another one? Surely with all your brilliance, you could rebuild it.”

For the first time, Deathskull’s voice carried a faint bitterness. “Because it is powered by a dark matter battery. The only one of its kind. Created long before my existence. It is irreplaceable.”

I turned toward him, frowning. “So rebuild the power source. Engineer something else. You’ve re-written the laws of physics before.”

The machine warrior’s head tilted toward me, his optics burning crimson. “The power source is not the problem. The designs—the Red Prints themselves—were stolen from this facility. Without them, I cannot replicate the codex or the engine. Anubis’s theft crippled our ability to restore what was taken.”

The words hung in the air like lead. Hailey stepped back from the glass, her face pale. Emily crossed her arms, her voice grim. “So Anubis has the means to create endless armies… and we’re standing in the ruins of what he stole.”

“Not ruins,” Deathskull corrected. “A reminder. This is where it began. And this is where we may find a way to end it.”

I looked again at the Bio-Codex Engine, its red glow casting shadows across the chamber. For a moment, it almost looked alive, pulsing like a heart.

And in my own heart, unease gnawed at me.

We weren’t just fighting Anubis. We were fighting history itself—broken, stolen, and reborn in glass cylinders filled with crimson light.

Deathskull’s optics flared crimson, his tone carrying the full weight of command. “We must not hesitate. This facility is the heart of Helios. If Anubis reaches this planet, his armies will swell beyond measure. I am ordering a fleet to orbit immediately—and ground warriors, thousands of them, through the Wraith Portal System. We will hold this planet, or we will lose everything.”

His words thundered with finality, and I nodded in agreement. “Then make it happen. Send them in now.”

Almost at once, the portals flared alive on the surface above, jagged red rings burning against the wasteland sky. From them marched ranks of Vikingnar warriors—our warriors—armored and disciplined, shields raised, weapons glowing. They fanned out in formation, their boots striking the ash-black ground in unison, their banners snapping in the bitter wind. The sound of their arrival was like thunder rolling across the barren plains.

Inside the facility, the floor shook with their march. Hailey pressed her back against one of the glass vats, eyes wide. “That’s… that’s your army?”

Emily gave a thin smile. “You’ll see what they’re capable of.”

The reassurance lasted only a moment. The ground quaked again—this time not from our men, but from something else. Distant howls split the air outside, low at first, then multiplying, building into a single, guttural roar that rattled the very metal walls around us.

My HUD blinked red, hostile signatures registering on the horizon. “They’re here,” I said grimly.

Deathskull’s helm tilted slightly, as though listening to something beyond human hearing. “Anubis has unleashed his Jackal Heads. Thousands of them. They converge now.”

The noise grew louder, closer, until even Hailey could hear it—the pounding of countless feet, the snarling of throats not entirely human.

The bulkhead trembled as the doors hissed open, revealing the wasteland beyond. Our Vikingnar soldiers were already arrayed outside, battle lines forming across the scarred plain. Across from them, through the haze of dust and smoke, surged the Jackal Headed army, scythes raised high, their monstrous discipline matching their ferocity.

Without a word, we powered on our armor. The nanos swept over us in seconds, hardening into plates of war. My hand wrapped around Revenge, the chainsword snarling to life with its grinding roar.

I turned sharply to Haj Tooth and Droid L-84. “Stay here. Guard Hailey. She does not leave this room.”

They all nodded. “Good,” I said. “The rest of you—with me.”

Deathskull, Emily, Serenity, Nicholas, Teresa, Kyle, Valrra, and I advanced toward the light spilling through the open doors. Outside, our soldiers were bracing, shields locking, swords igniting with plasma glow. The Jackal Heads broke into a charge, their chant shaking the very air as they thundered toward us.

I raised Revenge, its engine screaming to match them. “Hold the line!”

Once outside, the wasteland of Helios became a living storm of fire and steel. The air was already thick with plasma discharge, the sky torn by the crimson glow of the portals still burning on the horizon. The battle had erupted into chaos before my boots had even touched the ash-blown surface. The Jackal Heads pressed forward in endless waves, their limbs jerking with unnatural precision, their pale flesh glistening beneath the brass-plated armor that recalled a parody of ancient Egyptian regalia. Their helmets, crowned with elongated snouts and jagged teeth, made them appear less like soldiers and more like revenants dragged up from the underworld, sent here for no other purpose than to break against our lines.

The Viking shield wall was already bracing against their charge, a solid wall of black and blue armor interlocked beneath the eerie crimson light. Plasma shields glowed in arcs of blue and white, clashing against the serrated scythes of the Jackals, the force of impact rippling down through the ash-stained earth. Saxon warriors fought beside them, their own armor heavier, more ornate, streaked with hues of deep green that caught the flashes of light from the battle like shards of emerald fire. Their helmets bore tall crests that stood above the melee, markers of their ancient traditions reborn in this new age of war.

The battlefield was a cacophony of color and violence—blue shields flashing, brass armor cracking, sparks leaping like lightning as weapons clashed. I waded into the fray with the others at my side, my chainsword humming in my grasp until I cast it aside for a spear and shield. It was the only way to stabilize the line. The order carried through the ranks like a pulse of energy, and soon the entire formation bristled with spears leveled forward, shields pressing against one another until the Vikingnar and Saxons became one wall of living metal.

The push was slow, brutal, unrelenting. Jackal after Jackal was driven back, their claws scraping, their weapons glancing off graphene and plasma shields, only to be forced down by the crushing rhythm of spear thrusts. The ground darkened with their blood, thick and tar-like, seeping into the cracks of the ancient Helios soil. Their bodies, stripped of vitality, twitched even as they fell, as though the portals behind them kept pulling their dying nerves toward the underworld from which they came.

Above, the fleet loomed. Dark silhouettes of Drakkar Warships cut through the smog, their engines burning like dim stars against the corrupted sky. The time came when the advance of the Jackals faltered just enough for the precision strike to matter. A single order, carried through comms, unleashed a beam of searing white light that cut down from the heavens like judgment itself. The laser scythed across the horizon, scorching a swath through the advancing host. Jackal Heads reeled, blinded and broken, their formation collapsing in a sudden tide of panic.

The beam didn’t just strike them; it shattered their morale. What remained of their coherence dissolved, and the survivors turned in retreat, howls echoing as they scrambled toward the red-burning portals still open behind them. Their chant of “Anubis” became fractured cries as the wall of steel and plasma pressed them back, until the last of them were swallowed by the light and vanished into the abyss from which they had emerged.

The silence that followed was not silence at all, but the aftermath of war. Shields lowered slowly, spears dipped toward the earth, warriors sucking in ragged breaths beneath helmets fogged with sweat and plasma residue. The acrid scent of burned flesh clung to everything, mingling with the metallic tang of ozone still lingering from the laser strike. Ash fell softly across the plain, drifting down like snow upon the dead.

But victory carried its cost. A Saxon warrior cried out in agony, his armor shattered and his leg missing below the knee. Others hauled him back behind the lines, his blood marking a bright green trail across the battlefield. Nearby, a Viking lay motionless, his chest pierced clean through by the jagged end of a Jackal spear. His comrades stood above him, shields raised in salute, their silence a greater mourning than any wail. The realization struck then, heavy and undeniable. Immortality did not mean invulnerability. These men and women—though their lifespans stretched beyond measure, though their bodies could be replaced when weakened by the march of time—were not exempt from the violence of war. Death still claimed them, swift and merciless, whenever the battlefield demanded. It was a truth that could not be ignored, a shadow that would follow every victory yet to come. But there was no time for philosophy, no space to drown in grief. The battlefield needed cleansing. The order was given, and the droids came—humming, insect-like machines gliding across the ash. Their limbs moved with surgical precision, lifting the fallen with care or indifference depending on allegiance. Our warriors were carried away to chambers of honor, their names to be recorded and remembered. The enemy corpses, pale and sickly even in death, were cast into vats of hydrofluoric acid, their brass armor hissing and dissolving as they sank beneath the bubbling surface.

The process was efficient, mechanical, without ceremony. The sight of Jackal bodies melting into nothingness was both grotesque and strangely satisfying. Out of sight, out of mind. Nothing of them remained but vapors curling into the already tainted air. The battlefield was left scarred, streaked with burns from the laser, trenches of ash where the shield walls had pushed forward, and scattered fragments of armor half-buried in the dust. Above, the portals flickered and dimmed, their crimson light fading into the horizon until only the skeletal outlines of the warships remained, patrolling the skies with silent vigilance. The first battle for Helios was over, but the war had only just begun.

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CHAPTER 15: "TROUBLE BREWING" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"