CHAPTER 18: "THE LESSON" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 18: "THE LESSON" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

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After the battle with the Demons, the air over Draca still hummed with the aftertaste of war — the faint acrid tang of burnt demon ichor mingled with the fresh, crisp winds that rolled off Draca’s emerald hills. The streets bore scars of the conflict — shattered cobblestones, scorch marks burned deep into timber walls, and the blackened smears where Wraith-born creatures had dissolved under the purging bite of Shungite weaponry. Ash drifted like snow across rooftops, carried in swirls by the gusting wind, settling into gutters and filling the cracks in the broken ground.

The town was alive again, though not in joy but in solemn purpose. The civilians — cautious and wide-eyed — crept from behind barricaded doors, gathering the wounded from where they lay among the debris. Some carried makeshift stretchers of splintered wood and torn cloth, others simply bore the fallen on their shoulders, armor scraping as they moved in grim silence. Priests in flowing silver-threaded robes marked the cobblestones with chalk and ash, tracing protective sigils around the bodies of the dead so that no lingering shadow might cling to them. The air was thick with grief and reverence, a fragile calm rising in the wake of slaughter.

Through this battered tableau, Deathskull, Droid L-84, Serenity, Valrra, Emily, and I advanced across the blood-slick stone. Our armor, still glowing faintly from discharged energy, gleamed with streaks of ichor and soot. Deathskull’s obsidian plating, lined with crimson channels of power, shimmered like liquid fire under the fractured light of Draca’s twin suns. Valrra’s gilded suit reflected the flames still guttering in the ruins, every step she took a silent declaration of authority. Emily’s armor was flawless in form, her visor alight with the red glow of projected eyes, giving her the visage of a spectral war goddess striding unbroken through ruin. My own chainsword, Revenge, still dripped with thick black fluid, the motorized teeth ticking as they cooled.

Ahead, two figures stood unshaken amidst the wreckage. Cole Pierce, the owl-helmed warrior, his armor carved with ridges and winglike flares at the shoulders, remained rooted like a sentinel. His visor, shaped into the likeness of a hunting owl, glowed with a soft amber light. Energy burns streaked across his plating, deep scars from blades and claws that would have killed lesser men, yet his posture betrayed no weakness. Hanna Rain stood at his side, her auburn armor gleaming even through its battered state. Intricate etchings traced across her cuirass and gauntlets, catching the sunlight like veins of fire. She held her double-headed red energy axe loose in one hand, the weapon still humming, its edges dripping faint trails of condensed plasma. Her stance was relaxed yet predatory, as though even in stillness she was poised to strike.

Around them lay evidence of their ferocity. Demon corpses — or what remained of them — were scattered in broken heaps, their forms dissolved into charred fragments of exoskeletal hide. One great beast had been split entirely in half, its severed torso fused into the stone where Hanna’s axe had burned through both flesh and earth in a single swing. Another lay headless at Cole’s feet, the faint shimmer of shungite dust still clinging to its corpse, sealing the wound that would not heal. Every scar around them testified to their resilience — the way they had refused to fall even as wounds stitched themselves closed with unnatural speed, their bodies repairing what should have been fatal.

The air around the pair seemed heavier, charged with a presence that set them apart from the other warriors of Draca. Where others panted with exhaustion, Cole and Hanna stood unbent, their breathing steady, their weapons held with the confidence of fighters who had known countless battles. They radiated something more than skill — an endurance that transcended mortality itself.

We stopped before them, the space between us filled with silence and the weight of recognition. The warriors of the town gathered at a respectful distance, their gazes fixed on the meeting as though they sensed its importance. Wind swept through the ruined street, stirring loose banners torn from their posts, carrying with it the mingled scents of ash, blood, and ozone. Overhead, the sky was clear once more, but faint scars remained — the jagged fractures where Wraith portals had been torn open, now sealed yet not forgotten.

Cole’s visor tilted slightly, amber lenses reflecting the glow of our own suits. Hanna shifted her grip on the axe, the twin heads humming brighter for a moment before dimming, her stance never losing its strength. The silence stretched, unbroken, but every breath, every posture, every flicker of light told the story clearly enough. These were no ordinary warriors. They were Immortals. And though the battle had ended, a greater confrontation lingered on the horizon, written in the way the four of us faced the two who had already proven themselves beyond mortal limits.

Cole and Hanna lifted their visors in unison, the faint hiss of pressurized seals breaking as the helmets pulled back. For the first time, their faces were revealed in the fading light of Draca’s twin suns. Cole Pierce’s features were sharp yet weathered, framed by the faint burn of ginger-blonde hair that clung damp with sweat against his temples. His build was lean, muscular, his presence one of grounded steadiness, the kind of man hardened by battles fought long before this day. Beside him, Hanna Rain’s face emerged from beneath the auburn armor. Strands of brown hair, dampened by battle, clung to her cheeks, and her piercing blue eyes glimmered with the same intensity she had carried on the battlefield — cool, focused, with the faintest spark of humor buried somewhere in their depths. Together, they looked more like myth come alive than mortals standing in the aftermath of war.

Valrra stepped forward. Her armor’s red plasma inlays pulsed with a subtle rhythm, reflecting in the broken stones beneath her feet, painting her in an aura of command. Her voice cut through the silence, calm but unyielding, carrying with it a weight that made even the exhausted warriors around us stand straighter.

“You are Immortals,” Valrra said, her tone a statement of fact, not a question. “Beings who cannot be slain by mortal weapon, nor undone by time or disease.”

The words hung in the air. Cole’s jaw tightened, his green-flecked eyes narrowing as though confirming some truth long suspected but never spoken aloud. Hanna tilted her head, lips curving into the faintest smirk. It wasn’t disbelief. It wasn’t even a surprise. It was recognition.

Cole’s gaze flicked to Hanna, then back to Valrra. He didn’t speak, but his silence told its own story — this was not new to him. Hanna’s smirk deepened, though her eyes sharpened as if weighing the implications of the declaration, as though a puzzle she had carried for years had finally snapped into place.

Valrra didn’t pause. She raised one armored hand, and the faint hum of the Immortal Locator Device in Deathskull’s grip grew louder. The ring of etched runes glowed a deep scarlet, symbols shifting like liquid fire across its surface.

“We found you because of this,” she explained. “A device tuned to the resonance of Immortal essence. A signature that cannot be hidden, no matter how deeply you bury it.”

The glow reflected in Hanna’s eyes as she leaned closer, her brow furrowing. Cole exhaled slowly, folding his arms across his chest, saying nothing, but the tightening in his shoulders betrayed unease.

Valrra’s voice lowered slightly, though her words carried the same authority. “Tell me — have either of you ever felt it? Something inside you that is not entirely your own. A presence. A shadow. A light. Something that comes to you in moments of death or despair.”

For the first time, the expressions of the two warriors darkened. Cole shifted his weight, his jaw working as though he were chewing on words he had never wanted to speak. Hanna’s smirk faded, her eyes narrowing as memories flickered behind them — unbidden, unwelcome.

Cole finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. “I’ve seen… shapes. In the heat of battle, when I should’ve bled out, they came. Half shadow, half light. They poured into me. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t want to understand it.”

Hanna nodded, her tone sharper, edged with a bitterness that clung to her words. “Nights when I should’ve died, when the world went black. They came then. I could feel them. Filling me with power. Cold, alien calm. I knew it wasn’t mine, but it was… there. Always there.”

Valrra inclined her head, her crimson visor glinting in the failing sun. “Those entities are the source of your immortality. Once bound to you, their essence becomes your shield. Their life force sustains you. It is why you heal when others cannot. Why you stand when others fall.”

The weight of her explanation pressed down on the ruined street. Cole looked away, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if the memories of those spectral intrusions haunted him still. Hanna’s fingers tightened around the haft of her axe, her knuckles whitening under her gauntlet.

The truth was out now, laid bare between us all. Cole and Hanna were not simply warriors of Draca. They were Immortals. And whether they welcomed the revelation or not, it meant their lives — and their destinies — were now irreversibly tied to ours.

“Then we fight,” Cole said at last, his voice carrying the gravel of a man who had been forged in endless battlefields. The simplicity of his words was its own oath, direct and absolute. “We’ve been doing it all our lives. Now we just know why.”

Hanna’s gaze shifted between us, her piercing blue eyes steady. She gave a slow, deliberate nod, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips — not a smile of comfort, but of grim acceptance. In that nod was an unspoken vow, one that bound her fate to ours.

Valrra’s crimson visor flickered as she inclined her head toward them, her voice carrying calm authority. “Then you are with us. Not as recruits. Not as subordinates. As equals. Immortals walk together, or not at all.”

Emily’s armored form shifted beside me, her helmet still sealed, the faceplate’s glowing red eyes fixed on Cole and Hanna. She crossed her arms, saying nothing, but I could feel her approval in the way she stood — resolute, proud, welcoming them not with words but with presence.

Deathskull remained silent, the locator device cradled in his gauntlets, its runes still shifting, as though sensing the bond that had just been forged. Serenity and Haj Tooth stood slightly behind, both watching with expressions hidden, but their body language relaxed, shoulders lowering, stances softening.

Once that exchange was complete, Emily and I drifted from the newly-forged circle of Immortals. My boots scraped against the broken cobblestones as I moved toward the remnants of a shattered fountain, its basin cracked open by some demon’s dying blow. The water that once flowed through its sculpted channels now trickled weakly through fractures, forming thin streams that reflected the late sun like molten silver. I signaled subtly to Deathskull, who broke from Valrra and the others, his gold-plated armor gleaming faintly even through the soot-stained air. He joined us with measured steps, his crimson servo-eyes scanning the ruins as though calculating every scar the battle had left on Draca.

I leaned against the half-crumbled lip of the fountain, the cool stone pressing through my armor as I exhaled. “Cole and Hanna,” I began, my voice low, heavy with thought. “They look oddly familiar. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about them stirs a memory I can’t trace.” My gaze lingered on the pair in the distance, their silhouettes framed against the smoldering remains of a toppled building. “Do either of you know them?”

Deathskull tilted his head slightly, the inner servos of his helm whining softly as he turned his gaze toward the warriors. “Negative,” he said, his tone flat, mechanical, but with a faint undertone of curiosity. “Their resonance is strong, but I’ve never crossed paths with these two before.”

Emily folded her arms, her armor shifting with a quiet hiss of servos. The red glow of her visor-eyes flickered like coals in the dusk. She shook her head once, decisively. “No. I don’t recognize them either.” Then, after a beat, her tone softened. “Maybe they’re from a past life. You’ve felt it before, haven’t you? That tug, that strange familiarity with faces you’ve never seen. Could be echoes bleeding through the Immortal bond.”

Her words lingered, plausible, yet they unsettled me. I straightened, pushing away from the cracked stone. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s something else. Either way, we need to prepare. Familiar or not, two more Immortals won’t win this war for us. We need more ships, more warriors. Supplemental forces to carry the line when we can’t be everywhere at once.”

Deathskull’s red eyes brightened slightly, the glow intensifying with thought. “Agreed,” he said. “The locator will guide us to Immortals, but numbers alone will not hold against the Wraith. We’ll need fleets to mobilize, crews trained to follow our command.” His gauntleted hand tightened around the locator as though to emphasize the point. “We should go to Redwana by fleet—its warriors are disciplined, efficient, and their loyalty is… negotiable. From there, to the world of Aries. Their culture breeds resilience, and they respect strength above all. Only after we secure their blades should we turn our attention to shipbuilding.”

Emily shifted her weight, the crimson eyes of her visor narrowing on Deathskull. The sound of the wind carried ash and the faint scent of pine between us, and the battlefield around us seemed to fade for a moment as strategy took center stage.

I nodded, though my tone was sharp, edged by lingering doubt. “Fair enough. But these warriors—Redwana, Aries—if we commit the time and resources to gather them, they better be worth it. We’re not here to babysit undisciplined militias or hold hands with half-baked kings who think their banners mean something. Every sword, every ship we bring under our banner needs to matter.”

Deathskull inclined his head, a faint metallic growl resonating from within his helm as though in agreement. Emily remained silent for a beat longer, then gave a single nod, her stance firm, her presence like steel tempered in fire.

The fountain behind us hissed faintly as the last of its water spilled into the cracked earth. Above, the Dracan sky darkened, clouds rolling in like smoke, lit faintly by the neon auroras that danced along the horizon. Whatever came next, the path was set.

The decision was immediate. Deathskull, Emily and I summoned the others — Valrra, Droid L-84, Serenity, Haj Tooth, Hanna, and Cole. In unison, we activated our comm-links, the thin red glow pulsing over our gauntlets as encrypted signals carried our request to orbit. The air shimmered faintly as the authorization code returned, and within minutes, the horizon trembled with fire.

I raised my wrist, the comm-link flashing awake with a pale blue glow. “This is Commander William, requesting immediate fleet deployment,” I said, my voice firm. “Priority-class authorization. Destination: Redwana.”

The device pulsed once, twice. A faint crackle answered, then a low-toned voice filled the air. “Command acknowledged. Drakkar fleet mobilization in progress. Estimated arrival, five minutes.”

The warship appeared like a burning blade carving through the sky. Its silhouette grew larger by the second, red armor plating catching the dying light of the sun, its hull humming with energy. Plasma shielding flared across its sides, red arcs pulsing and crawling like lightning veins, protecting the runic steel beneath. The sound of its engines reverberated like the heartbeat of a giant, deep and thunderous, shaking the earth as though reminding us of the sheer power contained within its frame.

As the ship descended, the carriers split off, forming a precise arrowhead formation. The Drakkar Carriers — massive, rectangular hulks fitted for bulk transport of warriors and gear — descended with controlled grace. Their ramps extended in perfect unison, the roar of hydraulics competing with the echo of the engines.

Our warriors moved quickly. Line by line, they stepped onto the carriers, their armor scarred and stained, yet their posture sharp, disciplined. The clank of boots on steel ramps was almost ceremonial, as though each step was a drumbeat of defiance against the Wraith. The carriers swallowed them, their dark interiors flickering with the pale glow of stasis alcoves awaiting activation.

For us, the Commander awaited. The Drakkar Commander descended at the heart of the formation, its edges sharper, more angular, a predator among beasts. Its crimson hull gleamed brighter, runes carved deep into the plating pulsing like veins carrying molten fire. It wasn’t a ship meant to ferry armies—it was a throne of war, built to carry leaders and champions.

We strode toward it, our group moving as a unit, battle-born camaraderie tightening around us like unseen chains. The ramp extended with a hiss, red vapor curling from its sides as though the ship itself exhaled heat. We ascended together, and as soon as our boots struck its polished obsidian flooring, the transformation began.

The armor that had carried us through the battle responded to the Commander’s systems. With a faint chime, nanobots released their grip, receding in liquid-like streams back into our chest medallions. The plates dissolved from our shoulders and arms, the helmets peeling away into sparks of light, until we stood lighter, stripped down, the faint glow of our medallions pulsing with residual energy. For a moment, the quiet hum of the Commander filled the space, as if the ship itself welcomed us into its heart.

The interior was alive with motion. Holo-screens flickered to life across the bulkheads, displaying star charts, fleet formations, and tactical overlays. The crystalline floor pulsed faintly, carrying the vibration of the engines as power surged through the vessel. Crimson and silver light washed over us, reflecting against our unarmored forms, painting us as shadows of war moving deeper into the belly of the beast.

The world outside vanished into streaks of light as the ship broke free from Draca’s gravity well, carrying us into the cold ocean of stars. The planet fell away beneath us, shrinking into a speck of green and blue scarred with black. Ahead, the void stretched endless, the path to Redwana marked only by star charts flickering across the glasslike walls of the Commander.

We arrived at the planet Redwana after hours of silent drifting through the blackened sea of space, the hum of the Drakkar Warship’s engines our only soundtrack. Emily was curled into my lap in the copilot’s chair, her leather jumpsuit pressing against my groin, and she shifted to get comfortable. When I was sure nobody’s eyes were on us—Valrra and Serenity were focused on their weapon diagnostics, Deathskull was speaking to the ship’s AI, and Droid L-84 was monitoring flight telemetry—I let my gauntleted hand slip behind her, grasping her firmly. The gesture was playful but charged with the heat of all our unspoken moments.

“Nice butt, Emily,” I murmured low enough so only she could hear, my voice muffled slightly by the internal comms.

She smirked without turning her head, green eyes locked on the vast expanse outside, her lips curling in quiet amusement.

Emily adjusted slightly in my lap, her eyes following the horizon of the world as the cockpit filled with the reflection of its eternal twilight. “So this is where warriors are made,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Let’s see if it lives up to the legend.”

Together, we gazed through the panoramic cockpit window as Redwana grew large in our view, a world bathed in the muted glow of a dim red dwarf star. The star’s light gave the planet’s atmosphere a permanent dusk-like hue, painting its continents in deep scarlets and wine-stained shadows. It reminded me of Crimseed—the same kind of hauntingly beautiful twilight that made a man feel like he was walking inside a dream.

The Drakkar Warship broke through the upper atmosphere with a low, resonant boom, the hull trembling slightly as we descended. The sky here was like no other—crimson and ochre clouds twisting into slow-moving spirals, their edges rimmed in deep violet where the dying star’s light met the planet’s high-altitude ice crystals. Below, mountain ranges jutted toward the heavens like jagged spines of some colossal beast, their peaks frosted with glimmering snow that reflected the red light in unsettling hues. Vast forests of towering conifers stretched across the valleys, their needles a dark wine color that shimmered when the wind caught them. Among the shadows of those woods roamed strange beasts—massive black bears crowned with golden bone-like protrusions that resembled regal headpieces. They moved with the slow, deliberate gait of apex predators, their glowing amber eyes following the movement of our ship as we passed overhead. The sight of them reminded me why this world had earned its reputation as a place where only the most disciplined warriors survived training.

Finally, as we banked hard to the east, a wide clearing opened before us, nestled at the base of a monumental cliff face. There, built from dark stone and graphene plating, stood the Redwana Training Base—its angular spires and fortified walls blending seamlessly into the mountain as if carved from the same rock. The warship’s automated landing sequence engaged, and the deep whirring of its repulsor pads signaled our slow descent into the landing bay. The hull doors beneath us yawned open, revealing the training grounds below, where ranks of young warriors moved in synchronized combat drills.

the ramp extended with a hiss of compressed steam. All nine of us disembarked together, our boots striking the dark stone with heavy, deliberate steps. The air here was biting cold, crisp enough to sting the inside of your nostrils, carrying with it the mingled scents of pine resin, fresh snow, and faint metallic tang from the graphene structures. The sound of clashing weapons echoed through the open space as apprentices sparred in the massive training field beyond, each movement precise, honed, and ruthless. Towering instructors clad in battle-worn armor stalked between the rows, barking commands in a mix of Old Norse and Galactic Common, their voices booming against the mountainside.

To our left, rows of massive war banners rippled in the icy wind, each depicting the emblem of Vikingnar—a crowned white wolf skull flanked by crossed chainswords—fluttering with proud defiance.

Farther ahead, I could see the forge district where smiths worked under glowing crucibles, hammering shungite-steel alloys into the weapons that would one day decide the fate of worlds.

Even here, in what was considered a sanctuary of training, there was no illusion of safety; the entire base felt alive with the readiness of a people who knew war was never far away. We had come to see where the next generation of warriors were forged, and already I could tell this place was no mere training ground—it was a crucible where flesh, spirit, and steel became one.

We kept walking deeper into the training ground, the rhythmic clang of weapons and the guttural sounds of exertion echoing off the fortress walls. Dust rose in faint clouds beneath the warriors’ boots as they moved in controlled formations, bodies honed and tempered in ways that revealed years of relentless discipline. Their armor, though worn, carried the scars of countless battles, proof that they had already endured the crucible of real war. Every swing of a blade was efficient, economical, and deadly precise. Shields shifted like a wall of iron; spears thrust forward as one seamless motion, sharp enough to pierce the air itself. These were no amateurs—these were soldiers forged from fire and blood, every strike a declaration of survival.

But then, beyond the polished lines of hardened fighters, my eyes caught another group. They stood apart, relegated to the far side of the grounds near the stone barriers. The contrast was jarring. Their weapons hung loose in their hands, grips unsteady, fingers fumbling as though they had only just learned how to hold steel. Their armor was standard issue—smooth, unscarred, and almost too clean, betraying how little action it had seen. Their stances sagged with uncertainty, shoulders hunched forward, and their steps lacked the rhythm of drilled cadence. They tried to mimic the advanced maneuvers of their seasoned counterparts but failed at every turn, stumbling over their own feet, striking too late, or leaving wide openings that would’ve been fatal in a real battle.

Their youth was glaring. Most were little more than boys and girls, scarcely past adolescence, the oldest perhaps in their early twenties. Their faces were unmarred by scars, cheeks still smooth, eyes wide not with ferocity but with nerves. Some looked as though they hadn’t yet shed the softness of childhood, unready to carry the weight of a warrior’s mantle. A few bore the haunted expression of those who knew they were out of their depth but had no choice but to be there.

Disappointment coiled inside me. Not because they lacked experience—experience could be earned, forged through trial. What struck me was the arrogance of the cadets, radiating off them like heat from a forge. They stood in uneven ranks, shoulders squared, chins lifted, their smirks sharp and predatory. Their armor gleamed under the dim overhead lights—polished, pristine, and meant more for show than for survival. Many of them were from the annexed territories of the Red Dragon Empire, a culture steeped in misogyny and entitlement, where warriors were taught to disdain women and treat them as weaklings.

As soon as Emily, Valrra, and the other female warriors entered the grounds, a ripple of contempt passed through the cadets. Whispered comments rose, just loud enough to carry. “Women? On the front line?” one scoffed. Another muttered, “What’s a girl gonna do against real enemies?” Their eyes, filled with arrogance, flicked toward the women like they were invaders in a sacred space. They leaned toward each other, sharing silent smirks, their posture signaling superiority and defiance.

I stepped forward, boots crunching on the stone floor, and let my gaze sweep across their ranks. “You better get used to it,” I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. “This isn’t a sausage party. We’re at war. And we need every single body we can throw at the enemy—women included.” I let the words hang, letting the weight of my tone settle over them.

A few cadets laughed, low and nervous, trying to mask the tension. One sneered, “We don’t take orders from girls. And we don’t fight alongside girls. That’s not how real warriors fight.” Another spat on the ground, muttering, “We’ll see who’s in charge when real enemies show up.”

I let the murmurs swell for a moment, then let my voice drop, low and deliberate. “Alright,” I said, eyes narrowing. “Every last one of you—step up and challenge me. Right here, right now.”

The room went silent, save for the faint hum of the training grounds. Then a ripple of laughter, half nervous, half mocking, passed through the cadets. A few exchanged glances, smirks still playing across their faces, while others tightened their grips on their weapons. They were ready to fight in their arrogance—but not yet ready to see what it meant to truly face an Immortal.

I could feel the tension in the air like a living thing, pressing down on the cadets and my own team alike. Every pair of eyes was on me now. Every smirk was a challenge, every sideways glance a test of dominance. The room smelled faintly of sweat and hot metal, of armor recently polished and weapons recently sharpened.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the silence build. “Step forward,” I said, letting the command roll through the air like a crack of thunder. “Show me what you’ve got. Show me, you’re as macho as I. —or admit you’re too weak to survive the next battle.”

The cadets shifted in place. Some hesitated, others puffed up their chests, but the arrogance still burned in their eyes. They thought they were untouchable, untaught, invincible. They didn’t know they were standing on the precipice of being unmade.

They came at me all at once. A clumsy rush of limbs, driven more by ego than by any measure of discipline. Their boots slammed against the mats, their fists raised high, but there was no coordination, no strategy — only arrogance. It was the arrogance bred into them by the Red Dragon Empire, a culture that despised hard work, despised unity, despised women, and praised only the brutal domination of the strong. I gave them someone to praise. Though, not in favor of their arrogant filled eyes, as they lunged.

I didn’t wait. I moved through them like a storm tearing across dry earth. My fists connected with bodies in rapid succession, each strike thunderous in its finality. A rib gave way beneath one punch, the sound sharp and sickening. Another jaw snapped sideways under the weight of my knuckles, the apprentice collapsing in a heap. The training hall rang with the echoes of bodies slamming into the floor - blood pooling out in a rhythm of violence that drowned out their insecurities, their sneers, their doubt.

One staggered back, clutching his chest as though the air had been ripped out of him. Another spun violently, his face twisted in pain as he hit the ground with a hollow thud. Their arrogance crumbled faster than their bodies, but some still came, blinded by pride, fear, hate, refusing to yield.

Somewhere in the chaos, the fight stopped being about them. My vision narrowed, the edges darkening until all I saw was movement — and I crushed it, again and again. My memories from the Wraith. The Maladrie’s claws in my flesh, dragging me into the black void. The suffocating darkness pressed in until I thought about breaking bones. I gave the endless, merciless pressure of the Immortal’s gaze.

And then came the darker memories — not of what had been done to me, but of what I had done in return. Those who had struck me, mocked me, underestimated me — all of them, punished. Each one a lesson written in pain. Each one a reminder that survival was a war, and I had sworn never to lose again.

The rage surged in me, uncontrollable, and my strikes became heavier, faster, crueler. One apprentice folded under a blow to the side of the head, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Another spun across the mat, limp before he hit the floor. The hall was filled now with the low groans of the beaten, their pride broken beneath my hands.

But I hardly saw them. My eyes locked on a single figure — a young man who stumbled backward, his face drained of color. His hands shot up in surrender, his lips trembling, begging without words. His body shook, and yet my fist was already drawn back, cocked high, ready to shatter him like the rest.

The world had become nothing but the weight of that moment, the unstoppable force of rage bearing down.

And then a voice cut through.

“What the hell is wrong with you! That’s enough!”

It hit me like ice water pouring over fire. My head snapped around, and there she was — Valrra. Standing between me and the boy, her boots planted like anchors, her armored shoulders squared, her glare sharper than any blade. Her presence alone was enough to stop the storm.

My breath tore in and out of my chest, ragged, uneven. I felt the tension still in my fist, the energy begging for release, but slowly… painfully… I lowered my hand.

“They’re all going to die, anyway. Especially if they can’t work with others.”

The apprentice scrambled away, dragging himself across the mats, desperate to vanish from my sight. He didn’t look back. None of them did. Especially since some of them lied on the ground, with no pulse.

I stepped past Valrra without a word. My face was a mask, hiding the war that still raged inside me. Each step was heavy, weighted with the echoes of what I had nearly done — weighted with the truth that for a moment, I had lost control.

The others — Emily, the women apprentices, the instructors — watched in silence as I crossed the hall. The pounding of my heartbeat filled my ears louder than their gazes.

When I finally reached them, I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. The silence was its own kind of judgment.

After the incident earlier, Emily didn’t appear to carry any resentment or discomfort from what had happened, her demeanor calm, almost disarmingly so. She stood with her hands loosely at her sides, eyes steady, her voice silent but her presence unshaken. That subtle indifference, however, struck a nerve with Valrra. I could see it in the sharp angle of her shoulders, in the way her arms folded tightly across her chest, and in the faint tremor that flickered at her jawline.

Tension rippled in the training hall like static before a storm. The apprentices—those who remained upright and those still groaning on the mats—watched in silence. Their earlier arrogance, their smug mutters about women on the battlefield, had withered into uneasy quiet. But the air was heavy, uncertain, and I knew if I didn’t seize this moment, the seeds of dissent would fester.

I stepped forward, my boots echoing against the steel-grated flooring, and let my voice rise to fill the chamber.

“We are in the middle of a war,” I said, my tone sharp, cutting through the silence. “A war that will decide the survival of entire worlds. There is no room for petty differences. No room for bruised pride. And no room for arrogance.”

I let my gaze sweep across the room, locking eyes with those who dared hold it, burning into those who tried to look away.

“Arrogance is a weapon you hand to the enemy. It blinds you. Makes you careless. Makes you weak. And if any of you believe that your personal feelings are more important than the mission—” I paused, letting the words hang, heavy and final, “—then you have no place here.”

The silence thickened. The apprentices shifted uneasily, the weight of my words pressing them down like gravity. A few gave stiff nods, others lowered their gazes, chastened.

I didn’t hesitate. “Those of you who can’t adapt, who can’t respect the people fighting beside you—leave. Effective immediately.”

A stunned quiet fell. My words cut deeper than any blow I had landed in the fight. The order was absolute, final.

Emily stood unmoved, her expression unreadable. But Valrra… she did not nod. She stood rigid, her lips pressed into a razor-thin line, her eyes narrowed. Disapproval radiated off her like heat. She shifted her weight, finally speaking, her voice low but edged with steel.

“You’re too quick to discard them,” she said. “We need bodies. Soldiers. Even arrogant ones. Sending them home weakens us.”

I turned my head slowly toward her, my voice calm but unyielding. “Bodies mean nothing if the minds inside them are poisoned. I’d rather fight beside ten who respect each other than a hundred who don’t.”

Valrra’s eyes burned into mine, her silence saying more than words. But she didn’t argue further. The weight of command was mine, and we both knew it.

I looked back at the apprentices, most of whom stood stiff, shoulders squared now with fear rather than pride. “This is your last warning,” I said. “Prove you belong here—or you’re gone. Survival isn’t about how hard you can swing your fists. It’s about how well you can stand together.”

The words lingered, echoing in the vaulted chamber.

Emily stepped closer then, her voice calm, measured, almost gentle in its contrast to mine. “You’ve all seen what happens when pride takes over. Learn from it. Because out there—on the battlefield—the enemy won’t stop when you beg for mercy.”

Her words carried no anger, no resentment, only truth. And that truth settled over the apprentices heavier than anything else said that day.

Valrra turned sharply, her arms still crossed, and paced away toward the far end of the hall. The faint metallic clink of her armored boots was the only sound as she disappeared into the shadows beyond the training circle. Her disapproval lingered like smoke, but I let it pass. I wasn’t here to coddle egos. I was here to build warriors who could survive what was coming.

The group stood silent, every face marked by the weight of what they had just witnessed. The arrogance that had once defined them was broken, scattered like the echoes still ringing across the steel floor.

The apprentices moved slowly, uncertainly, their eyes avoiding mine, their footsteps uneven as they filed out of the hall. Emily remained at my side, her gaze soft but unreadable, while the vast chamber slowly emptied.

With that matter settled, I turned to Deathskull, my voice steady but carrying the gravity of command. “Dispatch the fleet to our location,” I ordered. “We leave Redwana soon. Those who’ve proven themselves worthy will march with us. No exceptions.”

Deathskull gave a short nod, his helmet’s red optics flashing as he tapped into his comm-link. His voice dropped into a low, mechanical growl as he relayed my orders to the waiting command ships in orbit. The faint crackle of the channel carried through the hall, alien syllables layered with code-phrases, the language of war.

While he spoke, I turned to the more experienced apprentices who kept quiet—those who had stood unflinching under tests, their discipline sharper than their inexperience, their arrogance tossed in the gutter. They stood taller now, their backs straightened, chests drawn high as if the simple act of being recognized filled their lungs with new air. Their eyes met mine with cautious pride, but I did not let them linger there long.

“You’ve been weighed and measured,” I told them, my tone cutting through the stillness like steel through cloth. “And you have not been found wanting. You’ve proven that when pressed, you can hold your ground. That when tested, you can rise above your own doubts. You have earned your place beside us.”

A ripple moved through them, a mix of relief and the grim realization of what came next. One of the humble younger warriors, his armor still scuffed from training, clenched his fist against his chest in salute. I recognized in his gaze the hunger of a warrior who knew he had just crossed a threshold—one he could never retreat from.

But I did not let them bask in triumph. My tone hardened, iron in the fire. “Understand this: you’ve passed one test. Only one. The real war is worse than anything you’ve endured here. Out there, hesitation kills. Pride kills. And if you fail your brothers and sisters beside you, you kill them as surely as if you’d driven the blade yourself.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the truth of it.

Then I turned my gaze on the others who I personally beaten to a pulp—the ones who had faltered. Their shoulders sagged, eyes downcast, as if the weight of failure pressed them into the steel floor. They had seen the same test, felt the same fire, and been found unworthy.

“To the rest of you…” I let the pause hang, my voice low, steady, unyielding. “You will not risk the lives of true warriors by carrying dead weight into battle. You’re expelled from training.”

The words fell like hammer strikes. A murmur spread among them—anger, disbelief, shame. A few tried to hold themselves tall, but their eyes betrayed them. One stepped forward, his voice quivering but defiant. “That’s it? After everything? You just cast us aside?”

I met his gaze without blinking. “I don’t cast you aside. You’ve done that yourselves. The battlefield will not forgive arrogance. And neither will I.”

The young man’s jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, to spit back words, but he couldn’t. He knew what would happen if he did. He lowered his head, shoulders folding inward, and stepped back into the line of the rejected.

When the last of the insecure incel queers were gone, I exhaled a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The silence that followed was different now—no longer heavy with tension, but with the clarity of a battlefield after smoke clears.

From the corner of my vision, Emily stood with her arms crossed, helmet cradled at her side, her expression unreadable but her green eyes sharp, unwavering. Valrra, on the other hand, shifted her weight with visible agitation, her disapproval simmering beneath her calm exterior. But neither interrupted. The judgment had already been passed.

Deathskull turned back to me then, his voice a low rumble through the modulator. “Fleet acknowledges, my lord. They are en route to orbit above Redwana. Estimated arrival: two minutes.”

“Good,” I replied. My gaze swept the hall one last time, settling on the chosen. “The line has been drawn. You know where you stand. And from this moment forward, there is no turning back.”

The chamber was silent. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Those who had been chosen stood taller still, ready—or at least pretending to be—for the war that waited just beyond the stars. And those who had failed remained frozen in place, their futures cut short in an instant, left behind on a world that would no longer serve as their gateway to glory. I turned, and strode toward the exit with Emily and Deathskull at my sides. Behind us, the weight of my decree lingered, carved into the hearts of every apprentice who had witnessed it.

Outside the compound.

The ships descended from the heavens like iron leviathans, their engines growling as they cut through the thin crimson skies of Redwana. They glided past the snow-laden mountain ridges, their hulls gleaming in the pale light, shadows stretching long across the jagged peaks. The roar of their descent carried across the valleys, sending flocks of alien birds scattering from the blood-red forests below. One by one, the Drakkar carriers touched down on the hardened plains near the compound, their landing struts sinking deep into the frost-hardened earth with a thunderous impact.

The newly-graduated warriors—Anglo Saxon and Viking alike—marched with grim resolve toward the carriers. Their armor clattered, their furs and leathers shifting in the icy wind as they hefted crates of weapons, shields, and gear up the boarding ramps. Each man and woman bore the weight of destiny on their shoulders, their faces hardened by the trials they had endured. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. They had been forged into warriors here on Redwana, and now they were leaving it behind as soldiers of the fleet.

Meanwhile, the nine of us—Valrra, Cole, Hanna, Serenity, Droid L-84, Deathskull, Haj Tooth, Emily, and I—broke from the gathered ranks and made our way to the largest vessel among them: the Drakkar Commander. The flagship loomed like a fortress of steel, its angular frame bristling with cannons and towers, runes of power etched into its armored plating that shimmered faintly under the crimson glow. Its presence alone commanded silence and respect, a warship that bore the soul of an empire.

The boarding ramp extended with a groaning hiss, releasing a breath of cool, metallic air as if the ship itself exhaled in welcome. We stepped inside as one, boots echoing against the iron floor, our path lit by the low pulse of navigation lights that stretched down the narrow corridors. The hum of the ship was steady beneath our feet, alive with restrained power.

At last we arrived on the bridge, its vast windows opening out into the crimson skies of Redwana. From this vantage point, the planet spread below us in all its alien majesty—the serrated mountains wrapped in snow, the endless forests dyed in shades of blood and rust, and the compound we had called home reduced to a dark scar upon the land. As the Drakkar Commander lifted from the ground, the other carriers rising in formation around us, the surface began to fall away. The warriors we left behind became distant shadows, the mountains shrank, and the sky itself thinned into the void.

Redwana unraveled beneath us, a memory fading with every passing second. The blackness of space swallowed the horizon, and ahead lay only the stars—silent, eternal, and waiting to test us. The war was coming, and only the worthy would face it.

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CHAPTER 18: "THE LESSON" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"