CHAPTER 32: "FIGHTING THE ODDS" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"
- KING WILLIAM STUDIO
- Jan 7
- 19 min read
CHAPTER 32: "FIGHTING THE ODDS" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"
The laboratory above the ancient underground metropolis felt colder than it ever had before, despite the hum of machines and the soft glow of sterile white lights. The walls were clean, unmarred by the shifting history below, yet the weight of what had just occurred pressed down on everyone gathered inside. No one spoke at first. We stood in a loose semicircle, unmoving, as if stepping any closer would make the reality before us undeniable.
Anisia lay on the operating table at the center of the room.
Her black and blue leather jumpsuit had been carefully cut away, replaced with sterile coverings that did nothing to soften the finality of her stillness. Her skin, once warm and animated with sharp wit and reckless bravado, now appeared pale beneath the laboratory lights. Tubes and scanners surrounded her, their readouts flickering quietly, tracing vitals that no longer changed. The faint scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—loss.
Emily stood close to me, her posture rigid, her arms folded tightly as if holding herself together by force alone. Cole and Hanna remained silent, their faces drawn. Mathew stared at the floor, jaw clenched. Elizabeth’s eyes were red, though no tears fell. Rick, Jimmy, and Pete stood shoulder to shoulder, unease written plainly across their expressions. Serenity hovered near Beelzebub, her gaze fixed on Anisia’s body, hollow and distant. Droid L-84 stood motionless, optic sensors dimmed slightly, as if even his systems recognized the gravity of the moment.
Samuel, Niko, Khamzat, Ikeem, and Alexandria stood opposite us, the authority they carried feeling fragile in the face of what lay between us.
I broke the silence first, my voice sounding quieter than I expected in the wide room.
“This usually doesn’t happen to us.”
Alexandria turned her head slightly, her expression sharpening—not in anger, but in calculation. “Usually not?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Her attention shifted immediately to Ikeem, who had already begun reviewing diagnostic data hovering above the table. “How did this happen?”
Ikeem’s hands moved slowly through the holographic interface, bringing up layered scans of Anisia’s body—skeletal structure, neural pathways, and something else entirely. Something that didn’t belong to ordinary anatomy.
“I am not a hundred percent sure. It appears the shark venom may have severed the Immortals’ connection with Anisia.”
The words landed heavily. “What do you mean?”
Ikeem finally looked up at me, his expression grave. He gestured toward one of the deeper scans, where faint, ethereal shapes pulsed weakly within Anisia’s chest. “The Immortals within you. You’re dependent on each other to be in sync. A loss of synchronicity means a loss of life.”
The implication settled in my mind like a slow-burning fuse. Immortality wasn’t invulnerability. It was balanced. And balance could be broken.
I exhaled slowly, then nodded once. “Alright, we should organize a funeral for our friend.”
For a moment, it seemed like the right thing to say—simple, human, necessary. Alexandria responded immediately.
“Hold on, there’s no time for that, we can’t burn her, we need to do further testing.”
The words struck harder than any blow. “We have time for testing, but no time to properly send her off?”
Alexandria met my gaze without hesitation, her tone firm, unyielding. “We can’t let anyone find out an Immortal had died, it would spread doubt, and people will lose hope real fast. We must do testing on this, you immortals are our most important assets.”
She turned toward Ikeem, seeking confirmation. “Isn’t that right Ikeem?”
He hesitated only briefly before nodding. “Yeah that’s right.”
The room felt smaller after that. I looked at Alexandria, then at Ikeem, seeing them not as allies or leaders, but as wardens guarding something far larger than any one life. I didn’t agree with them—but I understood. Hope was a resource here, just like energy or weapons. And once lost, it would be nearly impossible to recover. My eyes drifted back to Anisia.
One of the advanced scanners shifted angles, projecting a clearer image of what lay within her. The ethereal Immortal presence—once bright, dynamic, alive—was fading. Its form had grown dim, unstable, like a dying star collapsing inward. Watching it weaken sent a quiet chill through me. If it could happen to her, it could happen to any of us.
Now I understood why secrecy mattered. There was no need to burden the warriors above with this truth. No reason to let grief ripple outward and fracture morale when the war was far from over. The sadness belonged here, contained within these walls, shared only by those who already carried too much.
The machines continued their soft hum around Anisia’s body, recording, analyzing, preserving answers that came at a terrible cost. And as we stood there, bound by silence and necessity, I realized that immortality in this universe was not a blessing—it was a fragile contract with balance.
The bridge overlooking the docking bay stretched outward like a spine of steel and obsidian, suspended above a vast cavern of motion and sound. Below us, Rus Viking crews moved with disciplined urgency, their silhouettes crossing through columns of blue-white light as Drakkar spacecraft were armed, fueled, and awakened from standby. Massive hulls—etched with runes both ancient and technological—hovered in magnetic cradles, their engines pulsing softly like restrained thunder. The air vibrated with anticipation, with the unspoken understanding that many of those ships would not return unchanged.
Emily stood close behind me, her presence steady, grounding. Droid L-84 remained at my side, golden frame reflecting the glow of holographic displays that flickered across the docking bay. Samuel, Niko, and Khamzat stood nearby, watching the preparations unfold in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts about what was coming.
I finally broke the quiet, my voice carrying just enough to cut through the hum of machinery. “So do we have a plan that’s feasible?”
Droid L-84 turned his skull-like head slightly toward me, optics brightening as he processed. His voice came calm and precise, as it always did.
“We are going to put the ‘Star Castle’ to use, just floating above our orbit. The ancient upside-down pyramid has a strong magnetic shield. There’s no way Deathskull is going to touch Skogheim’s surface this time.”
I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on the cold railing, watching a Drakkar detach from its berth and glide forward with predatory grace. “How do we get past their defenses?”
“I already have access to their control room. I can easily hack the shields with Ikeem’s assistance.”
The simplicity of his statement was almost unsettling. Entire armadas, reduced to lines of code and vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited.
For a brief moment, the conversation drifted into silence again—until Khamzat spoke up, his tone carrying a different kind of weight.
“So, have you decided on our new name?”
The question caught me off guard. Of all moments to ask, this seemed like the worst—and yet, perhaps the best. Names mattered to Vikings. Names carried identity, purpose, legacy.
I thought of the battles already fought. Of Sigvard. Of Anisia. Of standing against demons, machines, and the slow erosion of time itself. “We should call ourselves the ‘Berserkers.’”
Khamzat’s eyes lit with approval.
“That’s a really powerful name to rally the Viking people. I’ll get on that.”
He turned and walked away, already weaving through officers and warriors, spreading a word that would soon become a banner, a chant, a promise. I shifted my attention back to Samuel, the glow of the docking bay reflecting in his tired eyes. “We have a lot to watch out for. It’s not just the hell horde we have to worry about.”
Movement at the far end of the bridge caught my attention. Beelzebub approached, his insectoid form casting sharp, angular shadows against the metal floor. Beside him walked Serenity, her posture guarded, her pretty blue eyes avoiding mine. As they reached us, I didn’t soften my tone.
“After this battle, we may run into Shark People again. You better not stand in my way if that happens, do you understand?”
Serenity nodded. The motion was small, restrained. Guilt hung over her like a second skin, and I knew my words had cut deep. In her eyes, I saw the unspoken weight of Anisia’s death—and the part she believed she had played in it.
One by one, they all walked away. Samuel. Niko. Droid L-84. Serenity. Even the distant figures below seemed to fade into background motion. Only three of us remained. Emily stood behind me. Beelzebub lingered at my side. I turned slightly toward him, lowering my voice.
“Do you think there’s any way to bring Anisia back?” Beelzebub shook his head slowly, the faint glow of his compound eyes dimming.
“We used the last soul stone, remember? And besides, it’s too early to change the past.”
He turned to leave, his steps echoing softly across the bridge. “What do you mean by that?”
He paused, then looked back at me, his expression unreadable. “I can only say or see, something catastrophic is going to happen after the battle for Cybrawl.”
With that, he walked away, disappearing into the corridors that led deeper into the fortress. I remained where I was, staring out at the docking bay, at the ships preparing to carry us into another storm. Then I felt Emily’s arms wrap around me from behind, her embrace firm, unspoken, real. I leaned into it, letting myself breathe for the first time in what felt like days.
Beyond the open mouth of the docking bay, snow fell through the night sky of Skogheim, streaking past the lights and disappearing into darkness below. The world was holding its breath. And so were we.
Meanwhile, on the semi-artificial world of Cybrawl—an impossible fusion of machine precision and planetary mass—the floating fortress continued its slow, predatory voyage through the void. Snow-choked mountain ranges clung to the planet’s outer shell like scars, their peaks bristling with antennae, cannon emplacements, and exhaust vents that bled orange heat into the frozen vacuum. Beneath that surface, buried deep within reinforced strata of alloy and obsidian, lay the command center—the brain of Cybrawl itself.
Inside, the chamber was cold and angular, lit by a constant amber glow cast from holographic star charts and system diagnostics. At its center stood Deathskull.
He loomed over the command table, his form a grotesque triumph of brutality over biology. His body was a gun-metal gray skeleton, every limb reinforced with interlocking plates and exposed servos. His head—shaped like a metallic wolf skull—tilted slightly as glowing orange eyes tracked the data scrolling before him. There was no breath, no heartbeat, only the faint mechanical whine of processors straining under the weight of calculation.
Around him, demondroid pilots worked in silence. Their skeletal frames were slimmer, less imposing, but no less unsettling. Each bore a human-shaped skull for a head, fused to masks welded directly onto their jaws, tubing and cables snaking from their mouths and necks like parasitic veins. They moved with rigid efficiency, fingers clicking against controls etched with infernal sigils and machine code.
“We’re approaching Skogheim sir,” one of the demondroid pilots said.
The projection shifted, revealing Skogheim suspended in space—blue, green, and alive—its atmosphere now crowned by the faint silhouette of something vast and angular.
“Should we strike?” another pilot said.
Deathskull nodded.
At once, the command center came alive. Systems synchronized. Energy conduits flared. Far above, on the artificial planet’s outer shell, the laser core awakened. From space, it appeared as a massive circular aperture opening along Cybrawl’s side, molten orange light swelling within like a star being born.
The beam fired.
A column of concentrated energy tore through the void and slammed directly into Skogheim’s atmosphere—only to disperse harmlessly across an invisible barrier. The magnetic shield generated by Star Castle rippled outward in shimmering waves, absorbing the impact without so much as a fracture.
Inside the command center, alarms flickered—but none screamed louder than Deathskull’s sudden loss of composure.
“God dammit! How can that mangey animal do this!”
His metallic fists came down on the command table with catastrophic force, denting alloy and sending fractures spider-webbing through the surface. For the first time since his creation, Deathskull displayed something unmistakably close to rage.
“That floating monolith in their atmosphere must have produced their defense system,” one of the pilots said.
Deathskull’s gaze snapped back to the main screen, which now clearly displayed the ancient upside-down pyramid hovering above Skogheim like a silent god.
“That’s not just any monolith, it’s ‘Star Castle’. I’m impressed, these fools actually use technology.”
“I guess they’re not fools then.”
The mistake was instantaneous—and fatal.
Deathskull turned with inhuman speed. His skeletal frame blurred as he seized the pilot, lifting the demondroid clean off the floor. There was no hesitation, no mercy. The beating was swift, violent, and absolute—metal against metal until the pilot collapsed into a heap of broken limbs and shattered plating, orange optics flickering out for good.
Silence reclaimed the room.
As Deathskull straightened, recalibrating, the orange holoscreen at the center of the chamber suddenly shifted. A new signal forced its way through Cybrawl’s systems, overriding defensive protocols with humiliating ease.
Alexandria appeared.
Her image was sharp, composed, framed by the faint glow of Skogheim’s command infrastructure.
“You think you can come back to terrorize my people?”
Deathskull said nothing. His eyes flicked past her image as the tactical display updated in real time. Space beyond Cybrawl’s orbit filled with motion—dozens, then hundreds of Viking Drakkar warships emerging from hyperspace like a steel tide.
They surged forward, breaching Cybrawl’s orbital gates, tearing through defensive perimeters that had not been designed to withstand coordinated resistance.
“Sir, Viking war ships have breached our gates and are preparing for an attack.”
“I guess we’ll be taking your gem of an artificial world, as a fair trade. Good luck, rust bucket.”
The hologram vanished.
Deathskull stood motionless, the data flooding his mind faster than he could adapt. His processors calculated probabilities, outcomes, contingencies—but each branch collapsed inward, narrowing toward the same conclusion. He was fast. He was powerful. But he was not creative.
And he knew it.
That knowledge—more than the approaching armada, more than the failure of Cybrawl’s core weapon—was what truly destabilized him. Deathskull was a machine designed to dominate, to execute predetermined strategies with ruthless precision. But now he faced an enemy that evolved, that adapted, that wielded both ancient myth and advanced technology in equal measure.
The Vikingnar fleet closed in, blotting out the stars. And in that moment, within the cold heart of the artificial world, Deathskull experienced something dangerously close to panic.
Deathskull turned away from the command table, his glowing orange eyes dimming as tactical projections collapsed behind him. Without hesitation, he strode toward a towering portal set into the far wall of the command center. The portal’s frame was forged from blackened alloy etched with ancient runes, humming with dimensional energy. As it activated, the air warped and folded inward, revealing what lay beyond.
On the other side stretched the factory regions of Cybrawl.
It was a world within a world—an immaculate fusion of nature and machine. Vast plains of steel and obsidian were interwoven with forests of engineered evergreens, their needles shimmering faintly with bioluminescent frost. Rivers of coolant and molten metal ran side by side, steaming gently beneath artificial skies. Scandinavian-style pyramid factories rose in perfect symmetry, their angular silhouettes echoing ancient Nordic architecture while vents and conduits pulsed with industrial life. Conveyor systems moved with ritual precision, and distant assembly lines glowed like veins beneath translucent flooring.
Despite everything Deathskull represented, Cybrawl remained clean. Pristine.
Maintained with almost obsessive care.
That would not last.
The factory city was about to be drenched in blood, and the surrounding lifeforms—engineered fauna lurking beneath metal canopies and within subterranean growth chambers—would soon thrive on the rejuvenation that only destruction could provide. Deathskull stepped through the portal without a backward glance, emerging into the cold, humming heart of Cybrawl’s industrial domain.
Here, he prepared for war.
Corrupted droids assembled first—gray metal skeletal androids clad in Anglo Saxon-style armor, their helms angular and brutal, their optics glowing a sickly amber. They moved with unified purpose, weapons magnetizing into their grips as they formed disciplined ranks. Behind them marched corrupted knights, their kettle helmets scarred and dented, tabards stained with old oil and older blood. Their armor bore the marks of centuries of repurposing, reforged again and again to serve Deathskull’s will.
Then came the demon legion.
They poured in from secondary portals, bodies twisted and asymmetrical, wings dragging sparks across the obsidian ground, claws flexing in anticipation. Their presence warped the air itself, frost forming and evaporating in rapid cycles around their limbs. Deathskull stood before them all, silent and unmoving, a figure of absolute authority.
He was ready.
Across Cybrawl’s surface, our re-formed Berserker Viking clan made planetfall. Drakkar dropships screamed through the artificial atmosphere, their hulls glowing as they cut through defensive fire. Ramps slammed down onto factory platforms and steel plains, and warriors surged forward in disciplined chaos—armor sealed, weapons charged, banners snapping violently in the ionized wind.
We were armored and ready to take back Cybrawl.
The battlefield ignited instantly. Suppressing fire from Deathskull’s forces turned the open factory grounds into a storm of plasma bolts and tracer fire. Energy rounds carved glowing scars across pyramid walls and tore through steel foliage. The clash began as a brutal firefight, both sides dug in, neither willing to yield ground.
Deathskull was being defensive this time.
Minutes stretched into an eternity of noise and light. The air filled with the crack of rifles, the howl of demon war cries, and the constant thunder of impacts against shields. Yet despite the intensity, nothing changed. Lines held. Casualties mounted. No one was going anywhere.
That was when I realized the truth.
We had to advance.
Using the briefest lulls in enemy fire, we pushed forward meter by meter, boots slipping on scorched metal and frozen coolant. That was when the demons charged. They broke from cover in waves, abandoning ranged support for raw violence, hurling themselves into our position with claws, blades, and teeth.
Melee erupted.
I moved immediately, cutting across the battlefield toward Emily and Serenity. The ground shook beneath charging bodies, and the air was thick with smoke and sparks. I reached them just as demonic warriors crashed into their defensive line. Steel met claws. Energy blades screamed against corrupted armor. Together, we carved space around ourselves, driving the demons back long enough to stabilize the line.
After aiding them in taking out demonic warriors, I yelled to them, “We need split off melee from rifles. Get a group of shooters on the sides of enemy lines, we need a way to flush to shit out!”
They nodded without hesitation. “Emily, Serenity, look after each other.”
Even with their faces covered by armored masks and vibrant visors, I knew they understood exactly what I meant. There was no time for anything else. No time for unresolved pain or hesitation.
Emily and Serenity broke away, rallying a separate force of Viking warriors. They moved fast, using collapsed machinery and factory pylons as cover while plasma rifle fire roared from their flanks. red-white bolts tore through demon ranks from the sides, ripping open gaps in Deathskull’s defensive formation.
And then the magic began.
Emily drove her hand into the ground, and the factory floor answered. Silver crystals erupted upward in violent bloom, tearing through steel plating and enemy bodies alike. Jagged spires impaled corrupted droids and demon warriors, lifting them screaming into the air. Some crystals skewered demons in brutal, humiliating angles, sharp protrusions going up their rectums, their bodies frozen mid-charge as the battlefield swallowed them whole.
Beside her, Serenity unleashed the storm.
Tornadoes formed at her command, tight spirals of screaming wind and debris that ripped limbs from demon bodies and hurled broken forms into factory walls. Wings snapped. Armor shredded. The air itself became a weapon, compressing and exploding with devastating force.
For the first time since Anisia’s death, they fought as one.
Emily and Serenity advanced relentlessly, cutting a path through the sides of the enemy lines. Their combined assault shattered Deathskull’s formation, forcing corrupted droids to divert fire and demons to turn away from our main push.
That was all we needed. With the enemy’s attention split, our Berserker forces surged forward. Shields locked. Blades raised. Rifles blazing. We pushed into the breach, reclaiming ground inch by blood-soaked inch. Cybrawl trembled beneath the weight of the battle. And somewhere within the factory city, Deathskull was no longer in control.
The tide finally turned.
Khamzat and I continued to push forward through the factory district, our boots crunching over fractured obsidian and twisted metal. The air was thick with smoke and ionized heat, and the once-pristine geometry of Cybrawl’s industrial plains had been reduced to a scarred battlefield of collapsed pylons and burning machinery. Every step forward felt earned, paid for with sweat, blood, and sheer force of will.
The corrupted knights rushed us in disorganized waves, their kettle helmets dented, their movements sluggish. In close combat they were useless now. I had learned their weaknesses—thin seams beneath the shoulder plates, exposed joints at the neck where old-world craftsmanship failed to anticipate modern brutality. My chainsword, Revenge, screamed as it tore through armor, its teeth biting deep and showering sparks with every strike. The vibration traveled up my arms, grounding me in the moment, reminding me that this fight was real, even if the universe itself felt unstable.
Around us, Berserker warriors advanced in tight formations, shields locking and breaking apart as needed, adapting faster than the enemy could respond. Khamzat moved like a living battering ram beside me, cutting down demons that tried to flank us. The Hell Horde faltered, their initial ferocity replaced by confusion.
Then I noticed it.
Above the roar of battle, flashes of distant plasma fire cut clean arcs through the sky. Demondroids were collapsing in droves, their skeletal frames detonating as shots pierced their power cores. I didn’t need a tactical readout to know what was happening. Emily and Serenity’s forces were doing exactly what we needed them to do. The enemy’s ranged units were being erased from the equation.
We weren’t just surviving anymore. We were winning.
Still, instinct told me not to trust the feeling. Victories like this were never complete until they were confirmed. I glanced toward Khamzat, who was already watching me, his expression hard and focused beneath his helm.
I gave him a single nod.
“That’s the signal,” I said.
Khamzat didn’t hesitate. He raised his arm and activated the beacon embedded in his gauntlet. A low, ancient sound rolled across the battlefield moments later—a war horn, deep and thunderous, echoing through the factory canyons of Cybrawl. It wasn’t just noise. It was a declaration.
Behind enemy lines, the ground erupted.
Sewer hatches blasted open, steam and debris shooting skyward as Alexandria, Samuel, and Niko emerged with a hidden force of Viking warriors. They surged upward like ghosts from beneath the world, black-and-silver armor gleaming in the firelight as they launched their surprise assault. Enemy units turned too late, caught between hammer and anvil as Berserkers crashed into their rear lines.
The Hell Horde broke.
Demons fled or fell. Corrupted knights were cut down where they stood. Demondroids collapsed in sparking heaps, their coordination shattered. Within minutes, the factory district fell eerily quiet, broken only by the crackle of burning machinery and the distant hum of Cybrawl’s artificial atmosphere struggling to stabilize.
We had won.
The Berserker Viking clan stood victorious, armor scarred, weapons smoking, banners raised high amid the ruins. Yet as the adrenaline drained from my system, a cold realization crept in.
Deathskull was nowhere to be seen.
Alexandria was the first to notice. She stood atop a fractured platform, scanning the battlefield with sharp, calculating eyes. Then she turned, her gaze locking onto something beyond the smoke.
“There,” she said, her voice cutting through the aftermath.
I followed her line of sight and saw it—a retreating figure moving toward the inner sectors of Cybrawl. Gunmetal gray. Skeletal. Fast. Deathskull was fleeing, slipping away into the deeper infrastructure of the artificial world, toward places only he truly understood.
Alexandria didn’t hesitate.
“Will,” she ordered, her voice firm and absolute, “go and stop him.”
For a moment, the battlefield faded away. No armies. No banners. No noise. Just the distant shape of a machine that had haunted too many lives and timelines.
I tightened my grip on Revenge, feeling its weight, its familiar hum. Without another word, I broke into a run, weaving through the ruins of Cybrawl’s factory city, following the trail of a machine who believed he could escape consequence.
I didn’t know what waited for me ahead. But I knew one thing for certain. This wasn’t over.
I continued to follow Deathskull’s trail using my infrared vision, the world shifting into layered spectrums of heat and motion. His mechanical presence burned like a wound in the landscape, an unmistakable signature against the carefully balanced ecology of Cybrawl. The artificial planet revealed itself in quiet defiance of the war that had scarred its surface—trees grown with algorithmic precision yet swaying as if alive, their branches breathing in simulated wind, their leaves glowing faintly with bioluminescent veins.
I moved through the forest without slowing, boots sinking softly into moss that felt too organic to be artificial. Above me, the sky shimmered with slow-moving auroras, a byproduct of Cybrawl’s atmospheric regulators. Despite everything Deathskull had done, the planet remained beautiful. That irony clung to me as I crossed a narrow creek, its water perfectly clear, flowing beneath a simple stone bridge carved with Nordic geometry. The sound of running water briefly drowned out the distant echoes of battle.
Beyond the bridge, the terrain opened into a garden.
The flowers towered overhead, their petals the size of shields, colors shifting subtly as if reacting to my presence. Pollen drifted through the air like golden snow. In the center of this impossible place stood a stone circle, ancient in design yet untouched by age. Viking runes were etched deep into each slab, glowing faintly, resonating with something older than technology.
And there he was.
Deathskull stood in the center of the circle, motionless, his metallic back turned toward me. His wolf-shaped skull gleamed under the garden’s light, gunmetal gray etched with scars from countless upgrades. He looked almost small standing there, framed by towering flowers and ancient stone, a machine pretending to be something more.
I stepped forward, chainsword humming softly at my side, and broke the silence. “You’re finished. Please don’t make this difficult, droid.”
Deathskull turned slowly, orange eyes igniting as they locked onto me. The garden’s light reflected off his skeletal frame as he faced me fully.
“You want to know something,” he said. “I killed my creator. He was a man named Peterson Thornton, and I killed him for bringing me into this world by force. Even though I’m alive, I still have nothing on the inside.”
His words echoed strangely in the open air, hollow yet heavy. I felt the weight of them settle, even as I stepped closer.
“A soul?” I said. “You’re talking about a soul, aren’t you?”
Deathskull nodded, the movement stiff and mechanical, yet unmistakably deliberate.
“I saw Maladrie as a way out from this torment,” he continued. “She could have given me a soul, a form to thrive in.”
The runes beneath his feet pulsed faintly, as if reacting to his confession. I tightened my grip on Revenge, the chainsword growl deepening.
“If you wanted a soul,” I said, “you could’ve just asked.”
Deathskull’s head tilted slightly, an imitation of human doubt. “It’s not that easy,” he replied. “No technology can give you a soul. Only Maladrie and her magic can do that.”
The truth of it settled like ash. I took another step forward, standing just outside the stone circle.
“At least you’re honest about one thing,” I said. “Maladrie is only good for death and destruction, my friend.”
That was all it took.
Deathskull attacked without hesitation. Twin orange energy swords ignited in his hands, their glow slicing violently through the garden’s soft light. He moved faster than before, mechanical joints screaming as he closed the distance. I met him head-on, chainsword colliding with energy in a shower of sparks that scorched the petals around us.
Then the air tore open.
Wormholes blinked into existence around the stone circle, ripping reality apart in brief, violent flashes. From each rift emerged identical copies of Deathskull—perfect replicas, each wielding orange Viking-style energy swords. They surrounded me in an instant, forming a spinning storm of blades.
The garden became chaotic.
I fought without pause, chainsword roaring as I carved through clone after clone. Sparks, oil, and severed metal limbs scattered across the grass. Each clone dissolved into smoke and static upon destruction, yet more took their place, manifesting on Deathskull’s whim through his warped technology.
Despite the assault, I pushed forward. Step by step. Strike by strike.
Deathskull began to retreat within the circle, his movements losing their earlier precision. His voice cut through the clash of weapons.
“Why do you keep fighting?!”
I gave him no answer.
The duel intensified, my chainsword finally biting deep into his arm. Metal tore free in a shriek of ruptured servos and grinding steel. Deathskull staggered, his energy swords flickering as he dropped to his knees within the runes.
The clones vanished.
The garden fell silent again, broken only by the hum of my weapon and the soft rustle of oversized petals.
Deathskull looked up at me, orange eyes dimming. “Please,” he said. “Fix me.”
I stood over him, shadow stretching across the stone circle. “I’m no good at fixing a broken tool,” I said. “Sorry, pal.”
I swung Revenge in a single, decisive arc.
The chainsword tore through his skeletal wolf head, severing it cleanly. The orange glow in his eyes faded to black as the head struck the stone and rolled into a pool of thick, black oil. His body collapsed moments later, lifeless, finally still.
The runes dimmed.The garden breathed. And Deathskull—machine, tyrant, and lost creation—was no more.
CHAPTER 32: "FIGHTING THE ODDS" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"