CHAPTER 34: "GET LOW" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

bY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 34: "GET LOW" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

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Meanwhile, the artificial world of Cybrawl shifted with mechanical purpose, its will expressed through cold precision rather than emotion. From orbit, cylindrical machines detached from Cybrawl’s underbelly like seeds released into the void. They burned through the atmosphere in controlled silence, streaking toward Skogheim’s surface before angling downward and drilling straight through stone, soil, and ancient bedrock.

The descent was violent, yet calculated.

When the machines reached the underground metropolis, they halted abruptly, suspending themselves in midair as if gravity itself had lost its authority. Their smooth metallic shells split open along hidden seams, revealing rotating cores that emitted thin red laser grids. The beams swept across obsidian floors, ancient stone walls, collapsed laboratories, and forgotten corridors—mapping, cataloging, remembering.

Nothing was missed.

Once the scans were complete, the machines synchronized. A low-frequency hum rippled through the underground city, resonating through every pillar and archway. Space bent inward. Light warped. The ancient metropolis—its blue and red ambient glow, its shattered history, its silent grief—was slowly engulfed, folded inward like a relic being sealed away.

A portal bloomed around it.

In a blink that felt like a held breath finally released, the underground metropolis vanished from Skogheim, transported whole into one of Cybrawl’s pocket dimensions.

Above it all, far beyond the atmosphere, the Star Castle moved.

The upside-down floating pyramid—ancient, monolithic, and defiant—drifted through the void toward Cybrawl. Its surface reflected distant stars as it breached the artificial planet’s atmosphere, entering clean skies untouched by smoke or war. Below, the jungle-alpine canopy darkened as the pyramid cast a vast, triangular shadow over the land.

From the factory regions, droids and Vikings alike looked upward, watching in silence as the Star Castle began to fade—not destroyed, not lost, but phased, slipping sideways into a pocket dimension of its own.

When the transition completed, both the underground metropolis and the Star Castle now existed together inside a specific pocket dimension of Cybrawl. 04888144. This place was nothing like the worlds left behind.

The sky was pitch-black, absent of stars, pierced only by distant glimmers reflecting off a sprawling boulder field and jagged, rocky terrain. The ancient city now sat exposed above ground, its structures rising stark and solemn against the darkness. Overhead, the Star Castle still floated—silent, unmoving, eternal—like a watchful god suspended in a dead sky.

It was here that Samuel, Niko, Khamzat, Ikeem, Droid L-84, Jimmy, Pete, Rick, Mathew, Elizabeth, Cole, Hanna, Serenity, Beelzebub, Emily, and I arrived.

This place was not meant to inspire comfort.

It felt stored. Archived. Shelved away from reality.

I looked around at the endless black terrain and looming stone formations and said, “This place gives me the warehouse vibe.”

The words echoed strangely, swallowed by the open space.

Emily’s eyes scanned the boulder field, her expression tightening as she took in the oppressive landscape. She said, “This place is so ugly.”

As if responding to her words, a raven perched atop a nearby boulder suddenly took flight. Its wings snapped open with sharp intensity, the sound cutting through the silence. It startled Emily enough that she recoiled instinctively.

“Ah!” she screamed.

The raven circled once, then swooped lower—too close. Its black wings passed just above my head, feathers rustling through the air like a warning.

Emily’s face showed genuine concern now, her grip tightening as she stared after it. I looked up at the circling birds and said, “What the hell is with these birds?”

Droid L-84’s optics followed the flock with calm precision before he said, “I guess they’re guardians of this pocket dimension.”

Mathew then asks, “Which pocket dimension is this?”

Droid L-84 turned his robotic head sharply to say, “Pocket Dimension 04888144, to be exact.”

Emily reached for my hand, and I took it without hesitation. Together, we continued forward with the others, our footsteps crunching softly against the rocky ground as we approached the gates of the ancient city—now standing where it never should have been, displaced yet intact.

As we passed beneath the towering stone archways, the air shifted.

A sudden eruption of wings filled the space as an entire flock of ravens burst forth from the city’s structures. The birds descended in chaotic spirals, their calls sharp and disorienting. Instinctively, we ducked, raising our arms as shadows and feathers swept past us in a violent storm.

Then—silence.

The ravens scattered into the dark sky, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.

We slowly straightened and looked ahead.

Standing just beyond the gates, calm and unmoved by the chaos, was Alexandria—already there, already waiting.

The pocket dimension of 04888144 stood still once more, as if acknowledging her presence.

The pocket dimension remained still, as if the ancient city itself were listening.

Black stone streets stretched outward beneath our feet, worn smooth by centuries that no longer belonged to any single timeline. Above us, Star Castle hovered in the artificial darkness, its inverted mass casting a permanent shadow across the ruins below. No wind stirred. No sky moved. Even the ravens had vanished, leaving behind a silence that felt preserved rather than natural.

It was there, beneath that floating monolith and among displaced history, that I broke the quiet.

I asked Alexandria, “Now that we’ve moved everything, we should consider getting the Arckon Sphere.”

Her response came without hesitation, grounded and deliberate, echoing against the stone. “Not so fast. We still have civilians to move. We need to consider taking back territory and re establishing communication with other sectors of Vikingnar.”

The words settled heavily. Around us, the group shifted, some glancing toward the gates of the city, others up toward Star Castle, as if weighing the scale of what had already been done.

I answered, “Are we trying to empire-build or save the universe?”

Alexandria’s gaze never wavered. “Not an empire. A civilization. Clearly, an empire didn’t work the first time.”

I nodded slowly, the truth of it stinging more than I wanted to admit. The echoes of fallen banners, failed crowns, and broken rulers seemed etched into the stone around us. I said, “I understand you want people to expel positive energy, but we need to get our priorities straight. We need to get the Sphere.”

Alexandria’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why?”

I turned toward Serenity. The dim light of the pocket dimension caught the edges of her armor, her posture tense but resolved. I said, “Serenity, tell her why it’s important.”

Serenity stepped forward, her voice steady despite everything she had endured. “When I found Maladrie’s journal, it said she wanted to build a pyramid and activate the Sphere on top of that pyramid, destroying the universe as we know it.”

The words lingered, heavy and absolute.

Alexandria folded her arms, considering. “How does the Arckon Sphere even destroy timelines?”

Before Serenity could answer, Mathew’s voice cut through the stillness, blunt and unapologetic. “Nobody knows, nobody cares, and nobody wants to find out.”

I exhaled and followed, “Which is why the Sphere is our top priority, even if it means saving the souls of the dead.”

That finally shifted Alexandria’s expression. Her voice softened, somber now. “What do you mean?”

Beelzebub stepped forward, his presence carrying an unspoken weight. “The River of Souls is gone.”

Alexandria turned sharply toward him. “River of Souls?”

Beelzebub continued, his tone heavy with loss. “The only safe passage for deceased souls into the higher realms is gone. The Arckon Sphere is our only hope of freeing dead souls into the higher realms.”

For a moment, Alexandria said nothing. Then, measured and almost dismissive, she replied, “That’s what you people are worried about? All we need is the power of belief. Just believe all deceased souls will reach the higher realms on their own.”

Beelzebub shook his head slightly. “If it were only that simple. The Wraith is a reflection of what happens here in the physical realm.”

Alexandria’s voice firmed again, returning to command. “Which is why we need to make the most of it. We need to gather our lost civilians, give them homes, get more warriors, and retrieve the Sphere, in order to stop more bloodshed from happening.”

I stepped forward, the ruins beneath my boots reminding me of how fragile civilizations truly were. “What if there’s more bloodshed while trying to restore Viking society? What then? Do you think their souls will still make it to the higher realms?”

Alexandria met my gaze without flinching. “Yes. I do, actually. That’s what Valrra believes, which is why we need to find her as well.”

She paused, the silence stretching just long enough to matter, then continued, “I’m willing to make a compromise. We need to move our lost civilians into Cybrawl, get more warriors, locate the Sphere, establish communication with lost sectors of Vikingnar, and retrieve the Sphere. Rescuing Valrra seems a ways away, but if we move fast, it could be done.”

No one spoke after that.

We stood together in the dilapidated ancient city, displaced from its world yet alive within this dark pocket dimension. Above us, Star Castle hovered like a silent witness, its presence both reassuring and ominous.

There were no cheers. No declarations of victory.

Only understanding.

And agreement.

After our meeting concluded, all seventeen of us stepped beyond the threshold of pocket dimension 04888144, exiting through a collapsing veil of folded light and returning to the main environment of Cybrawl’s artificial world. The dimensional seam sealed behind us without a sound, as if reality itself exhaled and smoothed over the incision.

Cybrawl unfolded before us in layered perfection.

We walked together through the nature-friendly factory region, where advanced industrial structures blended seamlessly with living ecosystems. Massive production spires rose like metallic trees, their surfaces wrapped in mosses engineered to absorb radiation and excess heat. Conveyor paths of transparent alloy moved silently overhead, carrying raw materials harvested from dead stars and reconstructed matter streams. Below, water channels flowed with recycled clarity, feeding groves of bioluminescent plants whose soft glow illuminated the pathways beneath our feet.

The air smelled clean, impossibly clean, filtered through planetary-scale atmospheric processors hidden far beneath the terrain. This was not merely a factory district. It was a statement. Proof that industry and life no longer had to exist in opposition.

As we continued walking, Alexandria broke the silence, turning her attention toward Emily and me. “So you guys don’t believe in free will?”

Her voice echoed slightly against the curved alloy structures surrounding us, carrying neither accusation nor judgment, only curiosity sharpened by experience.

I answered honestly, my gaze drifting toward the horizon where the artificial sky met distant megastructures & jungle. “I want to, but realistically we can’t wilt evil away with just thoughts.”

The words felt heavier once spoken, settling into the space between us like an unresolved equation. Alexandria listened, her expression thoughtful rather than defensive. “It seems like you thought I believed free will is built without action. I know you can’t have one without the other… In simple terms, we’re on the same team.”

Emily and I exchanged a glance. There was a quiet understanding between us, one shaped by loss, war, and survival across collapsing realities. We turned back toward Alexandria, prepared to respond—

When suddenly, a sharp rustling sound erupted from Emily’s leather purse.

Before either of us could react, the purse burst open.

A flash of red and black shot upward, wings unfolding clumsily as a small infant dragon tumbled into open air. Its scales shimmered like molten obsidian streaked with crimson veins, and a jagged crest crowned its oversized head. The creature hovered unsteadily, eyes impossibly large and glowing with newborn curiosity.

Alexandria froze. “What the hell is that?”

Emily, unfazed, stepped forward protectively. “Relax, it’s our new pet dragon, Spark. We found him in the Wraith.”

The dragon fluttered closer, circling us in uneven loops, its wings beating too fast, too hard, as if unsure how much effort flight actually required.

Alexandria narrowed her eyes. “Why are his eyes so big?”

Emily answered without hesitation. “He’s just a baby.”

As if on cue, Spark let out a small hiccup and burped a flicker of flame, no larger than a candle’s breath. The fire dissipated harmlessly into the filtered air.

I sighed, watching the creature wobble mid-flight. “He’s a burping baby, and who said anything about a pet? We agreed on having Beelzebub raise it.”

Almost instinctively, the dragon veered away from us and drifted toward Beelzebub. It landed gently on his left shoulder, curling its tail around his collar as though it had always belonged there.

Beelzebub remained perfectly still, ancient eyes studying the infant creature. “I must train him to be the new guardian of souls. Once we create the new gateway of souls, of course.”

Emily crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “Fine.”

Without warning, she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, squeezing with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Alrighty then! But that means silly Willy is my pet for an eternity.”

Despite the pressure, I didn’t resist. Emily leaned forward and kissed my forehead, smearing black lipstick across my skin. I didn’t complain. Not when she smiled like that. Not when she was my inamorata, my anchor in a universe that refused to stay still.

Across from us, Serenity watched in silence. Her expression was blank, but the tension in her posture betrayed something sharper beneath the surface. Jealousy, restrained but unmistakable, lingered in her gaze.

The moment shattered when two liberated Demondroids approached us. Their metal frames bore scars from past conflicts, their once-hostile postures now neutral, almost hesitant. Emily and I immediately disengaged, our attention snapping back to the present.

One of the droids spoke, its voice modulator steady but uncertain. “King William, will we ever serve in battle under your command again?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not, metalheads. Your betrayal was a disgrace, and only flesh-and-blood people are allowed to be warriors now.”

The second droid stepped forward, audacity flickering through its optics. “Then why does Droid L-84 get to fight alongside you?”

I met its gaze evenly. “His programming is different from yours. You metalheads will be spending your time building from now on.”

The two Demondroids said nothing more. They turned and walked away, their heavy footsteps echoing down the polished pathways.

I turned toward Droid L-84. “Some of their old code is still within them. Why is that?”

Droid L-84 answered calmly. “Because we didn’t discuss with Alexandria on disbanding the droids from combat yet.”

I blinked. “Oh.”

Alexandria immediately responded. “Yeah, oh. So we’re not using them for any combat role?”

I nodded slowly. “I only trust Droid L-84 with any combat role. I figured he could whip some techno-magic bullshit to replicate himself.”

Alexandria nodded in understanding. “Got it. Now let’s take you to your new homes.”

She gestured forward.

Ahead of us, a portal ignited, its surface shimmering with soft white light, tuned precisely to Cybrawl’s residential sectors. Without hesitation, all seventeen of us followed Alexandria toward it, stepping together into whatever Chapter Ten still had waiting on the other side.

On the other side of the portal, the world changed.

The sterile perfection of Cybrawl’s factory regions gave way to something far more familiar, something deliberately designed to feel lived in rather than engineered. We emerged into Cybrawl’s suburbia region, a vast expanse of carefully sculpted terrain stretching to the artificial horizon. Rolling hills rose and fell naturally, despite being entirely synthetic, their slopes dotted with clusters of Viking-style homes that gleamed softly beneath the manufactured sky.

The houses were unmistakably Vikingnar in spirit, yet unmistakably Cybrawl in construction. Graphene metal beams formed the skeletal frames of longhouses and peaked-roof dwellings, their surfaces etched with faint runic circuitry that pulsed like veins of subdued light. Walls of reinforced glass reflected the alpine scenery around them, mirroring snow-capped mountains in the distance and the slow drift of cloud systems calculated down to the molecular level.

Above it all, wyverns soared.

They cut through the sky in wide, lazy arcs, their wings catching the light as they rode invisible thermal currents generated by Cybrawl’s climate engines. Some were distant silhouettes, others close enough that the low thunder of their wingbeats could be felt through the ground rather than heard. Their presence gave the place an ancient dignity, as though the planet itself had agreed to remember what it once meant to be wild.

It felt like home.

Not the kind of home forged through years of peace and roots driven deep into the soil, but the kind born out of necessity. A temporary sanctuary, built for warriors who no longer trusted permanence.

Emily and I separated from the others and made our way toward one of the houses resting near the edge of the neighborhood. Its structure was simple, almost modest by Cybrawl’s standards, but there was intention in every angle. The doorway recognized our presence and slid open soundlessly, revealing an interior bathed in warm, ambient light.

Inside, the house balanced comfort and restraint. The floors were smooth alloy layered beneath synthetic wood textures, designed to feel familiar beneath bare feet. Furnishings were minimal but deliberate, each piece clearly printed and assembled with care rather than excess. The wide glass panels along the far wall overlooked the distant mountains, giving the illusion that the world extended endlessly beyond the threshold.

Emily turned slowly, taking it all in.

She looked at me and asked, “What do you think?”

I lowered myself into a reclining chair positioned near the window, the material adjusting instantly to my weight and posture. For a moment, I simply stared outward, watching a wyvern bank sharply against the artificial sky, its shadow gliding across the valley below.

Finally, I answered, “It will have to do for now.”

The words weren’t dismissive. They were honest. This place wasn’t meant to replace what we had lost, only to hold us together until something stronger could be built.

Emily lingered nearby, clearly wanting to say more. Her body language shifted, weight transferring from one foot to the other, her fingers tracing the edge of the glass wall as though grounding herself in the reality of it. The silence stretched, comfortable but heavy, thick with everything left unsaid.

Exhaustion crept in before any further words could form.

The chair cradled me more deeply than expected, its internal systems detecting fatigue I hadn’t consciously acknowledged. The distant sounds of Cybrawl’s suburbia faded into a soft, ambient hum, the measured rhythm of a world that never truly slept but allowed others to.

My vision dimmed.

Thoughts scattered.

And before the moment could become anything more, sleep claimed me, pulling me under as the artificial sky continued to glow softly beyond the glass.

Meanwhile, in the main factory region of Cybrawl, motion and intention replaced rest.

The vast industrial plain stretched outward beneath a pale, engineered sky, where nature and machine intertwined seamlessly. Artificial gardens bloomed between towering fabrication pylons, their leaves threaded with faint circuitry that shimmered when caught by the light. Rivers of suspended drones flowed through the air like metallic currents, carrying components, raw matter, and entire architectural segments from one sector to another.

At the heart of one such garden circle, Beelzebub stood calmly, his presence grounded and ancient amid the hum of technology.

Before him, the little dragon Spark fluttered clumsily through the air.

Spark’s red-and-black scales reflected flashes of light as he struggled to maintain balance, his oversized wings beating in uneven bursts. His pronounced crest bobbed with each correction, and his tail flicked instinctively as he tried to follow Beelzebub’s silent guidance. The makeshift garden circle had been repurposed into a training ground, with hovering hoops formed of hard-light suspended at varying heights and distances.

Spark darted forward, missed the first hoop entirely, spiraled slightly, then corrected himself with an indignant chirr that crackled faintly with heat. His wings adjusted, his body leveled out, and on the second attempt he passed cleanly through, landing awkwardly but upright on a stone platform grown deliberately from the garden floor.

Beelzebub watched closely, patient and unwavering.

Again and again, Spark practiced. Short flights became longer arcs. Erratic landings slowly transformed into deliberate descents. Each successful maneuver brought with it a subtle change in the young dragon’s posture, as though instinct long buried in his blood was awakening piece by piece.

Not far from the garden circle, the ground itself trembled—not from instability, but from precision.

An unused Viking-style pyramid, forged entirely from black graphene, rose slowly from its resting position as if answering an unspoken command. The structure was massive, its angular sides etched with ancient Nordic geometry fused with advanced circuit lattices. Gravity no longer claimed it.

Droid L-84 hovered nearby, issuing silent directives through encrypted channels as dozens of industrial droids surrounded the pyramid. Fields of blue-white energy wrapped around the structure, lifting it smoothly into the air. Despite its size, the pyramid moved with effortless grace, rotating slightly as it was guided toward a new alignment within the factory region.

While Spark practiced coordinated landings, the pyramid drifted like a dark star.

Between directing the relocation effort and monitoring energy output, Droid L-84 turned its attention toward the garden circle. Its optical sensors tracked Spark’s flight patterns, recording data with clinical precision.

After observing another successful pass through the hoops, Droid L-84 finally spoke. “Are you sure a dragon can make a good guardian?”

The question carried no doubt, only calculation.

Beelzebub did not look away from Spark as he answered. “Yes. But we could use extra guards, men and women, just to be safe.”

Spark landed again, this time more confidently, folding his wings with a soft rustle of scales. A thin wisp of smoke escaped his nostrils as he lifted his head, crest flaring faintly with residual energy.

Droid L-84 processed the response, then inclined its head slightly. “I ask, because I’m certain William’s theory on our Wraith Drives is correct. We can easily make a gateway for departed souls to travel through… I’d also like to apologize for what happened to your home.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy despite their calm delivery.

Beelzebub’s expression shifted, not with anger, but with a deep, restrained sorrow that came from centuries of duty finally severed. His gaze drifted momentarily away from Spark, toward nothing in particular. “My people have been guarding that place for centuries. It was only a matter of time before it fell. The Wraith became unstable. I see this gateway as our only option to bypass the False Light.”

The garden circle fell quiet.

Spark tilted his head, sensing the gravity of the moment without understanding it. He shuffled closer to Beelzebub, resting against his leg, the heat of his small body a living reminder that something had survived.

Beelzebub resumed the training with gentle precision, guiding Spark through another sequence of hoops, this time higher, closer to the open factory sky. Droid L-84 returned its focus to coordinating the pyramid’s placement, its systems calculating load distribution, dimensional anchoring, and future conversion possibilities.

They worked in silence.

Above them, on the highest tier of the main factory pyramid, Alexandria stood overlooking the entire operation. From her vantage point, Cybrawl unfolded like a living schematic: factories breathing, gardens growing, structures shifting into place as though the planet itself obeyed her will.

Her expression was composed, but her attention was absolute.

A soft vibration pulsed against her wrist.

Alexandria lifted her arm as her bracelet activated, projecting a translucent holo-screen into the air before her. The image stabilized to reveal a droid pilot, its form flickering slightly due to distance and signal compression.

The droid spoke with crisp clarity. “We’re in the vicinity of the lost civilians of Vikingnar.”

Alexandria’s eyes narrowed, not with fear, but with resolve.

She responded immediately. “We should prepare for the moving process.”

The holo-screen dissolved as the call ended.

Below, the black graphene pyramid settled into its designated position, locking into Cybrawl’s grid with a deep, resonant hum. Spark completed another controlled landing, wings folding neatly at his sides, his eyes bright and alert.

Across Cybrawl, systems adjusted.

Preparations began.

And unseen by those who worked tirelessly beneath the artificial sky, the next phase of survival was already in motion.

Back in the suburban region of Cybrawl, stillness settled into the architecture like a held breath.

I remained asleep in the reclined chair, my body slack, my armor discarded nearby, my mind far from rest. The house—constructed of graphene beams and glass panes—filtered the artificial daylight into muted bands that slid slowly across the floor. Outside, the distant calls of wyverns echoed between mountain ridges, their silhouettes passing like living shadows across the sky.

Sleep did not bring peace.

In the dream, the world was dim and circular, enclosed by standing stones etched with symbols I recognized but did not understand. The air felt heavy, charged, as if reality itself had been stretched thin. My hands moved with purpose I did not consciously choose, guided by something older than thought. The act was ritualistic—precise, inevitable—driven not by rage, but by necessity. There was no face, no name, only the weight of consequence pressing down like gravity. The ground beneath my feet pulsed faintly, responding to the act as though it were part of a larger mechanism.

Then the dream fractured.

Light cut through the darkness as awareness rushed back into my body. Emily stood before me, her presence grounding, real, undeniable.

I stirred, the lingering echo of the dream clinging to me like smoke, and asked, “What is it?”

Emily’s expression was gentle but firm, the kind that left no room for resistance.

She said, “It’s time to get up, sleepy head.”

I shifted in the chair and sat upright, the recliner releasing a soft mechanical hiss as it adjusted to my movement. The dream receded, but it's unease lingered, settling somewhere deep behind my ribs. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head toward the wide glass window that overlooked the street.

Outside, the neighborhood had changed.

Viking-style homes—angular, elegant, reinforced with advanced alloys—lined the streets in neat symmetry. Between them moved people who did not yet walk with the confidence of settlers, but with the cautious hope of survivors. Families carried what little they had. Children paused to stare at the sky, transfixed by the sight of wyverns circling overhead. Elders stood quietly, hands resting on walking staff or the shoulders of loved ones, as if grounding themselves in the reality that they were finally somewhere safe.

I watched them for a long moment, the weight of leadership pressing in as clearly as the glass before me.

I asked, “Are those people lost civilians?”

Emily followed my gaze, her reflection faintly visible in the window beside mine. She nodded once and said, “We’re going to re-establish communication with every other Viking.”

The words carried more than logistics—they carried intent. Restoration.

Connection. Responsibility.

I drew in a deep breath. The air felt clean, engineered but alive, and as it filled my lungs, the fatigue that had dragged at my bones began to loosen its grip. The unease from the dream dulled, replaced by focus. Whatever had stirred in my subconscious, it would have to wait.

I stood, the chair easing back into its neutral position behind me.

Without another word, I followed Emily toward the door, leaving the quiet of sleep behind and stepping back into a world that was moving forward—whether I was ready or not.

We then find ourselves on a dropship. The Drakkar dropship cut through Una’s upper atmosphere with a low, controlled hum. Frost gathered along the edges of the cockpit glass as we descended, the sky outside shifting through pale blues into a muted violet haze. Below us stretched a rugged alpine world—jagged mountain ranges capped with snow, deep valleys carved by ancient glacial movement, and forests of tall, violet-hued vegetation swaying gently in the wind. The planet looked untouched, almost sacred, as if war had somehow passed it by.

As we flew lower, an abandoned Viking city emerged from the terrain.

Stone and graphene structures stood intact, their architecture unmistakably Vikingnar—towering halls, angular rooftops, and elevated walkways built for both ceremony and defense. The city was pristine in structure, but lifeless. Surrounding it were numerous bio-lab factories, their designs utilitarian and industrial, their surfaces worn with age. Many of them bore outdated insignias and weathered seals, suggesting they had existed long before Maladrie’s influence.

I leaned forward in my seat, eyes scanning the landscape. “A lot of these bio-lab factories were already established?”

Emily, seated beside me, kept her focus on the controls as the ship angled toward a clearing near one of the larger facilities. “These established factories were always a part of Vikingnar. Deathskull just converted them to suit the needs of Maladrie.”

The dropship descended smoothly and touched down near a bio-lab factory fused directly into the base of a radio spire. The engines powered down, and the ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics.

The moment we stepped off the ship, the smell hit us.

Death.

It clung to the air thick and sour, carried by the cold wind sweeping through the streets. The ground before us was littered with bodies—Demonic Jackal Warriors sprawled across stone roads and collapsed against walls. They wore white robes now soaked and torn, their contorted canine faces frozen in expressions of shock and agony. Each corpse bore the same grotesque wound: ruptured abdomens, torn outward from the inside, as if something had violently forced its way free.

I stared at the carnage, my stomach tightening. “What the hell happened here?”

Alexandria surveyed the scene grimly.

“It looks like Anubis’s warriors weren’t granted the luxury of mercy. Especially after failing Maladrie.”

I stepped carefully between the bodies, my eyes drawn farther down the street where fog rolled thickly between the buildings.

“What else is here?”

“There were civilians here… We should get moving though.”

We passed rows of empty containment canisters lining the streets—clear pods once meant to hold people. Many were shattered. Others stood open and empty, their interiors scratched and clawed from the inside. The fog grew heavier the closer we moved toward the radio tower, pooling at ground level and obscuring the entrance like a barrier.

Then I saw them.

In the distance, barely visible through the haze, two figures hung suspended from an electrical wire. The shapes were unmistakable. My legs gave out before my mind could fully process it. I dropped to my knees, unable to lift my head, the weight of recognition crushing my chest.

Emily was beside me instantly.

Alexandria noticed and stopped. “What’s happening?”

Emily didn’t soften her tone. “That was his mother and stepfather. Idiot.”

Alexandria inhaled slowly, then turned to the rest of the group, shifting into command.

“Nikko, Samuel, Khamzat, scout the area. Droid L-84, come with me to revive the radio tower.”

Nikko, Samuel, and Khamzat moved off into the fog, weapons ready. Droid L-84 followed Alexandria toward the radio spire doors, which loomed tall and sealed, their surface etched with corrupted symbols and scorch marks.

Alexandria reached the control panel and forced the doors open.

The moment they parted, something exploded outward.

Chains clattered violently as a bruised, bloodied incubi came bursting through the gates and collapsed onto the ground at our feet. His body was covered in restraints, his skin marred with deep purple bruises and burns. The fog poured out behind him like breath from the underworld.

It was Zach.

I slowly lifted my head from the fog-choked ground, my vision locking onto the broken form sprawled before the open gates of the radio tower. Zach lay there in chains, bruised and trembling, the incubi’s wings torn and useless against the stone. The smell of blood, ozone, and decay thickened the air, blending with the distant hum of the ruined city.

Something inside me snapped. I stared at him, every muscle in my body coiling tight, and I said, “You did this! You did this to my family!”

The words echoed against the silent buildings. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I surged forward, rage overriding reason. Zach recoiled instinctively, curling inward on the ground like a cornered animal.

Emily moved faster than I did. She caught me mid-stride, her arms locking around me, her weight anchoring me in place before I could reach him. The restraint only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

Alexandria stepped forward, her voice sharp and unyielding as the cold wind swept through the street. “We don’t even know that this specific demon killed your mother and stepfather. If he does, we must deal with him later.”

I twisted against Emily’s grip, never taking my eyes off Zach. “This isn’t any demon—this is Zach! My sworn enemy, and I’m certain he killed my mother and stepfather!”

Alexandria’s expression hardened, but she did not retreat. “Okay. You’ll get to do his execution later.”

Zach’s head jerked upward at that. His voice cracked, desperate and thin beneath the chains. “But I didn’t kill his mother!”

That was enough.

I tore free from Emily’s hold and closed the distance in an instant. My boot connected with Zach’s face in a dull, final impact. His head snapped sideways, and his body went limp, the chains clattering uselessly against the stone as he collapsed unconscious.

I stood over him, breath ragged, hands shaking, ready to do far worse. Footsteps approached through the fog.

Niko, Samuel, and Khamzat emerged from between the buildings, their expressions tense and confused as they took in the scene before them—the bodies, the open tower, the broken demon at my feet.

Alexandria turned to them. “Did you find anything?”

Samuel hesitated, then gestured subtly toward Zach. “No… but what is this?”

I didn’t let Alexandria answer. I looked down at the unconscious incubi, then back up at the ruined city, the hanging wires in the distance, the empty canisters, the silence where life once existed.

My voice was cold when I said, “We have fresh meat for the gods.”

The fog closed in around us.

I dragged Zach’s limp, chained body across the broken stone until we reached a fallen tree at the edge of the abandoned street. The trunk had split long ago, its core bleached and hardened by time, making it as unforgiving as the ruins surrounding us. The fog clung low to the ground, swirling around my boots as I forced him upright against the wood.

With methodical precision, I raised the pommel of my chainsword and drove iron nails through his weakened, orange demonic hands, pinning them flat against the trunk. Each strike echoed through the empty city like a ritual drumbeat. I then forced his head back and fixed his lower jaw into the stump, sealing it in place, ensuring silence where lies once lived. His white robe hung loose and filthy, torn by my hands until his back was fully exposed to the cold air of Una.

The others stood in a wide circle around us, no one intervening, no one speaking. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

I activated the red energy blade embedded in my wrist. Its glow cut through the fog, casting sharp crimson light across Zach’s exposed skin. With deliberate slowness, I drew the blade across his back. The air filled with the scent of scorched flesh as the demonic hide gave way. When the surface was stripped, I brought my chainsword down against his exposed ribs, each impact precise and unrelenting.

Bone gave way under the mechanical roar.

I worked carefully, hacking and folding the ribs outward, shaping them away from the spine. What remained no longer resembled a body but a symbol—an ancient punishment given physical form. As the ribs spread and locked into place, the structure began to resemble wings, jagged and unnatural, extending from his ruined back. The execution transformed him into a grotesque mockery of flight, a fallen creature reshaped into warning and consequence.

When the form was complete, Cole and Mathew stepped forward without hesitation. Together, they hauled the body upward and secured it high upon a nearby light pole. The structure groaned under the added weight, cables swaying as Zach’s body hung suspended against the fog-dimmed sky.

Emily stood beside me, unmoving. The others remained frozen where they were, eyes fixed upward. Zach hung there, barely breathing, his ruined form silhouetted against the pale light filtering through the mist. He no longer looked like a demon, nor a man, but something older and more symbolic—a blood eagle, offered not to mercy, but to consequence.

When his body finally stilled and the last trace of movement faded, the execution was complete.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Shock and awe settled over the group like a heavy veil. Even I stood motionless, staring at what had been done, feeling the weight of it sink into the silence of Una. The ruined city bore witness, its empty streets and broken towers absorbing the moment without judgment.

The fog continued to drift.

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CHAPTER 34: "GET LOW" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"