CHAPTER 23: "STAGNANT" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 23: "STAGNANT" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

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Drifting among the broken remains of Abraxas, our bodies floated weightlessly, half-lucid in the cold void. The shattered fragments of the planet still glimmered faintly in the darkness like dying embers scattered across an endless black ocean. Emily’s hand brushed against mine, weightless, fragile, but her eyes were closed — not in peace, but in exhaustion. Around us, Anisia, Hanna, Cole, Pete, Mathew, Rick, Jimmy, Elizabeth, and even Droid L-84 drifted like ghosts in an interstellar graveyard.

Then, out of the silence, came the low mechanical hum of an approaching vessel. It was no shining beacon of salvation — the thing looked as if it had been stitched together from the wreckage of old battleships, its hull scorched, its engines wheezing like a dying beast. Crude metal plates patched its surface, and faint runes of Troll origin glowed faintly on its sides. Despite its battered look, it moved with grim purpose.

A deep, resonating vibration spread through the vacuum as a gravity beam shot out from its undercarriage. The green-white beam enveloped us, pulling our limp bodies toward the ship. Pieces of planetary debris drifted alongside us, deflecting off the gravity field like sparks against a magnet. The cargo bay doors yawned open, and we were dragged inside, the last light of the dead planet fading behind us.

The bay was pitch-black at first — metallic, cold, filled with the faint echo of dripping coolant and the groaning of old machinery. When the gravity field deactivated, we fell gently onto a grated floor. My breathing mask fogged with condensation as I slowly regained my senses.

I turned my head and saw Emily lying beside me. Her dark hair floated slightly in the low gravity, her eyes distant, glassy. I reached out and helped her up. She didn’t say a word — her silence was heavy as the gravity of the ship flared again, after the cargo bay's green energy shield closed. Around us, the others stirred: Anisia rubbing her forehead, Cole checking for injuries, Hanna clutching her ribs, Mathew coughing through his rebreather. Pete and Rick sat up against the wall, groggy but alive. Elizabeth glanced at the door in suspicion, while Droid L-84 lay motionless, his systems flickering dimly from internal resets.

The only sounds were the deep, mechanical groans of the vessel. No music. No voices. Just the heartbeat of machinery keeping us alive for reasons we didn’t yet know.

Then came the heavy clanking of footsteps — boots against metal — echoing closer. The door hissed open with a screech that reverberated through the hold. A faint amber light poured in, revealing the towering silhouette of a Troll.

It was him.

Sigvard.

The same Troll who had escaped Anubis’s lair — the same one who had led the rebel horde on Abraxas before Deathskull’s sphere obliterated it. He filled the doorway like a mountain given form, his armor mismatched and scarred, forged crudely yet unmistakably strong. Unlike the more brutish Trolls that served under Anubis, Sigvard’s features bore a regal brutality — his face resembled that of a mandrill, with streaks of blue and red painted across his muzzle, faded yet symbolic of some ancient Troll lineage. His tusks were gold-tipped, his eyes burning with grim intelligence.

Behind him, several Troll warriors stood guard. Their armor was patchwork, salvaged from the ruins of their fallen kin, and yet their presence commanded respect.

Sigvard’s gaze fell on me — recognition in his deep, amber eyes.

I steadied myself and asked, voice still raw from dehydration, “Do you know where we can find the Rus Vikings?”

He tilted his head, suspicious but intrigued. “Why?” he growled, his tone carrying both curiosity and warning.

“So we can figure out why our dear Metallic Asshole betrayed us — and our people.”

For a moment, Sigvard said nothing. His broad shoulders rose and fell in contemplation, then he gave a low grunt — a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Granted,” he said finally. “I’ve heard of a temperate planet said to house a Rus Viking base. Maybe even a village or two.”

“Good,” I replied, locking eyes with him. “Please take us there.”

Sigvard’s expression hardened. “I’m going to have to keep you guys in here for security reasons.”

I nodded slowly. I understood. He had no reason to trust us either — not after what he’d seen, after the slaughter on Abraxas. “Do what you must,” I said.

Sigvard gave a short nod to his warriors and turned toward the exit. The door hissed closed behind them, sealing us once more in the dim cargo bay.

Cole broke the silence, muttering as he leaned against a crate. “Are we really going to trust a Troll?”

I turned my gaze to the sealed door, the metallic clang of Sigvard’s retreating steps fading away into the ship’s depths. “We’ve got no choice,” I said, my voice low, resolute.

Around us, the dim lights flickered — a faint hum of engines began to resonate beneath our feet as the vessel changed course. The sound was oddly comforting, like the rhythm of a heartbeat returning after death.

Emily finally looked up, her green eyes catching the faint light. Her expression was unreadable — sorrow, anger, exhaustion, maybe all three at once. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to.

For the first time since Abraxas fell, we were moving again.

But none of us knew where this path would lead — or if the world Sigvard spoke of truly existed.

Outside, the stars stretched endlessly — a silent audience to our uncertain fate.

Meanwhile, far beyond the drifting debris fields that once marked Abraxas’s orbit, the Drakkar Commander—a sleek and monstrous vessel of hybrid Necro-Tech and Viking origin—cut through the void like a blackened blade. Its hull shimmered faintly under cloaking fields, absorbing starlight as it moved. The ship’s design was angular, predatory, its surface brimming with pulsating crimson veins of energy that looked more organic than mechanical.

Inside, the bridge of the Drakkar Commander was alive with low, thrumming energy. The air itself carried the faint scent of ozone and burnt metal, every surface slick with shadowy reflections of red light. Panels of holographic runes hovered above obsidian consoles, and the entire command deck curved outward like a cathedral of war—silent except for the hum of engines and the steady tapping of Anubis’s clawed fingers against a console.

At the center stood Maladrie, her dark, uncanny beauty illuminated by the glow of the runic displays. Her eyes reflected the vastness of space as she stared out through the panoramic window, where the flickering trail of the Troll vessel—Sigvard’s ship—could be seen gliding through the black expanse.

Her voice broke the silence, sharp and disdainful.

“Why are we following this chunk of shit, of a spacecraft?”

Anubis stood nearby, towering and composed, his jackal-like features emotionless as his golden armor glowed faintly in the bridge’s light. His voice rumbled like a storm restrained by command.

“Our rebellious Troll Sigvard is on that ship.”

Maladrie’s lips curled into a sly smirk, though her tone dripped with venomous boredom.

“Where in the hell are they going?”

Anubis’s gaze shifted to the holographic projection in front of him—an image of the Troll ship slowly gliding toward a blue-green planet ahead.

“They’re heading to some irrelevant rock,” he said flatly, flicking in mild irritation.

Maladrie’s smirk widened into something more sinister. She turned toward the forward viewport, her form casting a long shadow across the polished floor.

“Good,” she purred. “I’ll send some of my best warriors to fuck up the ship, and accelerate it and its cargo to their intended destination.”

Her words hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop.

Anubis gave a slow, approving nod. “Efficient,” he said, his tone darkly satisfied.

In the corner, partially enshrouded by a veil of holographic mist, Deathskull stood at a control station—his metallic frame motionless except for the soft hum of his internal servos. The crimson glow from his visor pulsed once, and without a word, he raised one hand over a set of projected symbols.

The Drakkar Commander’s cloaking systems surged to full power.

The vessel’s structure shimmered, bending the light around it until the enormous warship vanished entirely from sight. The stars filled in the void it once occupied, as though it had never been there at all.

Silent. Invisible. Deadly.

The hunt continued.

Back aboard Sigvard’s vessel, the situation was far more primitive.

The ship’s bridge was cluttered, dimly lit by the glow of outdated control panels and holographic maps that flickered sporadically. Wires hung from the ceiling like vines, the air thick with the scent of oil, sweat, and recycled oxygen.

Sigvard leaned over the main console, barking quiet orders in his gravelly voice as his Troll pilots navigated the dense asteroid drift ahead. The large viewport displayed the vast emptiness of space ahead, with faint readings on radar that indicated gravitational anomalies—but nothing more.

To the untrained eye, they were alone.

The Troll pilot at the navigation seat squinted at his console, the radar feed flickering strangely. He tapped the screen with a clawed finger, then froze as static crawled across every display.

“Chief,” he said cautiously, voice low and tense. “We’re being followed.”

Those words hit the air like a hammer.

Sigvard straightened immediately, his nostrils flaring. The lights on the bridge dimmed, flickered, then began to pulse with a rhythmic red warning flash.

“Show me,” he ordered.

But the pilot’s trembling claws hovered uselessly above the console. Every holographic readout flickered, then went black. One by one, the auxiliary systems shut down. Sparks erupted from a panel near the door, and an alarm blared through the ship — not a loud, roaring klaxon, but a low, gut-wrenching wail that seemed to crawl beneath the skin.

The lights strobed, casting the Trolls in flashes of red and shadow.

“Every control—locked!” shouted another pilot.

The doors along the bridge and throughout the vessel are sealed with a metallic thud, locking down with magnetic force. The Trolls tried to override them, but the manual panels hissed and sparked as if the circuits themselves were fighting back.

The entire ship began to shudder, its engines roaring unevenly as external force overrides took control.

Sigvard gritted his teeth and slammed his fist against the console. The screen flashed briefly before going dead again.

“Someone’s hijacking us,” he growled, tusks glinting in the red light.

Deep in the hull, the faint sound of metal grinding echoed through the corridors, almost like laughter—mechanical, hollow, and distant.

Outside, invisible to all sensors, the Drakkar Commander remained in pursuit, cloaked and watching.

It's dark silhouette moved like a phantom across the stars, unseen and unstoppable, as Maladrie’s demons prepared to strike.

The cargo hall was trembling violently, lights flashing crimson as the shrill alarm wailed through the chamber like a metallic scream. The air was thick with static energy, and the smell of scorched wiring mixed with iron and oil. Shadows stretched long across the floor, bending against the strobing lights. Emily, Anisia, Hanna, Cole, Pete, Mathew, Rick, Jimmy, Elizabeth, Droid L-84, and I turned in unison toward the far corners of the room—toward the sudden, unnatural movement within the darkness.

Out of that gloom, dark orange figures began to materialize, glowing faintly with an ember-like hue. Their forms flickered as though carved from molten shadows, sinewy and fluid—demonic warriors that bore an uncanny resemblance to those we’d fought in the Wraith realms. Their eyes burned like molten metal as they fully stepped into existence, brandishing weapons that hissed with energy and reeked of corruption.

The largest one spoke in a garbled, otherworldly tongue before lunging.

We reacted instantly.

The cargo hall, vast and industrial, became our battlefield—its metallic floor clanging beneath boots and claws, crates tumbling as energy sparks lit up the chaos. Emily moved like a streak of lightning, slicing through one demon’s chest with her sword as it shrieked and dissolved into orange vapor. Cole and Mathew fought back to back, their plasma-edged blades cutting through demon flesh that hissed like burning tar.

I swung Revenge, my chainsword roaring to life, cleaving through another fiend with a violent spray of glowing embers. The stench of burnt ozone filled the hall. “Keep your guard up!” I shouted, cutting through another as its claws grazed my armor.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped—then rose sharply again—as a massive hellspawn emerged from the far bulkhead. It towered over us, easily twice my height, its body rippling with veins of liquid fire and teeth of obsidian. The floor shook as it stepped forward, its voice a guttural growl that rattled through our chests.

Emily’s gaze met mine. No words were needed.

We charged.

The beast swung an enormous claw that sent metal crates flying. Emily ducked low while I struck high—Revenge met its arm, grinding through fiery flesh with a roar of sparks. The monster howled and swung again, but Emily was already behind it, plunging her sword deep into its spine. Together, we moved as one rhythm—cutting, dodging, striking—until its molten form cracked apart and collapsed into a pool of dying embers.

For a brief second, there was silence—then the floor shuddered.

Back on the bridge, Sigvard and his Troll warriors were under siege.

Demonic figures erupted through the metallic walls like smoke turned solid, tearing into the Troll crew with savage precision. Sparks exploded from the consoles as the bridge descended into pandemonium. Troll pilots were dragged from their seats and impaled before they could scream.

Sigvard swung his jagged sword into one demon’s skull, snarling. “Hold them back!” he roared.

But amidst the chaos, no one noticed the flickering symbols on the main console—the autopilot had been seized. The demonic presence wasn’t just physical; it was digital, infiltrating the vessel’s systems like a virus.

One Troll pilot, bleeding from a wound across his chest, slammed his fist against a control panel. “They’ve locked us out!” he growled.

The demons, their mission complete, began to flicker and fade, their bodies dissolving into the air. They de-materialized, vanishing back into the safety of the Wraith with eerie smirks—leaving the bridge soaked in blood and fire.

“Cowards,” Sigvard spat, wiping demon blood from his cheek—only to turn and see the worst of it.

The autopilot’s trajectory was now locked, pointing directly toward the planet ahead. A blue-green world loomed large through the viewport, the atmosphere glowing faintly. The ship was descending fast.

“Brace yourselves!” Sigvard barked, rushing to override the controls. Sparks burst from the panels as he forced manual control, the metal beneath his claws glowing red-hot. “I’ll get us down!"

Back in the cargo bay, the tremors intensified. Crates tumbled like dice. The lights went white-hot, then flickered out completely.

The demons we had just fought suddenly vanished, their bodies melting into air, retreating through invisible gateways back into the Wraith. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant rumble of engines losing altitude.

“They’re gone,” Cole breathed.

“Cowards,” I muttered, lowering Revenge.

Then the whole ship lurched violently.

“Everyone—turn on your gravity feet!” I shouted.

Our suits’ magnetic systems engaged with metallic clicks. The gravity stabilizers hummed as boots locked onto the floor. Crates flew past us, slamming into walls. One massive container came loose and shot toward Anisia—it caught her shoulder and sent her spinning across the floor.

I moved to help, but she waved me off, muttering something under her breath. She groaned, pushing herself up as sparks danced around her. From behind me, even over the sound of chaos, I could’ve sworn I heard Emily’s quiet chuckle—a brief, fleeting moment of humanity amid the storm.

On the bridge, Sigvard’s claws danced across controls. Through the viewport, the planet’s atmosphere filled the sky in a fiery glow. Clouds streaked past as the ship began to burn on entry.

“There’s a lake!” one of the surviving pilots shouted.

Sigvard’s eyes darted toward the glimmering surface ahead—a massive alpine lake surrounded by dense forest. “We’ll aim for that!” he commanded, gripping the helm. “Deploy the parachute!”

The command was obeyed—but there was one fatal flaw.

The thrusters were mounted at the front of the ship. The parachute, at the rear.

As the chute opened, the entire vessel wrenched apart. Metal screamed. The ship’s midsection tore open like a splitting ribcage.

The tail section—where we were—snapped away, spinning violently before plunging straight into the lake below. Water exploded upward as the hull shattered, metal shrieking as it hit the surface.

Inside, we fought to free ourselves from debris. I ripped open the emergency hatch with brute strength, flooding light into the dark compartment.

“Move!” I shouted, breaking through a submerged corridor.

Emily was the first out, pulling Hanna and Elizabeth behind her. We swam through the freezing water, surfacing near the jagged remains of the hull. The wind howled, rain pelting our armor as we crawled onto the muddy shore.

Steam rose from the lake where the tail had sunk.

Behind us, Droid L-84’s systems flickered back online, his optics glowing faintly as he climbed from the wreckage, dripping wet but functional.

We made it.

Meanwhile, several kilometers away, the cockpit section slammed through the alpine forest, tearing down trees and scattering rock. When the smoke cleared, the Troll survivors groaned within their dented command module.

Sigvard coughed, moving past a Troll pilot barfing in the emergency doggy bags. Sigvard was on his knees slamming his fist into the floor. “I’ve got to make sure my engineers don’t eat mushrooms before handing me a spacecraft!” he roared.

His words echoed through the wreckage as the wind outside whistled across the cratered earth—marking the end of the fall and the beginning of what came next.

We trudged away from the shattered hull and the steaming lake, boots sucking at the sodden earth as we threaded into the temperate rainforest. The trees closed around us like cathedral pillars—immense trunks that rose so high their crowns vanished into a low, misted sky. Their bark was a mosaic of deep purples and iron-black veins, and moss fell from branches in long, silent curtains. The air smelled of wet loam and resin; every breath tasted like ancient soil. We moved in a loose line, slow and careful, the wreck’s aftermath still heavy on us. Our armor sat inert in tiny silver disks against our chests; powered down, they were nothing but jewelry. It made walking easier, lighter—more human.

Eventually the forest thinned and opened into a clearing, a wide, grassy basin ringed by trunks that looked like mountains. The light dropped down through the canopy in shafts, glancing off the wet blades of grass. We formed a scattered circle, soaked and tired, each of us carrying the weight of what we’d seen. The broken fragments of the tail section drifted somewhere behind the tree line, a reminder that safety was a fragile thing.

From the edge of the clearing, Jimmy’s voice rang out, thin with exhaustion. “Where are we going?”

I pointed, the motion slow, toward the darker slope up the ridge where the cockpit metal had finally come to rest. “Over there. The rest of the ship crashed up the mountain.”

I turned to the group. “Power down your armor, we’ll be lighter without it.” The words were practical, not tender, but they were met with small gestures—hands to medallions, soft clicks as armor whispered back into the silver cores embedded in the chest region of our leather undersuits. We watched the nanoweb draw back into each disk until nothing remained but cloth, leather, and the scars we carried beneath.

Emily stretched her shoulders, looking up into the living cathedral of trees. “The trees are also the size of mountains,” she said, voice half-wonder, half-fatigue.

She sank onto a moss-covered stump. “We should stop & rest here,” she added.

“Why?” I asked, not unkind but wanting to move, wanting momentum. The war still hummed under our skin.

“Because I want to know if Anisia had sex with you?” Her question landed like a stone in a quiet pond. Branches whispered overhead.

I felt the clearing tilt for a moment. “Let’s not attack each other now, Emily.” The words were careful. We had already been broken thin by betrayals and explosions; there was no need to pick at fresh wounds.

“Says the same guy who’s keeping secrets from them,” Emily shot back, blunt as a blade.

Cole, who’d been cleaning grit from a broken blade, looked up in genuine confusion. “What is she talking about?”

Emily turned on me with that direct look she always used when she would not be bluffed. She pressed until I folded. There was no grand reveal—only the heavy, ordinary mechanics of confession.

“Cole... Anisia,” I said, and then with a breath I hadn’t planned, I said the thing that had sat in my chest too long. Looking at Anisia, at the woman who’d sprawled nearby and tried so hard to be fierce, I said, “I am not just William. I am William Warner, we met each other before our lives became a sci-fi epic. Sounds corny, but we already met during summer school at Gilbert High-School... Sorry.”

Anisia’s face went as if someone had touched a raw nerve. Tears gathered quickly, her composure cracking. The clearing filled with a stunned hush; leaves shivered as though the trees themselves braced.

Cole’s confusion turned into a baffled, incredulous laugh that sounded wrong in the solemn air. “What? How? Like what the fuck happened to you? Why are you a masculine furry? It’s very off putting in so many ways.” His words were clumsy, but they cut through the fog of tension and made us human in the moment—awkward, vulnerable, ridiculous.

I let the explanation tumble out, bare and blunt and more honest than I’d planned. “While you were asleep, I was teleported into this setting without due process, and was injured during the process. They placed my consciousness into this new body, and the rest is history.”

Anisia’s tears blurred the world for her. “Why would you keep this a secret?” she asked, voice small and raw.

There were a hundred reasons that lined up like stones in my throat, but I didn’t hide from them now. “They’re many reasons. Were in the middle of a fucking war, a betrayal by the government, and speaking of betrayal, I simply got trust issues. I’ve been betrayed by allies, and didn't want attachment, so if any of you betrayed me I won’t feel disappointed.”

She folded in on herself, hurt and bewilderment mixing into something that looked like an accusation. “Will, I feel like you used me!” Her words were not quiet. They were the honest strike of someone who’d been given a simple, private thing and discovered it was not theirs alone.

“Actually, it’s the other way around!” Emily answered, quick to Anisia’s defense as if she already inhabited the truth.

After a long, tensioned pause, Emily stood and guided Anisia away from the circle, toward a shallow wash where the ground fell away and the air felt thinner. The two of them retreated a few yards—alone but not solitary—leaving the rest of us to sit with the revelation.

We stayed together in that conifer prairie, the forest breathing around us, while Emily and Anisia talked. From where we were, voices softened into the hush of private conversation. When they returned, Anisia had sat on a rock, small and composed in a way that made the lines around her eyes look deeper.

Emily’s voice carried back to us clearly enough. “You have to realize whatever you think William wants, he doesn’t. Ever since he was captured in the Wraith, and was sexually abused by Maladrie... He’s been struggling with his lust, and his boundaries to say ‘no’ to ladies like you.”

Anisia closed her eyes and let the words settle. When she opened them, the answer was quiet but resolute. “Ok, I understand now... I also did in fact have sex with him.”

The admission hung in the clean air like an exhaled breath. It was small and terrible and true.

Emily, without warning and with a sound like a small slap of rain, brought the back of her hand across Anisia’s face. The motion was sharp, half-reproof, half-anger. “Just don’t do it again, otherwise there will be more than that came from.”

The light in the clearing had dimmed to a copper-green, the kind that comes before dusk in alien forests. While Emily and Anisia talked among the rocks and shallow stream beyond the tree line, the rest of us sat in the conifer grass, scattered and half-broken, catching our breath. The air smelled of resin and ozone, a strange combination of nature and old technology. Small spores drifted through the sunlight like glowing dust motes, their faint bioluminescence giving the place an unearthly shimmer.

Cole was the first to break the quiet. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking at me with an uncertain expression. “So why do you have trust issues?” he asked.

I looked at him for a long moment, the words I’d already said echoing in my mind. “I already told you,” I said slowly. “I was betrayed multiple times. Let’s just say, I had a friend once who didn’t have my back during a conflict. And now, we’ve been betrayed by a rogue AI who I thought would govern us. I made too many mistakes trusting the wrong people or things.”

Cole nodded, his face drawn and thoughtful. “Do you trust us?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. The word came out quietly, but with weight. The truth was complicated, but I meant it.

Pete, who’d been silent most of the time, shifted where he sat. His eyes met mine, sharp and searching. “Can we trust you?” he asked.

“That depends on what you want me to be trusted with,” I said. “Your secrets, that I’m reliable, or if I’m moral?”

Pete didn’t flinch. “My secrets. Jimmy and I are together.”

I blinked at him. “Why would I care?”

“Then why does Emily seem so strict?” Pete countered, his tone suddenly defensive, as if he’d already been judged by her before.

I sighed, letting the truth slip through. “Because Emily and I made an agreement with each other—to not break each other’s loyalty. It’s funny how…” I looked down at the moss-covered ground beneath me. “I’m worried about betrayal, and yet I keep letting Emily down.”

Cole rubbed the back of his neck. “Is it really your fault though? I heard you were made that way due to your time in the Wraith.”

Mathew, ever the joker, leaned back against a log. “I also hear the goddess of excess is really hot, so I understand your troubles.”

“Mathew, stop!” Elizabeth snapped, her voice sharp as broken glass.

Mathew did stop, and changed his tone. "Your wife is very pretty Will, and you shouldn't cheat on her again. If you continue to disrespect her like that, I will not trust you. Maladrie is just an empty vessel."

I raised my hand. “Mathew you a point.” I turned to him. “And Mathew, I assure you Maladrie is really evil. I’ve seen how her excessive pleasures lead to the pain of others—through torture, and humiliation. She’s been known to cut damned souls apart and reconfigure them into living furniture.”

A cold silence spread across the group. Even Mathew’s smirk faded, replaced with unease.

Hanna spoke next, voice low and careful. “Does she always have the urge to work with creepy figures like Deathskull? If so, who else has she corrupted?”

“Of course,” I said, my tone firm. “As for any others she’s corrupted beyond the stars, I can only guess. It’s definitely not the Rus Vikings though.”

Mathew cleared his throat, regaining a bit of his usual levity. “What if it’s aliens?”

I stood up from the conifer grass, brushing off my palms. The bioluminescent spores swirled around me like faint embers. “If it’s aliens next, we have the Vikingnar Republic to save.”

The mood sobered again as I looked at each of them in turn. “All I ask,” I said, my voice serious now, “is can I trust you guys to criticize or judge me—or Emily—when we need it.”

There was a long pause. The forest breathed around us, the distant sound of a waterfall echoing through the mist. Finally, Rick, the quietest among us, spoke. “Maybe,” he said simply.

I stared at him, half expecting more—but there was nothing else. Just that one, cautious word.

It stunned me more than silence. Nobody was being direct, and yet maybe that was honesty in itself.

Moments later, I heard footsteps through the ferns. Emily and Anisia were returning from their private talk. Emily’s stride was calm, collected; Anisia trailed behind, head bowed, her expression unreadable except for the faint tightness in her jaw.

Without saying a word, Emily slipped her hand into mine. Her fingers were warm, grounding. We didn’t need to speak. Behind us, Anisia followed, pouting quietly, her envy obvious even through her attempt to look indifferent.

The eleven of us gathered our things, the silver medallions on our chests glinting faintly in the dying light. The air hummed with a faint electronic undertone—the forest alive, whispering, ancient yet touched by circuitry.

We began walking again, boots sinking into the damp moss as the mountain loomed ahead, its summit cloaked in cloud and smoke. Somewhere up there lay the cockpit of the crashed spacecraft—our next destination, our next test, and perhaps, another betrayal waiting to unfold.

The forest held its breath. Around us, the sunlight shifted and fell across the clearing in pale bands. We were a broken, ragged company—warriors and survivors—but in that fragile circle, the raw truth had been laid down like a map. Trust had to be rebuilt or it would not be survived. We rose, smoothed our clothes, picked grit from hair and armor disks, and began toward the mountain where the cockpit lay—each of us carrying new knowledge and the heavier burden that truth always brings.

The wind howled down the mountainside, carrying with it the metallic tang of ozone and scorched soil. Smoke from the wreckage still drifted through the towering pines, curling upward in lazy spirals that disappeared into the thick, gray clouds. The cockpit of the dismantled spacecraft had split open like a ribcage, its frame jutting out at odd angles, sparks still flickering from severed wires. The terrain was damp and slick from the steam of the crash lake far below.

We made our way carefully through the debris field until we reached what remained of the ship’s bridge. Sigvard and a handful of his Troll warriors were still alive—burned, battered, but breathing. Their armor was blackened and dented, their tusked faces streaked with grime and streaks of alien blood. The sight of them standing among the molten wreckage was a grim reminder of how fragile survival had become.

I approached Sigvard, who was limping but upright, leaning against a bent steel panel for balance. “Do you still have a clue on how to reach a Rus Viking base?” I asked.

Before he could even open his mouth, a sudden, vibrating hum filled the air—low, rhythmic, mechanical. It reverberated through the wreckage, through our armor, through our bones. The Troll warriors raised their weapons in alarm. The air shimmered, as if the world itself was glitching, and then—one by one—figures began to emerge from the distortion.

They de-cloaked silently.

An entire squad of Rus Viking warriors materialized around the wreckage, their armor catching the dim light with a subdued, predatory gleam. Their suits were crafted from pale army-green and black graphene plating, interwoven with gunmetal-gray chainmail that flexed with each movement. The visors on their helmets glowed an ominous red, two narrow eyes that pulsed faintly like breathing embers.

Their weapons were unlike anything I’d seen. Red energy shields flared to life in their left hands, translucent yet alive with power, and their right hands gripped swords that radiated plasma heat. Some blades mirrored the ancient Viking design—broad, heavy, engraved with runic circuitry that shimmered faintly with every pulse. Others curved elegantly, shaped more like fauchions or katanas, humming with razor energy that distorted the air around them.

And then, from behind them, their leaders stepped forward. These ones wore armor that was sleeker, darker, more ceremonial. Their helmets bore crested ridges reminiscent of samurai kabuto, and their movements were controlled, silent, and precise. The mix of Norse ferocity and Eastern discipline gave them an almost divine presence—warriors of two eras merged into one, shaped by technology and tradition alike.

The air between us was thick with tension. Our group instinctively tightened formation—Emily at my side, her hand brushing the hilt of her blade; Anisia still shaken but alert; Cole and Pete scanning the treeline for hidden threats. The surviving Trolls snarled low under their breath, unsure whether to attack or submit.

Then, through the haze, one of the armored leaders stepped closer. His voice came through a voice modulator that gave it a faint metallic resonance, like two tones overlapping. “We’ve been expecting you,” he said, his red visor narrowing as he studied me. “We saw your breach of the atmosphere from a mile away.”

A long silence followed. Even the forest seemed to hush.

Then, with a slow gesture, he turned his blade downward and pointed toward the distant valley. “Follow us,” he continued. “Our base is not far from here.”

He motioned for his warriors to fall in formation, and the others obeyed without a word. Their synchronization was uncanny—every step, every motion calculated.

We looked at each other, unsure. Fourteen souls—eleven of us, Sigvard, and two surviving Trolls—now surrounded by an army we barely understood. But what choice did we have?

Emily gave me a small nod, quiet but resolute. I returned it, tightening my grip on my weapon before turning to the others. “We go,” I said.

And so, we followed.

The Rus Vikings moved like shadows, their armor faintly humming with an energy field that repelled the falling mist. The trail led us through towering trees whose trunks glowed faintly with bioluminescent veins, their roots interwoven with metal conduits that pulsed with a dull red current. Nature and technology fused seamlessly here—an ecosystem half alive, half manufactured.

As we marched, I caught glimpses of alien wildlife slinking through the underbrush: crystalline beetles that scuttled on transparent legs, serpents with scales that flickered like static, and owl-like creatures with holographic feathers. The air was rich with the sound of power sources deep underground—a faint hum that vibrated through the soles of our boots.

Ahead, the lead Viking raised a hand, signaling for silence. Through the canopy, we could now see faint red lights pulsing in rhythm—beacons. Towers of metal rising above the trees. Their base wasn’t hidden underground or buried in ruins; it was alive within the forest itself, built vertically around colossal tree trunks.

We reached the edge of a ridge, and before us sprawled the Rus Viking stronghold—an architectural fusion of ancient mead hall and futuristic fortress. Gigantic roots of steel and wood intertwined, forming bridges and terraces. Runes glowed across the walls like neon circuitry, shifting patterns as if breathing. Hovercrafts rested on platforms shaped like carved stone shields. Banners of crimson light fluttered, displaying the symbol of a wolf intertwined with circuitry.

One of the samurai-like leaders turned to us once more. “Welcome,” he said simply. “To Skogheim— one of the last Rus Viking strongholds.”

We stood there, stunned by its beauty and its menace. Emily looked up at the burning banners and whispered, “It’s like Valhalla… reimagined.” She held my hand tighter.

And at that moment, I couldn’t help but agree. But deep down, I wondered—had we really found allies? Or had we just stepped into another gilded cage waiting to test our trust all over again?

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CHAPTER 23: "STAGNANT" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"