CHAPTER 26: "CUTTING TIES" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 26: "CUTTING TIES" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

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The cold winds of Skogheim howled across the frostbitten plains, sweeping through the towering pines that framed the fortified Rus Viking settlement. The sky was a bleak hue of silver-blue, its light refracted through the frozen mist that hung in the air like the breath of sleeping giants. As we approached the massive gates of the city, escorted by the enigmatic Samuel Kin, the sound of machinery and the distant rhythm of forges echoed through the mountain valley. The settlement was an impressive fusion of ancient Norse architecture and advanced nanotech engineering—a city both of runes and circuitry.

Samuel walked at the front of our group, his armor—an elegant mix of Viking lamellar and Samurai plating—gleamed faintly beneath the pale light. The intricate engravings across his chest plate pulsed with a red glow, like veins of molten metal. The hilt of a katana rested at his side, sheathed in black leather decorated with Nordic knotwork, while the curved blade’s faint hum revealed it was powered by microfusion energy rather than mere steel.

He was silent, until the remainder of the trip.

“My name is Samuel Kin,” he said, his voice calm but commanding.

I nodded, introducing myself and the others as we followed close behind. “My name is William. This is my partner Emily, and my friends—Sigvard, Droid L-84, Rick, Anisia, Elizabeth, Mathew, Cole, Pete, Jimmy, and Hanna.”

Samuel’s face softened slightly, his frost-colored eyes meeting mine with respect. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” he said, his tone measured yet sincere. “We have a lot to discuss.”

The gates of Skogheim opened with a deep metallic groan, revealing a sprawling interior city that looked like something out of a myth twisted by science fiction. The inner walls were made of reinforced ice, lined with graphene conduits that pulsed with pale green light. The cobbled streets beneath our boots shimmered faintly with frost, and the air smelled of cold iron, ozone, and burning plasma from nearby forges.

Dozens of Rus Viking warriors stopped what they were doing as we entered. Their armor—nano chainmail woven into graphene plates painted in pale army green—glinted like insect carapaces beneath the weak sunlight. Some carried spears tipped with plasma energy, others held compact red energy swords fused with runic etchings. Helmets adorned with wolf crests hid their expressions, though those without them turned their heads to study us—faces both curious and wary.

Samuel noticed our discomfort and gave a short, knowing chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “They weren’t expecting you.”

His words proved true as a figure emerged from the crowd—a woman with a commanding presence, dressed in the same green armor but trimmed with red insignia denoting rank. Her black hair was braided down her back, her piercing brown eyes sharp enough to cut through the frost itself. She walked with the authority of a queen and the precision of a commander.

She stopped before us, her expression neutral but guarded. “Who are your friends?” she asked Samuel, her voice echoing slightly in the cold air.

Samuel gave a small nod and replied, “I found these people who crashed here in a very absurd spacecraft. I also believe these were the ones who picked up our SOS signal.”

The woman—Alexandria Octavia Cortez—arched her brow. “How do you know?”

Samuel’s tone remained even. “They were fleeing Deathskull, his droids, possible demons, etc.”

The mention of Deathskull caused a faint murmur among the nearby warriors. Alexandria crossed her arms, her armor plates shifting softly. “Well then,” she said after a pause, “we should probably get these kind people into a comfortable holding cell—with guards keeping watch, just until Khamzat returns.”

Samuel nodded. “Agreed.” Then he turned to me, his tone softening. “Is that okay with you, big guy?”

I looked around—the soldiers, the technology, the cold atmosphere that seemed to hang like judgment itself—and simply said, “Yes.”

Samuel’s expression was calm but cautious. “Then I’ll need everyone to hand over your weapons for a little while,” he said, gesturing to one of the nearby storage racks.

My companions hesitated. Emily’s bright green eyes met mine briefly; she knew, as I did, that our weapons weren’t just metal—they were extensions of our essence. Her spiritual sword, like mine, could manifest at will from her mind. I didn’t tell Samuel that, though. There was no need to raise suspicion.

I turned to Sigvard and his Troll companions. “Come on, guys,” I said with a sigh. “It’s only temporary.”

Sigvard grunted, his tusks glinting as he reluctantly handed over his massive crude axe. The others followed, piling their weapons on the table until only I remained.

In my hand rested my chainsword, Revenge—a brutal weapon forged from a mix of divine and mechanical elements. Its blade shimmered with faint red runes and emitted a low purr, like an animal eager to strike. I handed it toward Samuel.

He gripped it—then instantly dropped it, as if it had suddenly become ten times heavier. The weapon hit the metallic floor with a thunderous clang that echoed through the hall.

Samuel stared at it, wide-eyed. “You must be strong, Will,” he said, shaking his hand as though it had gone numb.

Before I could respond, Alexandria stepped forward, visibly irritated. “Can you stop messing around?” she snapped.

She bent to pick it up herself—and failed. The weapon didn’t so much as budge. Her gauntleted fingers strained against the hilt, but it was like trying to lift a star.

“Oh,” she muttered under her breath, stepping back in disbelief.

Samuel smirked faintly. “Yeah—oh.”

Alexandria exhaled through her nose, frustrated but intrigued. After a tense pause, she looked up at me and said, “I guess we can make an exception for you. Take your sword with you—just don’t do anything too brash.”

“Understood,” I said, gripping Revenge by its hilt once more. The weapon hummed faintly in my hand, as if recognizing its rightful owner.

As Samuel led us toward the holding area, I could hear Alexandria mutter quietly to herself, “I guess that was my reminder to stay grounded.”

Her voice was almost lost under the rhythmic clang of hammers and the low thrum of distant turbines. The deeper we went into Skogheim, the more apparent its strange beauty became—a city that fused Viking mythos and futuristic design, faith and machinery, sword and circuit.

Frost-covered runes glowed faintly on the walls as drones floated above, scanning for intruders. Somewhere beyond, the faint sound of chanting could be heard—ancient words spoken by modern warriors.

And as we were escorted down into the glowing steel corridors beneath the mountain, I couldn’t help but feel it—the eyes of destiny watching once again, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

Meanwhile, on the world of Goat Heim, the skies burned in hues of pink and green, a strange aurora that never ceased to shift like the pulse of a living being. Beneath that alien glow stretched an endless expanse of jagged, violet cliffs and crimson ravines, where the soil shimmered faintly with mineral dust. Strange purple vegetation clung to the rocks — long, fibrous vines that breathed, expanding and contracting as if the planet itself were alive.

Marching through this uncanny terrain was Khamzat, the Wulver warlord of the Rus Vikings — a towering figure with the body of a man and the head of a wolf, covered in dark, midnight fur that glistened under the eerie light. His amber-yellow eyes cut through the mist ahead, gleaming like molten gold. His breath misted in the cold air as he led his forces toward the demon outpost nestled between the razor cliffs.

Behind him marched a diverse army: humans, elves, and fellow Wulvers, each armored in graphene-infused Rus chainmail polished in dark metallic tones. The sound of their synchronized footsteps echoed across the barren valley — the rhythm of trained warriors who lived by the creed of steel and loyalty. Female and male warriors alike bore energy-bladed axes, plasma-tipped spears, and nano forged swords, their armor plates glowing faintly with red runic light — powered by miniature reactors embedded in their gauntlets.

Khamzat slowed his march, sniffing the metallic tang of ozone in the air. His pointed ears twitched. “They’re close,” he growled in his deep, gravelly tone, his fangs catching the light as he spoke. His troops immediately crouched low, their armor plates reconfiguring into stealth mode.

The demon outpost came into view — a grotesque fortress of twisted black metal and bone-like spires. Smoke plumed from vents in the walls, and at its center rose a pulsating tower of red crystal — a power core that pulsed like a heart. Around it, demon sentries patrolled, their grotesque silhouettes barely visible through the haze.

Without warning, the first energy bolt tore through the air — a streak of orange lightning, screaming past Khamzat’s head and exploding into the rock behind him. The demons had seen them.

“Shields up!” Khamzat barked, his voice booming across the canyon.

In an instant, the Rus warriors slammed their fists together, activating plasma shields from their gauntlets. Red energy disks ignited around them, casting the battlefield in a blood-hued glow. The next volley of orange bolts hit the shields and ricocheted into the air, leaving burning trails.

The demons roared — tall, muscular creatures with ashen skin and bat-like faces, their eyes glowing sulfur-yellow. But these were not the usual rabble Khamzat had encountered before. Their armor was thick, industrial, composed of overlapping black plates — crude, but functional. Worse, each carried one of the ancient weapons Khamzat had only heard of in human legends: guns — though these were augmented, spitting arcs of burning plasma instead of bullets.

Khamzat dashed forward, moving faster than a normal human eye could track, his plasma blade flashing to life. “Flank left!” he commanded, “Pin them against the ridge!”

His warriors followed without hesitation. Energy bolts splashed against their shields, sparks flying as the red plasma barriers strained under the barrage. A few shots broke through, striking warriors and searing through armor. The screams were brief — cut short by the sounds of steel meeting flesh.

Khamzat leapt onto a ridge, slicing through a demon’s gun with a single swing, then kicked the creature into the rocks below. A second demon lunged at him with a bayonet-like spike, but Khamzat spun and drove his plasma blade through its chest. The air filled with the smell of ozone, molten metal, and burnt flesh.

But as fierce as they were, the demons had one flaw — their weapons were heavy. Power packs the size of backpacks were tethered to their guns by thick cables, and when one of Khamzat’s warriors struck the cable, the weapon would short out in a burst of fire.

“Cut the power links!” Khamzat shouted. “Sever the lines!”

The Rus obeyed instantly. Plasma axes flashed red across the field, cleaving cords and rupturing power cells. The demons screamed as their own weapons overloaded, consuming them in fiery explosions.

Within minutes, the tide turned. The once-coordinated demonic defense collapsed into chaos as their own energy packs detonated. Khamzat and his warriors closed in like a pack of wolves, cutting down the survivors with precision.

When the last demon fell, silence took hold. The only sound left was the faint crackle of burning debris. Khamzat stood amidst the carnage — his armor blackened, his plasma blade dimming. Around him lay the bodies of both fallen Rus and slain demons, smoke rising from their wounds.

He looked across the battlefield — the once-smooth ground now littered with broken armor, shattered weapons, and bodies. His breathing slowed. “Too many,” he muttered, scanning the faces of the dead. “Far too many…”

He knelt beside a fallen Wulver, placing a clawed hand on the warrior’s chest before closing his eyes in silence.

Then something caught his attention — the demon weapons. He picked up one of the plasma rifles, its heavy form humming faintly. It was crude yet effective — an ancient concept, reborn with dark engineering. He inspected the barrel, the internal coils still glowing faint orange.

He muttered to himself, voice low and thoughtful:

“What could pierce graphene armor?”

The words echoed through the barren valley, lost in the wind as the pink and green skies shimmered overhead.

Deep down, Khamzat felt an unease — a cold realization settling in his gut. These weapons were not of demon origin. They were manufactured. Designed. Repurposed.

Something — or someone — was arming the legions of Hell with advanced technology.

It was Deathskull.

And Khamzat knew that this battle was not the end… only the beginning.

Khamzat stood amidst the smoking ruins of the demon outpost, the pink-and-green sky casting an unearthly glow across the battlefield. The air still shimmered with heat distortion from the plasma exchanges, and the scent of scorched metal hung thick like poison. Around him, his Rus Viking warriors began tending to the fallen, salvaging what they could from the carnage.

Khamzat’s amber-yellow eyes swept over the fallen demons. The heavy, clunky energy guns scattered across the rocky ground still hummed faintly, their coils glowing a dull orange. He crouched beside one, the weapon buzzing in his grip. “Gather them all,” he ordered, his voice gravel-deep. “Every last one. We’ll take them back for analysis.”

The warriors obeyed immediately. Elves and Wulvers alike moved across the field, retrieving the weapons, stacking them carefully in a containment crate made of hardened nanosteel. The energy packs hissed faintly as they cooled, leaving trails of vapor rising into the alien air.

Once the field was secure, Khamzat turned toward the outpost itself — a squat, jagged structure of black alloy fused with organic tissue. It looked less like a building and more like a creature that had been petrified mid-scream. The walls pulsed faintly with orange light, veins of energy snaking across the surface. As he approached, Khamzat’s claws scraped against the obsidian-like floor, echoing through the empty corridors.

Inside, the air was stale and hot. The small outpost buzzed with residual energy, the hum of power lines faintly audible through the metal panels. Khamzat made his way toward the control room, guided by flickering red light that seeped from beneath a sliding door. He pressed his gauntleted hand to the panel — the door hissed open, revealing a Vikingnar-style control center that had been twisted into something grotesque.

Red holographic runes flickered above the consoles, now distorted into orange demonic symbols. The once-familiar Vikingnar layout had been corrupted, the icons pulsing irregularly as if infected. Screens displayed fractured data feeds — images of planets, coordinates, schematics for the same energy guns his men had collected.

Khamzat narrowed his eyes. “So they’ve been using our own systems…” he muttered. He stepped forward, bringing up a holographic display with a wave of his claw. The interface resisted his touch at first, snarling with static, but eventually gave way. Streams of data poured across the display — encrypted transmissions, fleet movements, resource allocations. Khamzat quickly inserted a data chip into the console and began extracting everything of value.

“Come on, come on…” he growled as the progress bar crawled forward. The entire outpost trembled slightly — the power grid was unstable. Sparks rained down from a cracked ceiling conduit, illuminating the room in bursts of orange light.

Just as the data extraction finished, a loud metallic banging echoed behind him. Khamzat froze, ears perking toward the sound. It came again — rapid, desperate, like fists slamming on metal.

“Help! Please! Let me the hell out of here!”

The voice — a woman’s, panicked, human — came from a storage compartment near the rear of the control room. Khamzat spun around, his instincts kicking in. His plasma blade hissed to life as he strode to the door. He pressed his ear to the cold metal — he could hear frantic breathing on the other side.

He deactivated his blade, gripped the locking mechanism, and twisted hard. The door screeched open, hinges snapping under his strength.

Inside, huddled in the dark, was a human woman — pale, trembling, her wrists marked with bruises from restraint. Her brunette hair hung in tangled strands over her face, and her hazel eyes darted upward as the light from Khamzat’s armor washed over her. Her voice broke as she whispered, “Please… don’t hurt me.”

It was Hailey.

Khamzat crouched, his towering frame filling the doorway. “My name is Khamzat,” he said, his tone low but gentle for a creature so fearsome. “You’re safe now. You got a name?”

The woman hesitated, her lips trembling. “My name is… Hailey.”

Khamzat extended his hand — massive, furred, yet steady. Hailey hesitated before taking it. His claws never tightened around her hand; his grip was firm but reassuring as he helped her to her feet. She stumbled once, and he caught her by the arm, supporting her weight.

“Easy,” he said. “You’re weak. How long have you been in there?”

Hailey shook her head, tears streaking through the dirt on her cheeks. “I… I don’t know. Days, maybe weeks. They kept moving me around—told me I’d be ‘useful’ to them.”

Khamzat’s eyes narrowed, the amber glow intensifying. “Demons have no use for the living unless they mean to break them,” he muttered under his breath.

He guided her out of the closet and through the flickering control room. The holograms cast eerie orange light across their faces, making the human and the wolf-headed warrior look almost like shadows from another age. Outside, the sound of the Rus gathering salvage filled the air — metallic clanking, the hum of containment units, low murmurs of exhaustion and grief.

As they stepped out of the crumbling outpost, the alien wind caught Hailey’s hair, sweeping it back from her face. She looked up at the pink-and-green sky, eyes wide. “Where… where am I?”

Khamzat paused beside her, his armor gleaming faintly under the alien light. “You’re on Goat Heim,” he said simply. “You’re safe with us now.”

Together, they walked away from the ruined outpost — the last orange lights fading behind them, replaced by the red glows of Rus banners fluttering in the alien wind.

In the distance, Khamzat could see the silhouettes of his warriors loading the captured demon weapons into the dropship. He clenched his fist around the data chip he’d taken from the control panel. Whatever was happening across the galaxy, he knew this data — and the girl he’d just rescued — were both part of something far larger.

Something that would change the balance of the war.

Back on Skogheim, Sigvard & his two troll guards, Anisia, Jimmy, Pete, Mathew, Elizabeth, Rick, Cole, Hanna, Droid L-84, and I were in our holding cell. Everyone’s armor was deactivated, except Sigvard & the Trolls who wore more primitive armor. Our holding cell room was white, there was a plant in the middle of the room, and there was red glass on our window.

Emily & I sat on a cold metal bench which jutted out from the wall. Across from us, Anisia sat on a similar bench, who quickly glared at us giving us a scowl, and looked away. She was quiet for the remainder of the time, and Emily whispered to me, “I guess it’s that time of the month for her, boo.” I grinned & we held each other tight.

Samuel then barged into our holding cell saying, “Alright guys & gals, it’s time to show you around.” We all stood up and proceeded to follow Samuel out into the hall.

The corridor beyond the cell was wide, lined with luminous panels that gave off a faint orange glow. The metallic walls were engraved with runic patterns, an ancient language fused with circuitry that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Every few meters stood a Rus Viking guard, their armor—pale green with black trim—gleaming under the corridor’s light. The rhythmic hum of reactors and faint mechanical chatter echoed through the passageway as we walked.

We passed the bio-lab, where tall transparent pods filled with viscous blue fluid lined the walls. Inside, fully grown Rus Viking adult warriors floated motionless, their muscular bodies enhanced with cybernetic implants, waiting to awaken. Scientists in long white robes and half-metal masks moved between control panels, adjusting parameters and monitoring vitals. The room was filled with the soft beeping of machines and the hiss of sterilized vents. One of the scientists turned his head slightly as we passed, his one organic eye meeting mine before he looked away again.

Next, we entered a hall adjacent to another lab—this one devoted to weapons and armor testing. Sparks flew as engineers hammered pieces of graphene plate under robotic arms. Holographic displays flickered with energy readings, ballistic simulations, and molecular models of advanced alloys. A test subject, a Rus Viking in full nano-chainmail, stood in a transparent chamber as drones fired concentrated plasma at him. The plasma splashed harmlessly against his armor, leaving glowing marks that quickly faded.

Samuel didn’t slow down. “These labs,” he said, gesturing with his hand as he walked, “are where our warriors are born, built, and perfected. We blend nature with science here—muscle with machine.”

We kept walking, and the sound of hammering and weapons tests slowly gave way to the heavy echoes of war cries. We reached the training facility, where hundreds of warriors sparred with plasma swords, heavy shields, and even massive axes that emitted faint energy ripples. Drones hovered overhead, scanning combat forms and recording performance metrics. Emily’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer size of the chamber—walls stretched upward for what felt like a hundred feet, with multiple training tiers suspended above by energy scaffolds.

Samuel looked over his shoulder at us and said, “They train every morning. No rest, no excuses. You’ll understand soon enough why.”

We then approached a large elevator shaft, its doors etched with glowing Norse runes and mechanical engravings. When the doors opened, a gust of cold air swept over us, carrying the metallic scent of deep earth. We all stepped inside the circular elevator. The platform began to descend, guided by beams of pale red light. The further we went down, the darker it became—until the soft hum of the elevator was all that broke the silence.

It was then that something strange happened. My vision began to warp—the orange lighting flickered into strange shapes, and my surroundings blurred. Emily’s hand in mine felt warm, too warm, almost burning. When I turned to look at her, her face seemed to melt and reform, her skin turning orange, her hair darkening into a slick demonic hue. Her pupils became slits, her lips deep red, her expression both alluring and terrifying.

The image of her reminded me of Maladrie—the same haunting aura, but Emily’s green eyes still shone through, like two beacons of defiance against the transformation. I blinked, my heart pounding. The walls of the elevator felt like they were closing in. I shut my eyes tightly, inhaled deeply, and when I opened them again—everything was back to normal. Emily looked the same as she always did, standing by my side, still holding my hand.

She gave me a teasing smile and softly said, “Meow.”

I exhaled, shaking off the lingering unease. The elevator continued its descent, the hum deepening into a low mechanical growl. Finally, with a heavy metallic thud, the platform came to a halt.

When the doors opened, we stepped into a breathtaking ancient underground city. Despite being technological, the architecture didn’t match the Rus Viking aesthetic at all. The city’s vast corridors and spires were built from black, metallic stone, covered in strange etchings that glowed faintly red and blue. Streams of light pulsed through cracks in the walls, as though the entire city were alive, breathing energy.

Large monolithic statues of unknown beings—neither human nor Viking—lined the central avenue. Between them floated orbs of pure plasma, acting as ambient lighting. The floor beneath our boots was made of smooth obsidian, reflecting our forms as we walked. The air was colder here, thinner, and filled with the faint static hum of ancient machinery buried deep within the earth.

Emily whispered, “This place… it’s not Viking, is it?”

I looked around at the towering architecture, the symbols that didn’t resemble any known Norse design. “No,” I said quietly. “This is older.”

Samuel turned to face us, his expression solemn beneath his helmet. “You’re right. This place isn’t ours. It predates us by thousands of years. We call it the Old Mechanum—a remnant of a civilization that once ruled the stars before the Demon Wars began.”

As he spoke, red and blue ambient light flickered across his armor,

“Welcome,” he said, “to the world beneath Skogheim—where even gods feared to tread.”

Samuel then led us deeper into the underground city, and we entered a spacious chamber with unusual statues. The air felt heavier here—denser, colder, as though the walls themselves held their breath. The faint red and blue luminescence that had filled the previous halls was replaced by a deep violet glow, emanating from veins of crystalline rock embedded into the walls and ceiling. Dust and mist floated through the air like shimmering threads of energy, catching the light in haunting patterns as we stepped forward.

The statues stood in a perfect circle around the chamber, towering nearly three stories high. Their forms resembled Cthulhu, but the resemblance was distorted and far more grotesque. Each figure had a theropod-like stance, bent forward with a predatory slouch, their sinewy limbs clawed into the ground as if frozen mid-hunt. They bore four limbs—two massive hind legs shaped like those of a reptile and two smaller, clawed arms folded against their chests. Their faces, though alien, possessed an unsettling human-like quality: the structure of their upper faces bore recognizable bone ridges and eye sockets, but their eyes—even carved from obsidian—seemed too alive, too aware. The lower portions of their faces were hidden behind clusters of thick tentacles, like flesh-born vines, coiling and twisting around what must have been their jaws. Above their distorted faces rose octopus-shaped heads, bulbous and covered in sculpted grooves that spiraled toward the crown.

Each statue exuded an aura of ancient malice. It wasn’t just stone—it felt remembered, as if these things had once been alive and turned to minerals by time itself.

In the center of the chamber stood a colossal arch monolith, its surface rippling faintly with liquid metal. Strange symbols pulsed across it, not in a pattern, but in rhythmic, almost biological waves. The entire arch hummed faintly, a deep vibration that could be felt in the chest more than heard.

I took a cautious step forward, my eyes locked on the shimmering archway. “Is that a portal of some kind?” I asked.

Samuel nodded, his voice echoing softly off the dark stone. “Precisely, but it’s no ordinary portal. It doesn’t lead to the Wraith, but it could lead somewhere much worse…” He paused, his tone tightening. “We’ve sent expeditions only to never return—or return with wounds from what appears to be suction cups—and were infected.”

“Infected?” I asked, my voice carrying a note of disbelief.

Samuel nodded grimly. The violet glow flickered over his face, revealing tension even behind his stoic expression. “We also have a secret lab here. Come.”

We followed him deeper through the ancient chambers of the underground city. The corridors narrowed, the architecture shifting from the alien black stone into a fusion of Viking and ancient design. Heavy metallic beams were bolted into the walls to reinforce them, and cables ran along the floors, feeding power into recessed ports that glowed with red energy.

The deeper we went, the louder the hum of machinery became. A low droning sound—almost like a heartbeat—throbbed through the stone. The air smelled of salt, metal, and decay, faint but distinct, as though the sea itself had found its way underground.

We emerged into a vast, domed laboratory, grafted awkwardly into the alien city’s stone structure. The Rus Vikings had clearly built their facility inside this ancient expanse, and it showed—the contrast between old and new was striking. The walls of the lab were lined with reinforced glass panels, glowing containment cells, and steel catwalks suspended above bubbling vats of bioluminescent fluid.

Then we saw them.

Inside the paddocks—enormous transparent chambers filled with mist and dark fluid—were the creatures. At first, they were motionless, their tentacles limp, their forms almost too alien to process. But as we approached, one of them stirred. Its eyes opened—large, yellow, human-like yet full of malice—and it pressed against the glass.

The creature’s body was a grotesque fusion of humanoid and cephalopod features, dripping with a slimy brown texture that gleamed under the artificial light. Its skin was rough, rubbery, and covered in patches of glistening organic plating. Tentacles extended from its jaw and shoulders, twitching as if responding to our presence. The air was thick with the scent of brine and rot.

Samuel stopped before the largest containment cell and gestured. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice firm. “These tragic beasts can’t escape their paddocks.” He folded his hands behind his back and looked up at the monstrous being. “The ancient texts refer to these creatures as the ‘Kraken.’”

The name hung in the air like a ghost from legend. The word alone carried weight—ancient, mythic, and terrifying.

I looked closer and noticed the black goo these creatures excreted as they moved. It oozed from their pores, trailing down into the grates beneath their containment tanks. It wasn’t just liquid—it was alive. It pulsed, shifted, and bubbled as if trying to reach upward. Some of it was smeared across the paddock glass, where the creatures had begun building strange, webbed nests of hardened residue. The black fluid shimmered with faint bioluminescent veins, almost like circuitry.

The sight triggered a memory. That same texture, that same odor—I’d seen it before. I turned to Samuel. “Are you sure nobody came down here before? That black ink looks similar to the Shark People’s venom—the kind the demons used against us Immortals.”

Samuel turned sharply, his eyes widening behind his visor. For the first time, he looked unsettled. “What?” His voice echoed through the lab, startling one of the smaller Krakens into slapping its tentacles against the glass. “No! First of all, the Shark People don’t have venom, and their glands carry anti-venom—a white substance. Lastly, there’s no way any demon can step into this city uninvited.”

His tone hardened, as though needing to convince himself as much as us. “Which is why I wanted to show you this place—because we’re sworn to protect it from demonic foes who may want to release the Kraken Hive onto this reality.”

Emily looked at me knowingly. She understood the implication—the similarity wasn’t coincidence. But neither of us spoke.

I finally exhaled and brushed it off with a shrug. “Ok!? Is there anything else you’d like to show us?”

Samuel’s tension faded slightly. He nodded and gestured toward a reinforced corridor lined with glowing red runes. “This way.” He said as he walked forward.

Beside me, Emily jokingly whispered into my ear, “I guess he forgot to take his menstrual meds.”

I then hid my laughter by clearing my throat.

We followed him deeper into the lab’s sublevel, where the air grew colder and the walls seemed to hum with an almost imperceptible vibration. The architecture began to change again—the metallic corridors giving way to a mix of steel and the same black alien stone as before.

We reached a large freight elevator, circular and surrounded by rotating gears that disappeared into the abyss below. The platform was old, ancient even, but reinforced with modern components—thick power conduits, runic stabilizers, and magnetic rails that spiraled downward into infinite blackness.

We stepped inside. The elevator doors sealed shut behind us with a hiss, and the descent began.

The motion was smooth but unsettling, as if the mechanism wasn’t mechanical at all but alive, gliding downward through something viscous. The faint hum of the machinery was replaced by a deep, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate through our bones.

No one spoke. Even the trolls stood in silence.

Emily held onto my arm, her eyes fixed on the faint red glow beneath our feet. I felt her tension—it wasn’t fear, exactly, but anticipation. The kind that came before something profound or horrifying.

The deeper we went, the more the light faded, until the only illumination came from our armor’s dim energy cores. Outside the elevator walls, faint shadows seemed to move—like slow tendrils of ink swimming through the darkness.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the elevator stopped with a low metallic groan.

The doors opened—not to another lab, but to something far older.

The hidden chamber before us stretched endlessly, illuminated by veins of glowing blue crystal that pulsed like the heartbeat of a sleeping god. Black structures rose from the ground like spires, spiraling upward into the shadows. A pool of dark, mirror-like liquid spread across the center of the chamber, reflecting the blue light in strange, rippling patterns.

Even Samuel hesitated before stepping out.

The air here was different—thick, charged, almost whispering. Every breath carried the taste of electricity and saltwater.

Whatever was hidden down here, it was not meant for mortals—or even immortals—to see.

At first glance, we were being led into another vast chamber of the underground city—another lab, or so I thought. The air had changed once again; it was dry now, stale, with the faint chemical tang of age and decay. The metallic corridor opened into a domed room whose once-white walls had long yellowed, cracked, and peeled away to reveal the old synthetic plating beneath. A broken light flickered weakly above the doorway, casting intermittent shadows across the rusted sign overhead. The sign read, in faded, chipped blue lettering:

NASA.

The word alone made my stomach tighten. It was something I hadn’t seen in ages, something that belonged to the ancient myths of old Earth—a time when humans still looked to the stars as dreamers, not conquerors. Emily’s hand gripped my arm tighter as we all entered the decrepit chamber. Even Samuel paused for a brief second at the threshold, as if the name itself carried weight.

Inside, the lab was a tomb of humanity’s past.

Rows of shattered glass tanks lined both sides of the massive room, their contents preserved in pools of formaldehyde that had turned murky and dark over the centuries. The stench was overwhelming—chemical, rot, and something else beneath it. Something that still lived.

In the first tank to our left, a primitive Shark Person floated eerily still. It was unlike the evolved ones we had fought—it was smaller, hunched, its body covered in rough, sandpapery skin that had lost most of its color. The creature’s once-bright eyes were now clouded over like pale stones, and its gills had long dried and shriveled. Its mouth hung open in a silent scream, exposing jagged teeth that seemed to glint faintly under the flickering light.

Dozens more tanks lined the room—each one holding a creature just as disturbing. Some were missing limbs. Some had mechanical implants fused crudely into their spines. Some were so twisted and malformed they barely resembled living things at all.

At the center of the lab stood a corroded steel table, and upon it lay the decomposing body of another experiment. Tubes and wires still clung to its ribs like vines. The flesh was leathery, dark brown, and splitting apart, exposing the bone beneath. The entire sight looked as if time itself had tried to erase the evidence, but failed.

Emily covered her nose. “God…” she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling.

I stepped closer, trying to process the horror, when something else caught my eye—another row of tanks, far in the back of the lab, still faintly powered. Inside them floated strange, suspended forms that churned slowly in the greenish liquid. I moved toward them, my boots squelching in the damp grime coating the floor.

As I approached, the forms became clearer.

They weren’t just Shark People.

They were hybrids.

In one tank, a half-human, half-shark creature floated upright, its human torso fused into a gray, finned lower body. Its face was eerily familiar—human features stretched over an aquatic frame, with teeth like knives. The next tank held a Wulver-Shark hybrid, its fur matted and floating in strands, its muzzle reshaped into a snout full of serrated teeth. Beside it was an Elf-Shark, its long ears warped into fins, its once-beautiful face distorted by gills and scales. And further down the row—a Crimmseed-Shark, pulsating faintly within the fluid, its skin shifting colors like oil on water.

The realization hit me like a blow. This wasn’t random. These were cross-breeds.

I turned sharply toward Samuel. “What the hell is this place?” I demanded. My voice echoed through the decayed chamber, bouncing off the tanks.

Samuel stood silent for a moment, the orange light from the broken bulbs painting his face in a somber glow. Finally, he spoke. “This,” he said, his voice slow, heavy with meaning. “This is our history.”

He stepped forward, his armored boots clicking softly on the cracked floor. “You see, once Earth recovered from the Age of Uncertainty, Earth’s humans looked to the stars for a sense of purpose. They were determined to get to this specific world after acquiring samples from its long-gone inhabitants. The ‘Shark People.’”

I frowned. “Why?”

Samuel turned, his gaze fixed on the murky tank beside him where a half-dissolved creature floated. “Because they were seeking a way to cure aging,” he said. “And to create bodies better suited to conquering space and the planets that inhabit it.” He gestured around the room with an open hand. “They succeeded. That’s how we can regrow teeth, not age, grow adults in labs, make hybrid species like you. We have a second stomach to burn waste. We built numerous worlds and civilizations from scratch. All thanks to the Shark People and their genetic code.”

His words hung in the cold air, and I felt a chill trace my spine. The Shark People—the same creatures we’d been at war with—were not alien to us at all. They were our origin.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Then what happened to the Shark People? And who built this ancient underground city?”

Samuel’s helmeted head turned toward me. His voice softened. “The Shark People left this already habitable planet on their own accord,” he said. “As for who built this ancient derelict underground metropolis…” He paused, looking up at the cracked dome above us, where faint blue veins of energy glowed like constellations. “I’ve got no clue. Maybe it was aliens. But do you see why we guard this place?”

“Yes,” I replied quietly.

For a moment, no one spoke. The sound of dripping formaldehyde and the low hum of the last surviving machines filled the void between us.

Then another question came to me, one that had been gnawing at my mind since the moment I saw the NASA sign. “Are you people descendants of some sort of military branch… from Earth?”

Samuel took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said finally. “And the reason why people went crazy was due to interference with our communication systems across planetary colonies. Everyone was on their own for a century. Once we invented better communication, we started to regain a connection between colonies.”

He walked slowly past the tanks as he spoke, his voice carrying a weary tone that hinted at centuries of burden. “Although, some worlds wanted to be part of their own galactic empire, which caused the war between two radical factions.” He stopped and turned back toward us. “We left the scene, disguised ourselves as Rus Vikings, and we swore to protect this history from anyone or anything.”

His voice grew softer now, almost mournful. “It’s kind of sad that we created all of this,” he said, gesturing to the ruined lab, the tanks, the monsters born of human ambition. “And we still choose to kill each other. I guess that’s the nature of our reality.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The fluorescent light above us flickered one last time and went out, leaving us in dim, reddish darkness. Only the faint bioluminescence of the old tanks gave the room its sickly glow, illuminating the faces of the beings who were half our ancestors, half our sins.

Emily reached for my hand, and I held it tightly. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t know whether to feel awe, horror, or guilt.

Because standing in that NASA lab, surrounded by the ghosts of humanity’s own creation, I finally understood— We weren't just fighting aliens or demons.

We were fighting the consequences of ourselves.

Samuel’s wrist gauntlet suddenly crackled with a sharp tone that echoed throughout the ancient NASA chamber. The eerie hum of old machinery was drowned out by a metallic chime, and a thin red holographic light projected upward from his wrist. The light shimmered into focus, forming the sharp, battle-worn face of Alexandria Octavia. Her holographic armor glowed crimson, static washing over her image as if even the signal itself trembled under tension.

Samuel raised his wrist closer. “Alexandria, what is it?” he asked, his voice calm but low, the tone of a man expecting bad news.

The hologram flickered, and Alexandria’s voice came through—strained, her breathing rapid.

“Khamzat brought back a survivor who became possessed,” she said quickly. “She’s killed her way down into your location.”

For a moment, silence reigned in the lab. Even the dull hum of the ancient systems seemed to stop, as though the entire underground world was holding its breath.

Samuel’s eyes widened. “Can you send warriors down here?” he demanded.

Alexandria’s red projection shook her head, the static deepening.

“She cut the cables to the first elevator shaft,” she said grimly. “Nobody’s getting in or out until she’s dealt with.”

The hologram blinked out. A faint hiss followed, and then the gauntlet dimmed to black.

I exhaled slowly, already feeling the tension pulse through the air. Without hesitation, I powered on my armor, the nanites on my chest igniting with a red ripple that spread across my entire body. The black graphene plates shimmered as they locked into place with a low mechanical hiss. Emily did the same beside me, her black and white leather jumpsuit transforming as her armor’s digital filaments activated, forming sleek plating that glowed faintly along her limbs.

Around us, the others followed suit.

Sigvard and his two Troll guards—already clad in crude yet heavy armor—stood ready, though they had no weapons. I pulled two spare plasma knives from my belt and tossed them their way.

“Take these,” I said. “They’ll do the job.”

Droid L-84’s chest emitted a sharp mechanical hum as his internal weapons deployed from hidden compartments in his forearms, locking with metallic precision.

The rest of my Immortal companions—Anisia, Rick, Mathew, Cole, Pete, Elizabeth, Hanna, and Jimmy—raised their hands, and in a series of glowing bursts, their swords materialized, formed entirely from their spiritual essence. The blades shimmered with radiant red.

The air in the lab grew heavier, electric, as if even the forgotten machines could sense the coming storm.

Samuel looked at me, his amber eyes glowing faintly through the visor of his helmet. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Emily and I will go and kill this demon,” I said firmly. “The rest will stay here and guard you—and this lovely establishment.”

Samuel tilted his head slightly, half skeptical, half impressed. “How can I be sure of your success?”

I smirked beneath my visor. “Don’t worry, demons are our specialty.”

Emily turned her helmet toward me. Her voice came through my comm link, slightly distorted but teasing.

“Seriously? A lost media reference?”

I grinned. “Let’s go.”

Together, Emily and I rushed out of the dilapidated NASA lab, our boots echoing down the steel corridors as alarms began to pulse faintly through the underground city. We entered the vast chamber once more, where the massive alien statues loomed like silent witnesses. Their tentacled visages stared down at us, illuminated by the crimson glow of the emergency lights.

The only functioning elevator was at the far end of the chamber. We sprinted toward it, and the doors hissed open with a metallic groan. Once inside, the elevator ascended smoothly, the old gears whining as the digital screen flickered to life. Through the transparent floor panels, we could see the vast ancient city below—black stone bathed in red and blue ambient light. The deeper chambers pulsed faintly, as though the city itself still lived and breathed beneath us.

As the elevator stopped on the first level of the underground metropolis, the doors parted, and a rush of humid air hit us.

We were inside the Rus Viking Laboratory, its interior far newer than the ruins below. The walls gleamed faintly, though cracks and signs of stress had begun to show. The facility was under lockdown—the main blast doors sealed, lights flashing red in warning. Scientists and engineers ducked behind workstations, clutching datapads, their wide eyes following us as we passed.

“Stay down!” I barked. “You’ll only get in the way!”

They obeyed without hesitation.

We continued through the final sliding door, stepping back into the open expanse of the underground metropolis.

Even now, I couldn’t help but marvel at it. The ceiling stretched miles above us, an artificial sky of dark steel and holographic light. Streams of artificial rain fell from hidden vents, hitting the black stone roads and sending a misty sheen across the glowing streets. Massive towers, ancient and new, rose like titans into the cavernous space, their red and blue lights flickering through the haze.

Emily’s voice cut through the comms. “This twat could be anywhere.”

I scanned the distance. And then, through the veil of rain, I saw movement—a figure standing just beyond the flickering glow of the nearest holo-streetlamp.

“Wait…” I muttered.

Emily squinted through her visor, then sighed. “Oh, false alarm.”

She began to lower her red energy sword, but something inside me stirred. Instinct.

“Wait.” I raised my hand to stop her, then called out, “Hailey? How did you get here, Hailey?”

At first, she didn’t answer. She just stood there, trembling, her hair soaked, her skin pale under the orange glow.

Then her head twitched. Once. Twice. And her voice came out—distorted, broken—

like several voices layered over one another.

“You lied to me, Will!” she screamed. Her body began to convulse violently. “You lied to me, Will!”

The words echoed across the cavern, the sound bouncing off the stone walls until it felt as if a hundred Haileys were screaming at once. Then she stopped shaking, her body going still. Slowly, she turned toward us and gave the most uncanny grin I had ever seen—so wide it looked unnatural.

Her eyes turned black, and a chilling calm washed over her voice as she said,

“Maladrie showed me the truth.”

And then it began.

Hailey’s skin rippled as though something were crawling beneath it. Her veins pulsed black, spreading like spiderwebs beneath her flesh. In seconds, her skin turned orange, her shoulders cracking as wings erupted from her back in a shower of blood and flame. The ground beneath her burned in circular patterns, ancient demonic runes glowing red-hot.

She laughed—a sound that was not her own. Then she manifested a flaming sword, its blade wreathed in molten energy.

I tightened my grip on Revenge, my chainsword roaring to life, its serrated teeth spinning in a shrieking hum. Emily ignited her red energy sword beside me, her armor’s lights flaring to full power.

The battle began.

Hailey lunged with inhuman speed, wings slicing through the air. Sparks flew as her flaming blade clashed against mine, the shockwave cracking the ground beneath our feet. Emily leapt into the fray, striking from the side, her blade cutting across Hailey’s wing. The demonette screamed, retaliating with a fiery arc that nearly cleaved through my chestplate.

She laughed again, her voice half Hailey, half Maladrie. “I can’t believe you let my sister die!”

Her rage made her faster, more feral—but her movements were wild. I parried a strike, spun under her next swing, and slammed Revenge deep into her chest cavity. The chainsword screamed as it tore through armor, flesh, and bone.

The fire around her extinguished in an instant.

Hailey’s demonic form shuddered, until a faint purple ball of energy hovering above her corpse. It pulsed like a dying star. Then, without warning, a blinding beam of violet light shot upward, piercing the roof of the underground city and vanishing into the cosmos.

And then there was silence.

Emily stood beside me, her chest heaving. The rain hissed softly as it fell around the fading embers of the now vanished purple orb. Hailey’s demonic corpse just laid there to rot.

We had done it. We’d guarded the portal—stopped whatever Maladrie had sent after us.

How could Maladrie turn people into physical demons within the confines of reality itself—just by will alone?

That question lingered like smoke in the dark. And somehow, deep down, I knew the answer would be worse than the war we were already fighting.

After that battle, Emily and I were somewhere else—still on Skogheim, but far from the burning depths below. The sound of rain and distant thunder replaced the echoes of chains and war cries. We were now above ground, in the quiet heart of the Rus Viking capital.

Our quarters were luxurious by their standards: smooth metal walls engraved with Nordic runes, softly pulsing with gold light, and a panoramic window that looked out over the city of Skogheim and the endless wilderness beyond. Far below, faint rivers of molten energy traced through the streets like veins of light. The towers gleamed against the pale sky, and far on the horizon, the silver outline of a mountain fortress rose like a monolith.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, the world was still. We had been ordered to rest until Alexandria, Samuel, and Khamzat decided what to do with us next. There were no alarms, no enemies, no screams—just the sound of machinery humming faintly beneath the floor and the steady rhythm of the alien rain outside.

I lay back on the bed—its surface strangely warm, as though it were alive, responding to my pulse. My armor was stacked neatly beside the wall, and my sword Revenge rested on the table.

Then, the door to the shower chamber slid open with a soft hiss of steam. Emily stepped out, droplets of water still glistening on her skin. She was dressed in a sleek black leather bikini, more sexual than functional—thin lines of circuitry ran across it like glowing tattoos, and her thigh-high boots gleamed beneath the soft light. Her dark hair fell freely across her shoulders, and she’d placed a pair of small horn adornments above her temples—clearly synthetic, part of some personal joke or ritual.

She looked at me with that familiar, mischievous glint in her eyes.

I frowned slightly, half amused, half confused.

“What are you doing, Emily?” I asked.

She smiled faintly, her voice low and calm.

“I’m trying to fix you.”

Her words hung in the air.

Before I could respond, she walked closer and pressed her forehead gently to mine. The lights in the room dimmed, and a strange vibration coursed through the air. The world seemed to dissolve into energy.

A warmth began to spread between us—something ancient, older than the both of us, neither physical nor purely emotional. It was like a circuit connecting two broken machines. The glow started from the center of our bodies—at the core of our beings—and spread outward.

A bright orange light radiated from our midsections, pulsing in rhythm with our hearts. It wasn’t just passion—it was also energy, life-force, a merging of fractured sex chakras trying to become whole again. The glow expanded until it illuminated the entire room, casting amber reflections on the walls and ceiling.

It moved upward, through our chests, through our throats as we copulated, until even our eyes began to glow, burning softly like twin suns. I felt my entire body tremble as waves of energy coursed through me, not burning, but purging—washing away layers of old emotion, pain, and desire.

In that moment, all the restless hunger I’d carried through battles and nightmares began to fade. The lust for bad women, all of it drained from me as though being pulled out by Emily’s sexual energy. What replaced it wasn’t emptiness, but calm—an unshakable peace I hadn’t known in years. I was finally satisfied with the sexy elven woman I already have.

Emily’s hand remained on my chest as she whispered something I couldn’t quite hear—a blessing, a promise, or maybe just a sigh.

The glow began to fade, the energy dispersing like dust on a solar wind. The light dimmed until only the faint blue illumination of Skogheim remained beyond the window.

When the silence returned, I lay still, breathing slowly, the warmth still lingering in my veins. I felt different—lighter, clear, as if something long corrupted had finally been purified, sexually.

Emily laid beside me, her expression soft and knowing. Outside, the wind swept across the alpine forest, the city towers, and somewhere far below, the ancient machines of the Rus Vikings hummed on, unaware that in one quiet room above them, something sacred had just awakened.

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CHAPTER 26: "CUTTING TIES" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"