CHAPTER 17: "RISING RISK" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 17: "RISING RISK" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

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Stepping back through the gate felt like piercing the surface after drowning too long in the shadows. The heavy static charge of the Labyrinth evaporated behind us, replaced by the steady pulse of a temple alive with sunlight and water. The transition was jarring—the hush of endless tunnels and humming data towers giving way to open air, sound, and warmth.

We emerged into the lower halls of the temple, its architecture vast and ancient. Smooth stone walls bore engravings of constellations, and luminous moss threaded veins of green light through the cracks. Sunlight poured down from tall, arched windows, gilding the chamber in gold. At the center, a wide pond rippled with the gentle overflow of a marble fountain. Its cool spray carried across the chamber like the whisper of rainfall, a sound far removed from the mechanized threats we had just faced.

Valrra, Deathskull, and Droid L-84 were already there, standing at the fountain’s edge as though they had known the exact moment we would return. Deathskull’s armor gleamed beneath the fractured light, his red servo-eyes narrowing as he turned toward us. Valrra stood at his side, a picture of poise in her green leather jumpsuit and black thigh boots, her long black hair falling over crimson skin that almost seemed to shimmer beneath the sunlight. Droid L-84, ever silent, adjusted his stance with machine-like precision, as though calibrating to our presence.

The moment was still—like a breath drawn before a storm—until Deathskull spoke. His voice was low, metallic, and final.

“We’ll need to take this to Cybrawl,” he said, his servo-eyes tilting toward Valrra. The gemstone—pure and radiant—rested within his armored grip, pulsing faintly as though alive. “It’s the only place equipped to build the locator.”

I raised a hand to halt Valrra before she could step forward. My chest still heaved from the battle in the Labyrinth, but the weight in my mind pressed heavier than fatigue.

“Wait,” I said, the words echoing against the chamber’s high dome. “What was the Labyrinth exactly? And why did it feel so… whimsical, so unreal? You never explained. And—” I paused, eyes narrowing on her, “you still haven’t told me how I time-traveled here in the first place.”

Valrra turned slowly, her expression unreadable. The fountain’s mist clung to her hair, dampening the black strands so they shimmered like silk. When she finally spoke, her voice was even—too even, like she had practiced this explanation before.

“The Labyrinth,” she said, “is not of this world. It is a pocket dimension. A vault of knowledge created by those who once walked the threshold of divinity. All of the information the universe has ever held—every star, every particle, every thought—is preserved within its corridors. It is whimsical because it is meant to be—an endless mirror to the mind itself. What you saw was only a fragment of its design.”

I clenched my jaw, but pressed further. “And my time travel?”

Valrra’s crimson eyes flicked toward Deathskull, then back to me. For the first time since I’d met her, hesitation cracked her tone.

“The Immortal inside of you most likely caused your time jump,” she said. “That much I can tell you. Its influence is unpredictable, pulling you through folds in reality that mortals were never meant to cross.” She glanced toward the others, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor as she stepped closer to the fountain. “That’s all I know. We should get moving now, Will. Time is not our ally.”

Her answer rang hollow in my ears. Too smooth, too rehearsed. Something in her words—perhaps the way she glanced at Deathskull—spoke of omissions. Pieces of truth held back like cards close to her chest.

Emily’s hand slid into mine, grounding me. She was still streaked with mud from the Labyrinth, her black & white leather jumpsuit stained but unbroken, her green eyes steady.

“She’s right, Willy,” Emily said softly, her voice brushing past the mistrust that swirled in my mind. “Let’s go.”

I exhaled, but in my thoughts, doubt curled like smoke. Valrra was still hiding something. The Labyrinth had felt too deliberate, too alive. And my sudden displacement in time—pulled from one reality into another—was not something I could just accept as an accident. Answers lingered out there, beyond her practiced words, but for now my quest for truth had to wait.

The six of us stood at the fountain’s edge as though the temple itself had been waiting for our decision. Water trickled, sunlight burned, and somewhere far above, the world beyond the temple spun in silence.

For the moment, survival demanded we follow the path Valrra laid before us. But deep inside, a seed of suspicion had already taken root.

Deathskull’s gauntleted hands moved with a calculated urgency, each strike against the control panel echoing in the vastness of the lobby. The dormant arch responded like some ancient creature roused from slumber. Its frame quivered, faint vibrations running through the stone and metal as red circuitry flared to life, lines of molten light crawling across its surface. At first, it was only a faint shimmer, a thin veil barely visible against the air. Then, with a violent shudder, the entire structure ignited—swirling crimson energy expanding within the archway, twisting and folding in on itself like molten glass being pulled by unseen hands. The glow was not constant, but alive, pulsing in rhythm with the beating of a colossal heart.

The sound filled the chamber, low and resonant, a hum that pressed against our chests and rattled the fountain behind us. Shadows stretched and contorted across the walls, turning the temple’s pillars into looming silhouettes. The heat from the portal rolled outward in slow, suffocating waves, licking across our armor and clothing as if testing us, daring us to step forward.

Deathskull moved first. Without hesitation, his armored figure was swallowed whole by the swirling red vortex, his form blurring and dissolving into strands of light. One by one, we followed—Emily’s boots catching the glow, Serenity’s silhouette briefly outlined in fire, Haj Tooth’s towering frame consumed, Valrra’s crimson figure vanishing into the current, Droid L-84 flickering as his mechanical body fragmented into code-like streaks.

Crossing through was not like walking. It was falling—forward, sideways, and inward all at once. The body unraveled, every nerve screaming as heat surged through veins like liquid plasma. Vision fractured into jagged shards of light, pieces of memory and sensation bleeding together, weight suspended in a storm of rushing wind and fire. The mind screamed at the body to breathe, but there was no air, only the suffocating density of energy pressing tighter and tighter until it threatened to crush everything.

Then, suddenly, release.

The pressure broke, the current spit us out, and boots struck solid ground again.

The metallic causeway stretched onward like the spine of some colossal beast, its segmented plates trembling faintly with every step we took. Energy lines ran beneath the surface, pulsing in steady rhythms that guided the eye toward the city’s heart. Around us, Cybrawl breathed.

The skies above rippled with color—clouds thick as armor, yet pierced with threads of neon green and blue, shifting patterns that pulsed as if the atmosphere itself were alive. From within the haze, the outlines of aircraft passed—sleek, darting vessels that left trails of light lingering in their wake. Their engines hummed in harmony with the deep thrumming of the world below, a symphony of machine and nature locked in perfect cadence.

The city unfolded in layers. To one side, towers of polished alloy reached skyward, their faces reflective like obsidian mirrors broken with streaks of green ivy. Blossoms in shades of violet and gold clung to the vines, releasing faint bursts of pollen that caught the neon air, glowing faintly as if charged by the city itself. At the base of these towers, streams of water flowed along carved channels, their surfaces so clear that the fish within looked suspended in midair. The streets were alive with the movement of small creatures—furred and feathered alike—darting between roots and conduits, utterly unbothered by the passing of machines that towered ten times their height.

Massive mech foundries rose in the distance, but they did not choke the air with smoke. Instead, their stacks released faint veils of silver mist that curled skyward and dispersed into rain-like droplets. Where they fell, plants seemed to thrive—roots thickening, branches stretching higher, blossoms bursting into sudden bloom. Gardens sprawled across rooftops, threaded through steel beams, even draped across antenna arrays, their leaves trembling with the hum of hidden power.

Bridges of glass and alloy arched overhead, connecting tier after tier of the sprawling city. Some shimmered faintly with protective shields, others wide open, lined with railings where vines had been allowed to coil. From those bridges, streams of citizens could be glimpsed—silhouettes of humanoid forms, both synthetic and organic, moving as one. The air itself seemed alive with whispers, faint electronic pulses mixing with the rustle of leaves.

We advanced in formation. Deathskull led, his golden armor drinking in the light, making him stand out even against the sprawling brilliance of Cybrawl. His pace was steady, boots striking the alloy path with the weight of certainty. The rest of us followed closely, our shadows cast long by the neon glow that filtered through the clouds above.

At last, the skyline broke open, and there it was—the pyramid.

It dwarfed everything around it, a titan anchored in the city’s core. Matte black, it absorbed light like a void, yet from its faces came the glow of blue circuitry panels, running in deliberate patterns down its sides. They traced the steps of the ancient-like structure, converging at glowing nodes that pulsed like beating hearts. Water cascaded along hidden channels, spilling from one tier to another, forming waterfalls that caught the neon air and split it into shimmering rainbows. The sound carried across the distance, a low, eternal roar that seemed to resonate within the chest.

Its sheer scale was overwhelming. Entire districts could have fit within its base, yet its apex cut cleanly into the cloud cover, vanishing into the glowing sky. The closer we drew, the more detail emerged—giant statues carved into the pyramid’s lower walls, depicting warriors of old, both human and machine, locked in eternal struggle. Between them were carved runes, some glowing faintly, others dormant, suggesting layers of history hidden in the architecture.

The breeze shifted as we neared. It carried the mingled scents of rain-soaked earth and hot alloy, a perfume unique to Cybrawl. The metallic tang was softened by the sweetness of blossoms drifting down from the gardens above, settling on the water that flowed toward the pyramid’s moat-like base.

The pyramid was more than a factory, more than a citadel. It was a statement carved into the planet’s flesh—a convergence of power, technology, and reverence for the old world. It towered as a monument to survival, a hub for creation, and a fortress for those who commanded it.

Deathskull’s pace did not falter as we approached the massive gates at its base, their surfaces engraved with more of those glowing runes. The closer we came, the more the hum of the city seemed to funnel toward this single place. Every energy line we had passed, every pulse in the ground beneath our boots, every light across the skyline—everything led here, as if the pyramid itself were the beating heart of Cybrawl.

The pyramid’s massive entrance drew us into its depths like the throat of a colossal beast. As soon as the heavy shadow consumed us, light bloomed from hidden seams in the walls, spilling across the chamber in precise, geometric waves. The illumination revealed a hall of staggering proportions—vaulted ceilings supported by black alloy pillars that stretched upward like the trunks of titanic trees. The surfaces gleamed faintly, polished to a mirror sheen yet etched with faint inscriptions that seemed to ripple whenever the light touched them.

The air was alive with industry. Faint vibrations hummed beneath our boots, resonating from the colossal machinery embedded within the pyramid’s frame. Overhead, tracks lined with suspended drones stretched in endless grids, their dormant eyes glowing faintly as if they were always aware, waiting for the call to descend. The air carried a blend of sharp metallic tang and the faint sweetness of oils used to polish the conduits. More subtle, beneath it all, was the static-laden scent of energy fields at work, leaving a faint tickle against the skin.

At the center of the great hall rose a platform ringed by concentric layers of holo-screens. Suspended from above, mechanical arms hung like a tangle of metallic serpents poised to strike. Each one bore unique tools—fusion welders, precision claws, spools of cabling—that gleamed beneath the ambient light. The platform’s surface was marked with deep grooves, glowing faintly with energy, forming a circuit pattern that seemed older than the machinery surrounding it, as though the pyramid itself had been built upon ancient foundations.

Deathskull climbed the platform with a stride heavy but sure, the gold of his armor reflecting in the dim light. The suspended arms stirred at his arrival, adjusting their positions as though recognizing their master. Valrra followed closely, her crimson skin catching the glow of the runes etched into the floor. From a compartment on her belt, she unfurled a stack of holo-schematics, spreading them wide across the central table. The black glass hummed at her touch, and ghostly projections burst upward—gears, circuit nodes, rune-sealed cores, and the skeletal framework of the locator itself.

The White Gemstone was placed at the heart of it all. Deathskull set it down upon a padded cradle, and at once the gemstone’s faint inner glow brightened, casting pale light across their work. Its surface appeared alive, veins of luminous white swirling slowly as though stirred by some invisible current. Every flicker of its light was mirrored in the polished walls around us, scattering refracted patterns that danced across the ceiling like constellations.

Valrra moved with practiced efficiency, selecting alloy plates etched with microscopic runes and setting them carefully in order. Coils of wire, polished to a silver sheen, were laid out beside her like strands of hair, each one humming faintly with residual energy. Deathskull worked in tandem, his armored fingers manipulating the pieces with surprising precision, locking each fragment into place with the measured rhythm of someone who had repeated this process countless times.

The locator took form quickly. Circular in shape, it resembled a great shield laid flat, its frame thick and solid, layered with metallic alloys interlaced with strands of living circuitry. The runes engraved along its inner ring shifted with a strange fluidity, melting from one shape into another as though struggling to decide which form they preferred. The gemstone was fitted not at its core, but within a secondary housing on the inner rim, where its glow pulsed steadily in synchrony with the shifting symbols. It was clear the stone was not the heart of the device, but its stabilizer, a steady hand guiding the chaotic flux of Immortal energy into usable patterns.

Above, the drone arms descended, moving with mechanical grace. Sparks flared briefly as welders sealed seams, the smell of heated alloys filling the air before being whisked away by invisible vents. Coils tightened into place, plates sealed with soft magnetic clicks, and filaments lit with slender trails of electricity. The locator seemed to breathe as each layer was added, expanding its glow in waves that rippled outward across the floor.

Around the platform, the rest of us stood in silent observation. The hall echoed faintly with the sound of cascading water running through the pyramid’s internal channels. It blended with the low thrum of power lines, the hiss of welding arcs, and the steady pulse of the gemstone at the heart of the machine. The moment was heavy with significance—this was no simple creation, but the forging of something meant to pierce the veil of the cosmos itself.

Piece by piece, the device grew closer to completion. Energy ran across its surface in bright veins, mapping unseen pathways into existence. The runes along the inner ring stilled for the first time, locking into a pattern that glowed white-hot before cooling to a soft silver. The gemstone pulsed once, brighter than before, and the shadows in the hall bent slightly toward it as if the stone’s gravity extended beyond the physical.

The locator was nearly ready, its presence a silent promise of discovery. Around it, the pyramid seemed to hold its breath, the drone arms retreating upward, the hum of machinery falling quiet, until only the glow of the gemstone and the faint resonance of the runes remained.

The terrace opened wide before us, a suspended garden hung above the vast sprawl of Cybrawl. Beneath our boots, channels of clear water curved across the floor, spilling over the edge in narrow waterfalls that plummeted into the gardens far below. The sound of rushing streams mingled with the deeper hum of the pyramid itself, a constant reminder that this place was alive with both nature and machine.

A cluster of crimson flowers grew against the wall, vines winding upward toward a stone spout where a waterfall poured in a glittering sheet. The falling water caught the light in a shifting prism, scattering fractured colors across the alloy railing. I leaned against it, the cool metal thrumming faintly under my hand, and stared out at the horizon where towers and trees rose in equal measure.

Emily joined me, her arms folded, her gaze fixed more on me than on the city. Her green eyes, lit with reflected colors from the waterfall, seemed sharper than usual, cutting through the noise of the place.

“So,” she said, her tone carrying both curiosity and challenge, “what’s your deal?”

I drew in a slow breath, the scent of wet stone and flowering vines filling my lungs. “Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel about the idea of living forever.” The admission left me heavier than I expected, as if the words had been pressing against my chest for too long.

To my surprise, Emily didn’t argue. Instead, she gave a single, measured nod. “Most people don’t think about it that way. Sure, aging doesn’t kill us anymore, but people still die. In combat, by choice, in accidents. And when they go… there’s no guarantee we’ll see them again. Even the ones we care about most.”

Her voice softened at the end, but her eyes stayed steady, watching me closely. I turned my attention back to the horizon, to the neon clouds veined with light and the living city beneath them. For a long moment, I let her words sink in.

“Then maybe it’s best,” I said slowly, “to start detaching ourselves from mortals. They’re nothing like us anymore. Their lives are brief sparks. Ours are… something else entirely.”

Emily’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a grimace. She reached out, brushing her fingers against one of the crimson blossoms before letting it go. “Detachment,” she murmured. “Maybe that’s the only way. But I don’t think anyone ever lets go completely. Every bond leaves a trace. Every memory becomes another weight you carry.”

The prism-waterfall spilled light across her face, illuminating both the hardness and the fragility in her expression. I saw not just the warrior she had become, but the echoes of who she once was—someone who had lost, endured, and kept walking forward anyway.

We moved on, following the mist-slick path as it curved around the terrace. Fish darted in the shallow channels of water at our feet, scales flashing silver-blue whenever the light struck them. Strange birds swooped above, their wings glimmering as though woven from strands of light. The air was alive with both movement and stillness, the balance of two worlds fused into one.

Emily slowed as we walked, her boots ringing softly against the alloy tiles. “You’re right about one thing,” she said after a long pause. “Mortals will never understand us. They’ll live their short lives, fight their wars, and fade. We’ll remain. Watching. Carrying all of it.”

Her words struck like a weight settling across my shoulders, heavy but familiar. I studied her in the shifting glow of the sky, the reflection of neon light turning her eyes into molten emeralds. There was strength in her voice, but beneath it, a thread of exhaustion that matched my own.

“Maybe detachment doesn’t mean we stop caring,” I said. “Maybe it just means we learn to live with the distance. To exist where they can’t follow, without letting it break us.”

Emily didn’t answer, but her silence felt less like resistance and more like agreement. We walked on in quiet understanding, letting the sound of waterfalls and machinery fill the spaces where words no longer reached.

And at that moment, the pyramid didn’t feel like just a fortress or a factory. It felt like a mirror of ourselves—an impossible fusion of the eternal and the fragile, caught between creation and decay. A place, like us, struggling to endure.

The prism-light still shimmered across the terrace as the waterfalls whispered their constant song, the hum of the pyramid carrying through the stone and alloy beneath our feet. Emily leaned back against the railing, her green eyes narrowing slightly as I studied her in the glow. The thought had been nagging at me since Valrra had so quickly brushed aside my earlier questions.

“Why do you think Valrra brought us together?” I asked, my voice low but steady. “And what do you think she’s hiding?”

Emily tilted her head, the lines of her jaw hardening. For a moment she said nothing, her gaze shifting past me toward the neon clouds rolling across the Cybrawl sky. Finally, she exhaled and shook her head. “I have no clue. She’s calculated, that much is obvious. Always giving just enough information to keep us moving but never the whole picture.” She pressed her lips together, the frustration evident. “If she’s hiding something, it’s big. And it’s probably tied to you.”

Her words hung between us, heavy as the mist from the nearest waterfall. I could feel the truth in them, even if the shape of it remained just out of reach. Before I could respond, footsteps sounded lightly behind us—quick, almost eager—and Serenity stepped into the terrace’s glow.

Her white leather jumpsuit clung to her like the reflection of starlight, the black thigh boots glinting with moisture from the mist. She smiled faintly, though her eyes were bright with something far less casual. She looked between Emily and me, then straightened her shoulders with uncharacteristic boldness.

“I’ve been thinking,” Serenity said, her tone strangely deliberate. “Maybe it would be a good idea if… if Emily and I shared you. As a romantic partner.”

The words struck like a sharp crack against the tranquil backdrop of falling water. Emily’s head snapped toward her, green eyes flashing wide with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Emily’s voice cut like glass. “Share? Get your own man!”

Serenity flinched, but she pressed forward, her voice quickening with desperation. “But… we’re best friends. Practically sisters. And we’re Immortals. This—this isn’t the same as mortals and their fleeting attachments. We could make this work. We—”

Emily straightened, stepping toward her, her boots ringing firmly against the alloy tiles. “Just because we’re Immortal doesn’t change the romantic dynamic!” Her tone dripped with disbelief and rising anger. “You think because we can’t die of old age that suddenly everything is negotiable? That love becomes communal property?”

Serenity’s face wavered, eyes glassy under the prism light. “But—”

Emily cut her off with biting sarcasm. “Maybe once Valrra, Deathskull, and Droid L-84 are done making their locator device, we can find you a boyfriend! Geeze, Serenity!” She threw up her hands, as if the absurdity of the request was too much to even argue further.

The words landed like a slap. I could see Serenity’s composure unravel, the way her jaw trembled slightly as she bit back whatever remained unsaid. The confidence she had entered folded inward, leaving her smaller, fragile in a way that felt almost alien against the strength of this place.

I stood there, caught in the fracture of it, but Emily’s stance made it clear—there was no room for compromise. She had drawn a hard boundary, and she wasn’t about to yield.

Serenity’s lip trembled. She tried to hide it, turning her face away, but the prism light betrayed her as it caught the sheen in her eyes. She whispered something I couldn’t quite catch, and for a fleeting moment, I almost thought she would collapse right there.

Emily’s arms crossed again, her stance protective, unyielding. I could tell she didn’t care for Serenity’s tears, not here, not in this moment. If anything, her disgust only deepened.

And I… I couldn’t ignore the shift in the air. The terrace, so serene a moment ago, now felt cramped, charged with unease. The prism-waterfall continued to spill its fractured colors across us all, indifferent to the tension between flesh, steel, and eternity.

If anything, Serenity’s vulnerability made it worse. The weight of it pressed on us, leaving only discomfort in its wake.

We didn’t move. We didn’t comfort her. For all the strange, unreal beauty around us, the moment was a raw reminder that even Immortals weren’t beyond pettiness, longing, and rejection.

And so the silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of the waterfalls and the faint hum of the living pyramid around us.

The plaza outside the pyramid thrummed with quiet energy. The locator pulsed in Deathskull’s armored hands, its ring glowing faintly as runes chased one another around its surface like a living script. The hum was constant, low, almost like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to anyone present but to something vast and distant. Valrra stood beside him, her posture poised, crimson skin lit by the faint reflection of the device’s glow. She was calm, as though already weighing ten different outcomes in her mind, each more calculated than the last.

Serenity adjusted the straps of her small supply pack. Her eyes were downcast, rimmed faintly red, though she tried to mask it behind a mask of composure. Haj Tooth, meanwhile, hoisted her own pack over one shoulder, feminine & firm. Droid L-84 stood motionless nearby, its chassis gleaming under the Cybrawl sun, optical sensors glowing a cool white as it scanned the plaza for threats or flaws in the portal mechanism.

I broke the silence, my voice steady as I watched the runes shift across the locator’s face. “The reading points to Draca. Strong, steady… if we go there, we might find Immortal-bound individuals. Ones who could be persuaded to join us.”

Deathskull tilted his head, servo-joints clicking faintly in the quiet. He regarded me for a moment before nodding once, decisive and absolute. The movement alone was confirmation enough. He turned toward the massive portal arch standing like a monument at the edge of the plaza. Its obsidian frame was carved with the same flowing runes as the locator, though dormant now, waiting for activation.

“Then Draca it is,” Deathskull said at last, his voice metallic yet carrying the weight of command.

Valrra glanced toward me, green eyes piercing as always. “Recruitment is dangerous,” she remarked, not in objection but in warning. “Immortal-bound are unpredictable. But if we don’t take the risk, we’ll remain too few.” Her crimson hand brushed over the rail of the plaza as though she could already feel the distance stretching between here and the next world.

Emily shifted closer to me, her black leather boots striking softly against the smooth stone. “You’re right,” she said, her voice calm but edged with thought. “If Draca holds others like us, better we reach them before anyone else does.” Her green eyes met mine briefly, and I felt a silent agreement pass between us.

Deathskull reached the control panel at the portal’s base, his gauntleted hands moving with mechanical precision. Symbols flared to life as his fingers struck the keys. Each input triggered a deeper hum, the arch vibrating faintly under the weight of energies building inside it. The air thickened, warmer, until a sharp crack echoed outward and the portal flared into existence.

The glow was red—deep, molten, and alive. It curled inward like liquid fire, swirling and folding over itself in endless motion. Sparks of energy shot off the frame, crackling before dissipating into the open air. The resonance vibrated through the ground beneath our boots, through the air in our lungs, until it was impossible to tell where our bodies ended and the portal’s pull began.

The crimson light reflected across the polished stones of the plaza, bathing us all in its eerie glow. Our armor, our clothing, even our skin carried its tint, as though the portal had already claimed us before we ever crossed the threshold.

Deathskull turned, the locator still pulsing in his hand. His eyes swept across us—the seven who would follow him into the unknown once more. No words were needed. His nod was command enough.

One by one, we stepped forward.

The air grew taut as I approached the portal, my breath shallow against the hum of its energy. The glow brightened, expanding outward, until stepping closer felt like leaning into the mouth of a storm. I glanced back once—at Emily, at Serenity, at Valrra and Haj Tooth, at Droid L-84’s steady white glow—before pushing forward.

Crossing through was like falling into liquid heat. The red glow pressed in from all sides, fire and weight and rushing wind in a single endless instant. My chest constricted, my vision shattered into streaks of color, and then—

The ground shifted beneath my boots.

The air broke open, cool and heavy with the scent of iron and ash.

The light dimmed, replaced by the glow of a blood-red sky streaked with dark clouds. We had stepped into Draca.

The world greeted us not with stillness but with sound: the distant roar of waves crashing against cliffs, the guttural call of creatures unseen across the horizon, and somewhere far away, the deep thrum of something ancient and alive.

The seven of us stood together on black stone, the portal crackling faintly behind us as though reluctant to let us go. Ahead stretched a world untouched by mercy—towering obsidian cliffs, jagged spires that tore into the red sky, and forests of gnarled trees that seemed more bone than wood.

The locator pulsed brighter now in Deathskull’s hand, its hum deeper, as though the very soil of Draca vibrated in resonance. Whatever lay here, it was close.

And we had come to claim it.

The air was alive in ways that startled the senses, each breath heavy with pine resin and the sweetness of rain lingering on leaves. Beneath my boots, the earth gave slightly, softened by thick mats of moss that glowed faintly in the red light of Draca’s sky. For a moment, the transition from Cybrawl’s metallic causeways to this living world was jarring—yet beautiful. Draca was not the world I remembered. The scars of its past seemed buried under a mantle of renewal.

The forges and smoke-belching stacks were gone. Where once the air had carried the stench of ash and molten ore, it now bore the fragrance of woodsmoke from distant hearths, intermingled with the crisp scent of rain-soaked forests. The horizon was dotted with villages unlike anything I had seen here before—sweeping Nordic-inspired homes, their triangular roofs rising like peaks themselves, clad in alloy-wood composites that gleamed under the dim light. Their shapes stretched from sharp tips down to sturdy bases, practical yet elegant, as though grown from the soil rather than built upon it.

These high-tech Nordic houses rested on meadows of tall grass, where wildflowers bloomed in vibrant shades of violet, gold, and blood-red, their petals dancing with the breeze that rolled in from the hills. They did not disrupt the land but embraced it, spaced in patterns that followed the gentle curves of the terrain. From a distance, the settlements looked as though they had been rooted there for centuries, nurtured by both earth and hand.

Between the homes, stone walkways wound in graceful arcs, lined with moss and etched faintly with glowing symbols that pulsed at night to guide travelers. Towering oaks rose between the paths, their trunks thick and gnarled, their canopies broad enough to shade entire communities beneath. Some trees had been partially hollowed and adapted into living structures, their interiors shaped into gathering halls and markets. Others bore platforms and woven bridges that stretched between branches, creating multi-level spaces where life moved vertically as much as horizontally.

Water was everywhere, flowing in delicate channels carved with purpose and precision. Canals ran through communal gardens, their banks brimming with edible herbs and luminous flowers cultivated for both beauty and sustenance. The water sparkled as though infused with microscopic machines, self-cleaning, ever pure, catching the dim scarlet light of the sky in shimmering prisms. Fountains rose at intersections, shaped like runic wolves and dragons, their mouths spilling water into wide basins where children splashed and elders sat in quiet reflection.

The air itself seemed charged, not with the choking fumes of industry but with something older—an atmosphere of reverence, as though the very soil of Draca had rejected its scars and embraced rebirth. Birds with metallic plumage darted through the canopy, their wings flashing iridescent blue and silver. In the undergrowth, small creatures scurried, their eyes glowing faintly in ways that spoke of engineered adaptation. Nature and technology coexisted seamlessly here, woven together in a tapestry where neither dominated but both thrived.

Meanwhile, the wild lands of Draca breathed with an ancient unease. Mist clung to the trees like tattered veils, their towering trunks pressing together into dark corridors where even the moonlight struggled to break through. The grasses whispered against one another, tall as a man’s chest, carrying the scent of damp earth and rain. Every step was muted, every sound stretched thin, as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

Through that vast silence, two figures moved with the precision of predators. Anubis glided low, his staff poised like a spear, golden eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. Maladrie trailed beside him, her silhouette more apparition than flesh, black silks flowing as if stirred by a wind that did not touch the world around her. They spoke no words, no signal passing between them. None were needed. Their quarry was close.

A distant rumble broke the hush. The ground trembled, and the trees ahead shuddered as something massive shifted its weight. The air thickened with the musk of sweat, stone, and steam. Then came the roar. It was a sound so primal it seemed to claw through the marrow of the forest, tearing silence apart and sending flocks of birds shrieking skyward.

The creature came into view.

Once Edward, now a troll—his body a hulking mountain of orange-brown muscle, veins of sickly light glowing beneath the surface. His claws sank into the earth as though it were clay, and steam vented from his skin in furious bursts. His eyes, fiery furnaces, swept the clearing with wild, animal rage.

The hunt was over. The strike began.

Maladrie’s hands lifted, shadows unraveling from her form in thick coils. They snaked forward like living chains, wrapping the troll’s arms and throat. He bellowed, straining against the bonds, tearing up chunks of earth as his feet gouged furrows in the moss. Anubis sprang into motion, staff spinning, crescent blade flashing in and out of phase with reality. Each strike cracked against the troll’s limbs and chest, sparks of displaced energy bursting outward with every blow.

The beast fought with raw fury. One massive swing shattered a tree into splinters, another tore boulders free from the ground and hurled them blindly into the shadows. But every thrash only tangled him further in Maladrie’s bindings. Each time the troll lurched forward, Anubis was there, staff striking, blade searing through the mist.

The struggle dragged on, brutal and unrelenting. The clearing became a ruin of uprooted trees and craters gouged deep into the soil. But slowly the monster’s strength waned. Its roars faltered into ragged growls, its movements slowed beneath the relentless choke of shadows and steel. Finally, with one last convulsive lurch, it collapsed to its knees and then forward, bound completely, its heavy breaths rattling the ground.

Only then did silence return to the forest.

Anubis stood over the subdued troll, his staff angled at its throat, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths. Maladrie’s shadows cinched tight, holding the beast in place, her eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light.

The silence lingered until Anubis finally lifted his gaze to the horizon. A faint shimmer still danced where the portal had closed minutes before.

“They’re here,” he said, his voice a low growl carrying through the mist. “William and his pack. The scent of their passage lingers.”

Maladrie’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, her expression unreadable. “Good,” she whispered, her voice smooth and cold. “Let them come. Their arrival will be… useful.”

The troll snarled weakly, struggling against its bonds, but Maladrie’s shadows only tightened, and the forest once more sank into uneasy stillness—waiting for what would follow. The three of them disappear into a portal in which they came from.

The seven of us pressed forward through Draca’s winding dirt roads, our footsteps blending with the gentle rustle of the wind through pine and oak. The air was crisp, carrying the faint aroma of woodsmoke from hearths and cooking fires in the town ahead. Then, the stillness was shattered—an alarm began to wail. It wasn’t a typical siren; its drawn-out, rising howl bore an unsettling resemblance to old-Earth tornado warnings, a sound that somehow reached into the primitive parts of our minds and gripped our instincts in ice-cold fingers. My eyes snapped upward. Above us, high in the upper atmosphere, the Wraith Pillars—those towering, unnatural spires that could tear holes into other realms—were active again. Black shapes like floating monoliths pulsed faintly, their crystalline tips glowing in a sickly red hue. From their apexes, they poured streams of glittering black shungite dust, a fine particulate haze that shimmered like powdered obsidian as it drifted downward. The dust swirled with unnatural patterns, refusing to be carried off by the wind, as though guided by an invisible hand toward the ground below.

That was all the confirmation we needed—the Wraith was preparing to breach Draca again. The demons were coming. I exchanged a sharp nod with Serenity, Valrra, and Emily. No words were needed. We powered up our armor, the hum and clack of locking plates and energizing servos echoing in the tense air. Crimson and silver lights flared across our suits, the faint heat of plasma capacitors warming the air around us. Each of us reached for our swords—steel edges bonded with shungite, their surfaces etched with glowing runes designed to channel energy directly into a demon’s body. My own chainsword, Revenge, purred hungrily, its teeth spinning slowly like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

The first tremors of shadow whispered across the soft moss and stone of Draca’s streets, a warning of the approaching Wraith. From every corner of the town, from narrow alleys and open fields beyond the high walls, the Viking and Anglo-Saxon warriors emerged, their armor catching the faint sunlight, polished graphene plates gleaming like black glass with silver knotwork etched into every curve. Animal pelts draped their shoulders, trophies of hunts past, contrasting against the futuristic energy swords in their hands. Heavy axes radiated heat along their edges, shields embossed with spirals and beast motifs braced for impact.

The sky above darkened as the Wraith began to materialize. First, faint rips in reality shimmered ahead, quivering like heatwaves. From these rifts, the demons emerged—grotesque, bat-faced warriors with jagged horns curling from their skulls, their exoskeletons orange-red and glinting with molten veins. Flaming swords sparked as they swung, arcs of energy lancing into the air. Slender Demonettes followed, moving with predatory grace, their clawed hands ready to rend flesh and metal alike.

I moved forward, chainsword Revenge whirring to life, its shungite runes glowing with a pulsing light. Emily was beside me, her green eyes sharp, her blade tracing arcs of silver crystal in preparation for the onslaught. Serenity adjusted her stance, sword ready, while Haj Tooth crouched low, aiming her energy axe at the advancing Demonettes. Valrra and Deathskull stood back, observing, waiting for the precise moment to intervene. Droid L-84 moved systematically, calculating trajectories, issuing silent commands to the allied warriors.

The Demons charged. Their feet struck the ground with the force of small earthquakes, the sound of claws against stone and the hiss of flaming blades filling the air. The Viking and Anglo-Saxon warriors responded immediately, forming disciplined lines. Shields collided, axes swung, and energy swords met their fiery counterparts with sparks and ringing echoes.

Every strike carried the weight of desperation and skill. My chainsword shredded through demonic flesh, the runes channeling energy that disrupted their unnatural forms. Emily’s silver arcs erupted from the ground, capturing the smaller Demonettes and holding them long enough to fall beneath our blades. Serenity’s sword sang as she sliced through the air, kinetic trails scattering enemies off balance. Haj Tooth’s red energy axe streaked through the chaos, precision strikes that felled foes before they could reach the walls.

The battlefield became a blur of motion and color. Sparks, fire, and shungite energy lit up the dim alleys and open fields, reflections dancing in the clear canals that wound through the town. The Wraith tore at the environment itself, clawing at the streets and buildings as though reality could be bent to their will. Yet the defenders held. The human warriors braced, their shields absorbing the brunt of the attacks, axes and swords striking with disciplined ferocity.

The air was thick with the scent of ozone, singed metal, and scorched earth. The sound of running water from the town’s canals mixed with the roar of engines and the clash of steel. Every movement, every swing, every pulse of energy from our weapons pushed back the tide of darkness, even as more demons poured through the shimmering rifts.

Emily and I moved together, cutting through the densest clusters, our motions in sync as if instinctively connected. Serenity moved fluidly around Haj Tooth, protecting her from flanking Demonettes. Droid L-84 slashed with precise efficiency, calculating angles faster than any mortal could. Valrra and Deathskull coordinated the strategy from the rear, their presence a stabilizing force amid the chaos.

Though the Demons were relentless, our line did not falter. The combined might of Immortals and mortal warriors created a bulwark of steel, shungite, and magic. Every advance by the demons was met with resistance, every attempt to breach the town walls answered with discipline and fury. The first contact of battle had begun in earnest, and Draca’s defenders were determined to stand, no matter the cost.

In the chaos, Emily and I fought like cornered beasts. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only movement, reaction, and the pure animal drive to annihilate what was in front of us. Emily’s blade arced through the air in sweeping, efficient cuts, cleaving through demon torsos as though she were harvesting wheat. Her movement burned with a fierce determination that made even the larger demons hesitate for a fraction of a second—and in battle, a fraction was all it took to die. I was less precise and more brutal, letting Revenge’s motorized teeth bite deep into flesh and armor alike, sending showers of red ichor and sparks in every direction. I didn’t bother with defensive maneuvers; these things had declared war on my people, and I meant to erase every last one in front of me.

The shungite dispensers above did their work well—the black dust fell over the battlefield like a cursed snow, eating away at the demons’ unnatural vitality. Their movements grew sluggish, their regeneration slowed to a crawl. It made killing them easier, though no less exhausting. The ground beneath us became slick with the remains of the fallen, each corpse dissolving into ash-like residue once the shungite had fully done its work.

Through the chaos of the battlefield, my attention locked on two figures whose presence seemed almost otherworldly. The first, a Viking warrior, moved with a predator’s grace, his dark armor etched with silver filigree and a striking owl motif painted across the visor. Every inch of his body exuded controlled ferocity—the way he lunged through the demon ranks, twisting and spinning mid-air, made it clear that he was no ordinary soldier. His shoulders rolled with each strike, his gauntlets slamming into foes with the precision of a master craftsman, each blow devastating, each recovery flawless. The wounds he took seemed to vanish almost as quickly as they appeared; a slash across his chest healed under a faint veil of shungite dust, the torn flesh knitting itself with a subtle glow that left a faint trail of shimmering particles in the air.

Beside him moved a woman clad in dark auburn armor that gleamed like molten copper in the harsh battlefield light. Her visor mirrored his, the same stylized owl insignia marking her as an equal. She wielded a double-headed red energy axe, its blades humming with contained plasma, arcs of faint red lightning crackling along the edges. Each swing was effortless yet lethal, slicing through demon after demon, the kinetic energy sending bodies flying like rag dolls. A spear slammed into her shoulder, embedding itself deep, but she extracted it with one smooth motion, returning the blow with a spinning arc that cleaved a demon in two, sending sparks and ichor into the air. Even her stance carried weight—feet planted with perfect balance, torso twisting just enough to maximize force while minimizing exposure, the flowing rhythm of attack and defense marking her as an Immortal, someone born for battle yet honed through centuries of practice.

Cole’s movements were precise yet wildly fluid, almost chaotic to any observer not attuned to his timing. He leapt from debris to debris, spinning in mid-air to land perfectly on an overturned cart, using it as a platform to drive a gauntleted fist into a demon’s jaw, shattering bone. Hanna mirrored his fluidity, their fighting styles perfectly complementary. She advanced like a whirlwind, each swing of her axe releasing bursts of energy that set the ground alight, cutting pathways through the demon hordes while Cole’s strikes anchored the momentum. I watched as Hanna pivoted on one boot, her armor creaking softly under the strain, and then swung her axe with a vertical arc that decapitated two demons at once, the red plasma trailing behind in a glowing smear before snapping back to her grip as if alive.

They weren’t merely fighting—they were rewriting the rules of the battlefield. Ordinary laws of physics seemed to bend around their movements. A demon’s claw caught Cole across the shoulder, and yet he spun, flipping backward over its head, landing with knees bent, sword slicing in a clean horizontal line that severed the creature’s arm before it could react. Hanna moved beside him like a shadow twin, her axe carving glowing arcs that left long trails of heat and light in the air, each impact resonating in a way that seemed almost musical. The two of them were a storm, impossible to predict yet mesmerizing in its lethal beauty.

Around them, demons fell in droves, but still the battle raged. The air vibrated with the roar of plasma, the clash of energy blades, and the sickly shriek of alien metal tearing. Cole leapt again, landing on the back of a massive horned demon, planting both hands on its shoulders, and drove it into the ground, crushing it with unstoppable force. Hanna followed, spinning her axe through the beast’s chest as she landed gracefully on the rubble-strewn street. The synchronization of their assault was uncanny, as if they could read each other’s thoughts, each strike and counter anticipating the other’s movement by the blink of an eye.

I realized then, without any doubt, that these were Immortals, warriors whose skill and power were on a scale beyond anything I had seen. They were the very beings we had come to Draca to find, and yet the battle offered no pause, no opportunity for recognition or greeting. I returned my attention to the horde pressing against us, the chainsword teeth of my Revenge spinning.

The demon warrior, massive and jagged-limbed, lunged with a force that nearly sent me skidding across the cobblestones. Its jagged, blackened blade slammed against my helmet with a deafening clang, reverberating up my spine. For a heartbeat, the world spun in chaotic arcs of crimson and shadow, but training and instinct immediately took over. I caught the demon’s weapon mid-swing, feeling the alien vibration pulse up my arm as it struggled against my grip. The weight of its strength was nothing compared to the precision of the Immortal reflexes honed over centuries. With a sharp, brutal twist of my gauntlet, I wrenched the blade from its grasp. The alien metal shrieked as it tore free, and the sound cut through the din of battle like a warning.

My fist crushed the demon’s clawed, misshapen fingers, bones snapping like dry branches beneath the reinforced plating. The creature howled in disbelief and rage, a sound warped and inhuman, before I activated Revenge. The chainsword roared to life, the motorized teeth spinning with an almost hungry fury. I swung it in a horizontal arc, the chain biting deep. Red ichor erupted in a molten spray, streaking across the cracked streets as the demon’s head separated cleanly from its shoulders. Its body hit the cobblestones with a wet, final thud, and the vibration ran up my boots, anchoring me in the reality of the fight.

For a moment, silence spread across the streets, heavy and complete. The last of the Wraith forces, their forms flickering between corporeal and vapor, disintegrated into fine dust. The shimmering breach seals flickered once and then snapped shut, leaving the streets of Draca eerily still beneath the unbroken, pale sky. Relief began to ripple outward, subtle at first, as the defenders realized the threat had passed. Across Vikingnar, planetary comms confirmed the news: other towns and cities had repelled their attackers, the planetary defenses holding firm against the Wraith incursion. The warriors around us exhaled, lowering their weapons, some in disbelief, others in raw, exhausted triumph. Our planetary defenses worked, and everyone cheered.

Emily slammed her armored chest into mine in a triumphant chest bump, the force nearly knocking her back. The red glow from her visor caught mine, the intensity in her eyes magnified by the eerie illumination of her display. I laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that had been absent for far too long. The sound carried across the battered plaza, mixing with the distant cheers of warriors and the soft hiss of dissipating energy.

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CHAPTER 17: "RISING RISK" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"