CHAPTER 43: “NO SERENITY” “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA”

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 43: “NO SERENITY” “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA”

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The armory of Cybrawl felt different now. The same towering walls, the same glowing workstations, the same racks of weapons and armor remained in place, but the atmosphere had shifted. Where there had once been purpose and momentum, there was now a quiet heaviness that settled over everything like dust after a collapse. The hum of machinery seemed softer, more distant, as if even the systems of Cybrawl itself understood that something had been lost.

Rick. Jimmy. Pete. Their absence lingered in the room in a way no amount of technology could erase.

Droid L-84 stood near one of the central consoles, his metallic frame reflecting the pale light of the armory. Around him stood Mathew, Cole, Hanna, Elizabeth, Beelzebub, Anisia, Serenity, and Emily. Each of them carried the same look—focused, determined, but weighed down by the cost of what we had just done.

We were trying to come up with a plan. But every path forward seemed tangled in uncertainty.

Cole broke the silence first, his voice carrying the frustration that all of us felt but had not yet spoken aloud. “Now what are we supposed to do? We lost three good friends.” The words hit harder than anything else that had been said so far.

Serenity answered him, her tone calm but firm, as if she refused to let despair take root. “They're lost but not dead.” Her words didn’t erase the loss—but they shifted it. From finality… To possibility. A long silence followed. No one spoke.

The armory lights hummed overhead while the faint clatter of distant droids echoed through the corridors beyond. It was in that silence that I noticed something small—but impossible to ignore.

Anisia was holding her stomach. Emily was too.

At first it seemed like nothing more than a coincidence, but something about the way they stood—subtle, guarded—caught my attention. My eyes lingered on the detail for a moment longer than necessary, confusion beginning to settle in.

Then Serenity looked at me. And something clicked.

For just a brief moment, my mind shifted away from the present and back to the visions I had experienced before—the ones that had guided me, haunted me, and shaped so many of my decisions. Madeline. Serenity looked exactly like her. The same features. The same presence. The only difference was her eyes. Blue.

The realization passed through my thoughts quickly, leaving behind more questions than answers. But there was no time to dwell on it. I turned my attention back to the problem at hand. To the three people who had just vanished into a black hole.

I looked directly at Droid L-84. “Is there any way to rescue our friends Rick, Jimmy, and Pete?”

The droid paused for a fraction of a second, processing. Then he shook his head. “I'm afraid that's not possible, we don't even know what happens after you enter a black hole.” The answer was expected. But it still hit hard.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my mind to move forward instead of dwelling on what we couldn’t change.

“If you don't have a clue, Yursa may have a clue.” Knowledge. Possibility. I turned toward Emily. “Isn't that right?”

She nodded without hesitation. “Yes, that's right.”

That was enough. We had a direction. Now we needed a plan.

I stepped forward slightly, looking around at everyone gathered in the armory. Each of them had fought, survived, and now stood ready to continue—even after everything we had lost. “We need to upgrade our weapons, instruments, re-establish communications, and recruit more warriors. We took too many losses, and we need more willing souls to unite against Demons, Shark People, and possibly Vampires.”

No one argued. No one questioned it. They all understood.

One by one, subtle nods passed through the group. Determination replaced hesitation, even if the weight of loss still lingered beneath the surface.

But still… No one spoke. The silence returned—but this time it wasn’t empty. It was focused.

I looked at them one last time before turning slightly away. “I'll give you the details later.”

The words closed the moment. Around us, the armory began to move again. Warriors returned to their stations, droids resumed their tasks, and the quiet hum of preparation slowly grew louder. We had lost three of our own. But the war was far from over. And now…We were preparing for something even greater.

The laboratory beneath Cybrawl’s capital pyramid was one of the few places where the noise of war could be replaced with the quiet hum of invention. It was a long, circular chamber lined with advanced fabrication stations, suspended tool arms, and transparent panels displaying streams of data in soft blue light. Outside the reinforced walls, the city continued its recovery—droids hauling debris, warriors patrolling, systems recalibrating—but down here, time felt slower, more deliberate.

I stood alone at the central workstation, surrounded by scattered components and partially assembled prototypes. The table in front of me was covered with conductive alloys, graphene coils, insulated wiring, and a cylindrical containment shell that would soon house the core of my design. Above it all hovered a holographic schematic—rotating slowly—depicting a device that could change everything.

A new power source. Something beyond batteries. Something beyond nodes. Something… endless.

My plan was simple in theory but complex in execution. I wanted to capture the raw essence of lightning itself—the most chaotic, violent expression of energy—and tame it into something stable. At the center of the device was a reinforced metal pole housed within a sealed canister. Around it, a system of magnetic gears would spin continuously, converting the electrical charge into mechanical motion and then back into stored energy. The charge would keep the gears spinning, and the gears would maintain the magnetic field that sustained the charge.

A loop. Self-sustaining. Infinite.

If it worked, it would replace everything—Drakkar fighter nodes, rechargeable armor batteries, even civilian energy systems across Vikingnar. A storm captured and held in a cage of metal and logic.

I adjusted one of the graphene coils, watching as the holographic display updated its projections. The numbers fluctuated, then stabilized. It was close. Not perfect—but close enough to prove the concept.

That was when I heard the door behind me open. I didn’t turn immediately. I already knew who it was. “I'd prefer to only remain friends, Serenity.”

My voice came out flat, focused more on the device than the conversation I assumed was coming.

But Serenity’s response caught me slightly off guard. “That's not the only reason why I wanted to talk to you.”

That made me pause. I turned slightly, glancing over my shoulder at her.

Her posture was different—less casual, more serious. “What is it?”

She stepped closer into the light of the laboratory, her expression calm but carrying something beneath it that felt heavier than usual. “It's Anisia, I think she's pregnant.”

Everything stopped. The tools in my hands went still. The hum of the laboratory seemed to fade into the background.

I dropped what I was holding without thinking. “Dammit.” The word escaped before I could stop it.

A wave of realization hit me all at once—sharp, immediate, unavoidable. I stepped back from the workstation and lowered myself to the floor, my thoughts racing faster than I could organize them. “I only had sex with her once... Just...”

The sentence trailed off into nothing. Serenity stood there, watching me process it, then asked the question that followed naturally. “What should we do?”

I stared at the floor for a moment, my mind shifting from shock to problem-solving. “We could get Anisia to abort the child, without Emily knowing.”

The words had barely left my mouth when another voice entered the room. “I don't think that's necessary. I know your encounter with Anisia was before our wholesome conversation.”

I looked up immediately. Emily stood in the doorway. She wasn’t angry. Not yet. But she had heard enough.

I stood slowly, trying to recalibrate the situation in my mind. “So, how do we get her to comply?”

Emily stepped further into the room, her expression thoughtful rather than hostile. “Peer pressure?”

I let out a short, humorless laugh despite the tension. “You know it's difficult to convince a mother to kill her own cub?”

Emily didn’t laugh. Her gaze remained steady. “So what do we do?”

I ran a hand across my face, forcing myself to think clearly. “I am curious as to if that's actually my child, shouldn't we know before forcing her to have an abortion?”

Emily’s expression shifted slightly, something deeper surfacing beneath the surface calm. “But you have a child? I never had sex with any other man but you! Who knows where she came from.”

I sighed, the weight of everything pressing down at once—war, loss, responsibility, and now this. “And I agree with you, but I would like some room to focus on more meaningful tasks.”

Emily’s response came quickly. “Fine.”

For a moment, silence filled the laboratory again. The hum of the machines returned. The rotating schematic of the lightning device continued spinning above the workstation, indifferent to everything else happening in the room.

I looked at it for a moment before speaking again. “It feels like everything is moving so fast, and it's getting difficult to keep up.”

Emily stepped closer, her voice quieter now, more reflective. “like there’s no serenity? With everything that we witnessed, I’m beginning to be desensitised to the horrors of this realm.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m being desensitised too, we must fight, and even kill to get our serenity back. Especially if we want to raise a kid in this universe… And speaking of serenity, Serenity, I’d like you to send the blue prints of my thor battery to Droid L-84…”

I turned toward her. Emily did the same. “Serenity?”

There was no response. Emily glanced around the room. “Where did she go?”

I scanned the doorway, the corners of the lab, the shadows between the equipment. Nothing. “I don’t know, maybe she’s practicing her stealth alchemy.”

Emily gave a dry response. “Funny.”

The room fell quiet again. The storm engine prototype continued to hum softly on the table. And somewhere beyond the laboratory walls, the universe kept moving forward—faster than any of us were ready for.

Far from the storm of decisions and distant from the pale gloom of Cybrawl, the Drakkar Carrier drifted in quiet orbit above the world of Skaalandr. The planet below stretched outward in breathtaking stillness—vast green plains, winding rivers that reflected soft light like glass, and mountain ranges that rose in jagged lines across the horizon. It was a world that looked untouched, almost impossibly serene compared to the devastation we had seen elsewhere.

Inside the carrier, however, there was movement. Alrick awoke slowly from his slumber.

The cryo-bed released a faint hiss as its seals disengaged, and a thin veil of vapor drifted across the chamber before dissipating into the filtered air. He sat up, rubbing his face as the last remnants of sleep faded from his eyes. The room around him was dimly lit, the metallic walls of the carrier reflecting soft blue light from embedded systems panels.

Directly ahead of him, a wide observation window stretched across the chamber. Beyond it lay Skaalandr. The sight was almost surreal. No orbital debris. No Shiver fleets. No signs of atmospheric disturbance. Just a calm, living world bathed in quiet light.

Alrick swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching slightly as he took in the view. His reflection faintly overlapped the planet’s surface in the glass—one warrior standing above a world that appeared to need no saving.

Then the carrier’s integrated AI activated, its voice smooth and neutral as it filled the chamber. "Good morning sir, we've arrived in Skaalandr.”

Alrick didn’t turn away from the window. “I see that.”

He stepped toward a nearby storage compartment and opened it, revealing a cryo cooler stocked with preserved supplies. Without hesitation, he reached inside and pulled out a bottle of ale. The metal cap twisted off with a sharp click, and he took a long drink, the motion casual, almost indifferent to the mission he had been sent to carry out.

He leaned slightly against the edge of the observation window, staring down at the planet as he drank.

Something didn’t sit right. “How come there's no Shark People? No Shiver fleet, and I don't see any ravaged bio matter on the planet's surface?”

His voice carried mild confusion, but not urgency. From orbit, Skaalandr looked untouched. Peaceful. Too peaceful.

The AI responded after a brief pause, its systems processing the environmental data. “I've also detected that the shungite pillars are not operational. There's interference either inside the pillar or in the control room on the planet's surface.”

Alrick narrowed his eyes slightly, focusing more carefully on the surface below. The planet’s cities and structures appeared intact, but there was a subtle absence—no visible energy emissions from the shungite pillar network that was meant to protect the world from Wraith incursions.

No defensive hum. No active barrier. Just silence.

He took another drink from the bottle, his posture loosening slightly as the alcohol began to settle in. “Then I'll go down there by myself. I have no clue as to why everyone is making a big fuss about the Shark People. This is the fifteenth planet we have scouted in our sector, with no sign of damage.”

The words hung in the air as he continued staring down at Skaalandr. Below him, the planet remained still. Unchanged. Waiting. From orbit, it looked like peace. But something about the silence felt… wrong.

From orbit, Skaalandr had appeared untouched—an oasis of calm amid a universe unraveling into war. But as Alrick guided the Drakkar Dropship through the upper atmosphere, the illusion began to fracture. The ship’s hull glowed briefly with friction as it pierced through the pale cloud layer, and beneath that thin veil, the world revealed itself in greater detail. The capital region spread outward in a wide basin carved between towering cliffs and dense jungle canopies, its architecture unmistakably Vikingnar in style—angular structures, reinforced glass, and layered terraces built into the terrain itself.

The Dropship descended smoothly, its thrusters adjusting in quiet bursts until it settled on the outskirts of the capital’s suburban district. The landing gear touched down with a soft metallic thud, and the engines powered down into silence.

Alrick and Matilda stepped out onto the surface.

At first glance, the suburb appeared almost perfect. Rows of A-framed Viking houses lined the streets, their sloped roofs and wooden textures blending seamlessly with advanced materials. Small automated sprinklers continued to water patches of grass that had grown too long without maintenance. Hovercraft vehicles sat idle in the streets, some parked neatly, others left at odd angles as though their owners had abandoned them mid-journey.

There were no bodies. No visible destruction. No signs of battle. Just absence.

Matilda scanned the area cautiously, her boots crunching lightly against the dry edges of the pavement as she took in the stillness. “Alrick, it seems like this place is abandoned.”

Alrick looked down the empty street, his expression flattening as the realization settled in. “I see that, Matilda, and I feel like we wasted our time coming here.”

Matilda shook her head slightly, her instincts pushing against that conclusion. “We still should check on the Shungite Pillar.”

For a moment, the two of them stood there, facing one another in the quiet street. Alrick exhaled slowly, the earlier casual confidence beginning to erode under the weight of something he couldn’t yet define. He reached out and gently patted Matilda’s blonde hair, a small gesture of familiarity amid the unease.

“Alright, love.” They moved on together.

The path from the suburban outskirts led downward into a lush jungle canyon where the heart of Skaalandr’s capital resided. The terrain shifted quickly from ordered civilization into dense, living wilderness. Tall trees with thick trunks and sprawling canopies towered above them, their leaves filtering the faint sunlight into scattered beams that danced across the ground. Vines coiled around rock formations, and the air grew heavier with humidity as they descended deeper into the canyon.

It was beautiful. But it was wrong. As they approached the lower levels of the capital, the signs began to appear.

Strange structures stood between the trees—makeshift shrines built from bone, wood, and metal fragments. Symbols carved into stone slabs depicted figures that did not belong to Vikingnar culture. Altars stained dark with dried residue sat beneath twisted effigies that resembled something closer to ritual than worship.

Matilda slowed, her gaze fixed on one of the altars. Something lay at its base. A body. A large canine form.

Alrick stepped closer, his expression tightening as he recognized the creature’s size and build. It was a Dorse—a powerful companion animal, bred for both loyalty and strength.

But this one was different.

Its body had been arranged deliberately, its position unnatural, as though it had been placed there as an offering.

Matilda crouched beside it, brushing aside debris to reveal the collar around its neck. She leaned in slightly, reading the engraved name. “It's Honey? Wasn't this King William's Dorse?”

Alrick’s jaw tightened immediately. “You know William doesn't like being called King right?”

Matilda looked back at him, confused by the correction in the middle of something far more disturbing. “Why?”

Alrick shook his head slightly, his attention shifting back to the surrounding jungle. “He's not from around here, and that's beside the point. I don't know how he would react considering his pet is deceased. I don't know what my father would say, dammit.”

The weight of the moment settled heavily between them. Matilda slowly rose to her feet. Then she froze. Her gaze locked onto something ahead. She raised her hand and pointed. Their conversation ended instantly. At the crest of the hill overlooking the capital, a figure stood. Tall. Commanding. Familiar. It resembled Odin.

The sight sent a surge of urgency through both of them. Without hesitation, they rushed up the incline toward the capital structure itself—a massive Viking citadel built from reinforced stone and glass, its design both ancient and futuristic.

But as they drew closer, something became clear.

The figure was flickering. Distorted. Not real. They slowed as they approached, realization replacing urgency. The image of Odin shimmered and dissolved slightly, revealing its true nature. A holographic projection.

Alrick’s frustration erupted immediately. “What bastard, decided to prank us?” Matilda didn’t answer.

Her breath caught in her throat. She had seen something else. Someone else. Standing just beyond the projection. A figure cloaked in darkness. Still. Watching them. As the figure stepped forward, the illusion of distance vanished. She turned slowly to face them. Her appearance was unmistakable. Bethany.

Her skin was pale and unnatural, her black eyes reflecting no light. Her hair fell around her shoulders in dark strands, framing a face that carried an unsettling stillness. She wore scale armor layered over a black leather suit, her presence both regal and predatory. Two black horns rose from her head, their tips stained red as though dipped in blood.

She lifted her hand and brushed her hair back, raising her head fully.

Her expression shifted. A smile formed. But it wasn’t natural. It was forced. Around them, the air changed. Shapes began to materialize. Deathletter demons. Warrior demons.

Their black-and-white forms emerging from thin air as if stepping through unseen fractures in reality. They surrounded Alrick and Matilda completely, closing in from every direction with silent precision.

What happened next unfolded with a speed that made resistance impossible. Before Alrick and Matilda could react, the circle of demons closed in around them with terrifying precision. Their movements were unnatural—too fluid, too coordinated—as if they were guided by a single will. Clawed hands seized both of them at once, pinning their arms, forcing them down, stripping away their armor and weapons in seconds. The strength of the creatures was overwhelming, far beyond anything either of them could break free from.

The wooden structures were already prepared.

Two upright beams, carved roughly from dark timber and stained from previous rituals, stood planted in the earth like grim monuments. Alrick and Matilda were forced against them, their bodies bound and secured with brutal efficiency. Metal spikes were driven into place, fixing them there, holding them upright as helpless witnesses to what was about to unfold.

The jungle around them seemed to fall silent.

Even the faint sounds of distant wildlife disappeared, as though the world itself refused to acknowledge what was taking place.

The demons began their work. Not with haste—but with ritual.

Their movements were deliberate, almost ceremonial, as they surrounded the two captives. Tools emerged from their grasp—crude, jagged instruments that reflected the dim light filtering through the canopy. The demons did not rush. They took their time, as if savoring every moment, as if the act itself held meaning beyond simple violence.

Alrick struggled, his muscles straining against the restraints, his breath ragged as he tried to fight against forces he could not overcome, and the demons began to flay skin from his torso. Matilda’s gaze remained fixed forward, her body tense, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of the nightmare that had replaced the quiet world they had arrived on as demons flayed skin from her leg.

The torment that followed was relentless.

The demons circled them, each taking part in the ritual, their actions feeding the energy of the group. Alrick’s strength began to fade as the ordeal wore on, his resistance slowing under the weight of exhaustion and pain. Matilda remained conscious, forced to endure not only her own suffering but the unfolding fate of the one she had come here with.

The massive structure was brought forward next.

A great saw bench—constructed from heavy metal and reinforced with industrial components—was dragged into position. It did not belong to the jungle. It did not belong to nature. It was a tool of calculated brutality, brought here with purpose.

Alrick was taken from the beam.

Still restrained, still conscious, he was placed upon the machine as the demons gathered around it. Their movements grew more animated now, their earlier restraint replaced with something closer to excitement. The ritual was reaching its climax.

Matilda could not turn away. Her position forced her to watch.

The jungle canopy above flickered as the light shifted, casting long shadows across the clearing as the machine roared to life. The sound cut through the stillness like a tearing fracture in the world itself.

The moment stretched. Then it broke. Alrick’s fate was sealed in that instant. The demons did not stop. They reveled in it.

Their energy surged as the act concluded, their movements becoming chaotic, ecstatic, feeding off the culmination of their ritual. Around them, the clearing seemed to darken, as if the very air had absorbed what had just occurred.

Matilda remained where she was, her body held in place, her mind pushed beyond the limits of endurance. She could not close her eyes. She could not look away. She was forced to exist in the aftermath, trapped within the moment as it etched itself into her memory.

At the center of it all stood Bethany. She watched.

Her expression shifted slightly—a faint smile forming across her face—but it lacked warmth, lacked authenticity. It was not joy. It was not satisfying. It was something forced, something mimicked, as though she understood that this was a moment that should produce emotion, but could not fully replicate what that emotion was meant to feel like.

Around her, her brood celebrated.

Their movements were wild, their presence overwhelming, their energy feeding off the ritual they had just completed. They had claimed this world. They had claimed its people.

And now… They had made an example. But the truth was now undeniable. Skaalandr had fallen.

The corridors of Cybrawl’s capital pyramid stretched endlessly before us, their polished surfaces reflecting soft bands of light that pulsed along the walls like a living nervous system. The architecture felt both ancient and impossibly advanced, a fusion of Viking heritage and interstellar engineering that had become the signature of Vikingnar itself. As Emily and I walked side by side through the towering interior, our footsteps echoed faintly across the metallic floor, blending with the distant hum of machinery and the quiet movement of droids maintaining the structure.

The pyramid was alive with purpose again. War had not broken it—it had sharpened it.

We moved with intent, heading toward the lower laboratory sectors where Droid L-84 was most likely stationed. The thor battery prototype weighed lightly in my hand despite the power it contained, its internal charge humming with a faint, almost musical vibration. Even through its containment shell, I could feel the energy inside it—raw, contained lightning, looping endlessly through the system I had designed.

Emily glanced toward me as we continued through the corridor. “Do you think Droid L-84 is near?”

I didn’t slow my pace. “He better be, I wouldn't want him to pull a Serenity on us.”

The memory of Serenity’s sudden disappearance lingered briefly between us, but we didn’t dwell on it. There were too many moving parts, too many unanswered questions already weighing on everything we were doing.

We reached the elevator shaft moments later.

The doors opened silently, revealing a vertical chamber lined with transparent panels that allowed us to see the inner workings of the pyramid as we descended. Mechanical platforms moved along adjacent shafts, carrying equipment, weapons, and personnel between levels. The entire structure functioned like a living organism, each layer feeding into the next.

We stepped inside. The doors sealed shut behind us. The descent began.

As the elevator dropped smoothly through the pyramid, Emily’s voice broke the quiet again—this time more serious. “You want to know why I have a bad feeling about the child growing in Anisia's stomach?”

I exhaled slowly, my gaze fixed on the passing levels beyond the glass. “You're still fixated on my mistake?”

Emily shook her head slightly, her expression focused. “No. Anisia was also injected with venom from the Shark bio form that attacked the tavern back on Skogenheim. Maybe it infected the fetus?”

That gave me pause.

The memory of that attack surfaced clearly—the chaos, the venom, the unknown effects those creatures could leave behind. I considered it carefully before responding. “If that venom did infect Anisia's child, the child would be dead... I understand your concern though, and we should test her. And speaking of pregnancy, how is our child doing in that stomach of yours?”

Emily placed a hand lightly against her abdomen, her expression softening just slightly. “It's growing, at its own pace.”

The elevator slowed. Then stopped. The doors opened. We stepped out into the weapons laboratory.

This section of the pyramid was more utilitarian than the armory above. Workstations were arranged in tight clusters, each one dedicated to a specific type of equipment—rifles, melee weapons, energy systems, and flight components. Overhead, mechanical arms moved in precise patterns, adjusting components and calibrating systems with silent efficiency.

And there he was.

Droid L-84 stood at one of the central stations, his frame partially illuminated by the glow of a diagnostic interface. In front of him, a disassembled Drakkar Dropship node hovered within a magnetic field, its internal components exposed as he worked to optimize its efficiency. Streams of data scrolled across the nearby screens as he recalibrated energy flow patterns.

I stepped forward, holding the thor battery in my hand. “We may have to ditch the nodes,”

I placed the device on the work table in front of him. The moment it touched the surface, the faint hum of contained lightning became more audible, a subtle vibration that seemed to resonate with the equipment around it.

“You're looking at the thor battery, the first of its kind.”

Droid L-84 paused.

His optic sensors narrowed slightly, attempting to replicate something close to human astonishment.

He leaned closer to the device, scanning it with precision. “You literally captured lightning in a bottle... Ever since we used all of our coastal oil on earth to power the first functioning fusion reactor, Peterson Thornton was struggling to harness the power of Thor, and you did it with ease...”

I crossed my arms slightly, watching his reaction. “So, don't we have to worry about our armor, weapons, and mini fridges running out of energy?”

Droid L-84 straightened slightly, completing his analysis. “Uh, not anymore.”

The answer settled into the room like a turning point. Around us, the laboratory continued its quiet operations—but everything had just changed. Power. Unlimited. Reliable. Ours. And with it, the next phase of the war was already beginning to take shape.

The walk from the weapons laboratory to the genetics wing felt longer than it should have. The corridors narrowed slightly as we moved deeper into the pyramid, transitioning from the industrial hum of machinery to a quieter, more clinical atmosphere. The lighting shifted from warm metallic tones to a cooler white, reflecting off sterile walls lined with transparent panels that revealed rows of containment pods, scanning equipment, and suspended samples preserved in glowing solutions.

Rumors had already reached us. Serenity had taken matters into her own hands. Testing Anisia.

Emily and I didn’t slow as we approached the sealed doors of the genetics lab. They parted automatically as we reached them, revealing a room filled with advanced bio-analysis stations and hovering displays that pulsed with streams of genetic data. The faint hum of scanning equipment filled the air, accompanied by the subtle clicking of automated instruments adjusting themselves.

And there she was.

Serenity stood at the central workstation. Anisia lay partially reclined on a medical platform, her posture tense, her breathing uneven. Serenity held a syringe steady in her hand, guiding the needle with precision.

We had arrived just in time to see it pierce Anisia’s stomach.

Emily stepped forward immediately, her voice cutting through the sterile quiet of the lab. “What are you doing Serenity?”

Serenity didn’t look up.

Her focus remained fixed on the procedure as she carefully drew the sample. “What does it look like, love? I'm testing to see if William is the father.”

The syringe filled with a small amount of blood.

Serenity withdrew it smoothly and transferred the sample onto a glass tray that hovered slightly above the workstation surface. The liquid spread across the transparent surface, glowing faintly as the system began analyzing its properties.

Before I could react, Serenity turned toward me. Her hand moved quickly. She grabbed my arm and pulled it forward. The needle slid into my vein before I had time to protest.

I felt the brief pressure as my blood was drawn, the sample collected with the same efficiency she had used moments earlier. She placed my blood onto a second glass tray beside the first, the two samples glowing faintly under the laboratory lighting.

Without hesitation, Serenity moved both trays beneath a bio-scanner. The device activated instantly.

A soft beam of light passed over the samples, and the data began to form on the central display. Lines of code, genetic markers, and percentage breakdowns scrolled rapidly across the screen as the system processed the information.

I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes at the results. “Serenity, what are we looking at?”

She studied the screen for a moment before answering. “There's only three percent of your DNA in that sample which is probably due to contamination from your sample.”

The words didn’t register immediately.

I blinked once, then again. “Meaning, what?”

Serenity didn’t hesitate. “You're not the father.”

Emily crossed her arms, her reaction blunt and immediate. “lame.”

I didn’t respond right away.

Instead, I leaned closer to the display, scanning the results myself. The data shifted slightly as I focused on a different set of markers.

Something else caught my attention. “Any percentage of Shark People DNA in the child?”

Serenity adjusted the display slightly, isolating the relevant data. “Only three percent.”

I frowned. “Due to contamination?”

She considered it briefly. “It's possible, but in Ikeem's studies he stated that the Shark People were possibly our cosmic ancestors.”

That made me pause.

I straightened slightly, thinking back to Ikeem’s findings, the strange connection between our species and the Shark People that we had only begun to understand. “Yeah, he did say that. Three percent of the beast's DNA would make sense.”

Before I could continue, Anisia suddenly sat up slightly, her voice breaking through the tension in the room. “Wait! This doesn't make any sense? William is the only man I had sex with!”

Serenity didn’t even look surprised.

Her response came calmly. “That's what they all say.”

Emily didn’t hold back. “Yep, crock of shit.”

Anisia’s expression shifted from confusion to desperation.

She turned toward me, her eyes searching for something—validation, belief, anything. “Wait, William, you believe me?”

I hesitated. For just a moment.

Then I answered honestly. “You seem like a kind woman, but I barely know you, and I have no way to gauge your honesty. Sorry.”

The words landed harder than I expected. Emily stepped in again, her tone sharp but focused. “And besides, we have battles to focus on.”

The reminder shifted the room back to reality. War. Responsibility. Everything waiting outside these walls.

Serenity turned back toward the console, her attention already moving beyond the test results. “Speaking of battles, what is the plan to raise an unstoppable force?”

The question hung in the air. Not emotional. Not personal. Strategic. The kind of question that defined everything we were about to become. The lab fell quiet again, but this time the silence wasn’t uncertain. It was expectant. The next move would shape everything.

The teleportation into Skaalandr’s Shungite Pillar was instantaneous, yet the moment my vision stabilized, a heavy unease settled over me. The vast interior of the structure stretched upward into shadow, an immense cylindrical chamber built to regulate and distribute shungite particles into the planet’s atmosphere. Normally, this place would be alive with motion—workers coordinating systems, machinery cycling in perfect rhythm, energy flowing through every conduit—but now it stood still, hollow, and eerily quiet. The absence of sound was suffocating, as though the structure itself had been drained of life.

What replaced that life was something far worse.

Bodies lay scattered across the metallic floor and draped over the walkways above, their positions unnatural and abrupt, as if whatever had happened here had unfolded too quickly for anyone to react. Control panels had been smashed, cables torn loose, and maintenance equipment lay overturned, but the destruction wasn’t widespread—it was precise. It felt deliberate, controlled, as though the attackers had come with a singular purpose and carried it out without resistance.

Halrick moved ahead of us, his steps slowing as he took in the scene. His posture stiffened, and for the first time since I had known him, there was something uncertain in his presence. “What the hell happened here? And what happened to my boy?”

His voice echoed through the chamber, but the silence that followed was absolute. No movement. No response. Only the faint, dying hum of inactive systems.

I began searching the area more carefully, stepping past the fallen workers and scanning the damage for anything that could explain what had occurred. The stillness felt unnatural, not just empty but intentionally left behind, as if something had passed through and chosen not to remain. That was when I noticed something near one of the bodies—a small object reflecting faint light against the metal floor.

I crouched and picked it up. A tooth. Jagged, serrated, unmistakable.

The moment I held it, the conclusion formed instantly. “It appears the Shark People were here,”

I rose to my feet and turned toward Droid L-84, holding the tooth just enough for him to register it. “I would send out a servo scanner to check every crevice of the facility.”

Droid L-84 responded immediately. He set the crate of thor batteries down with care, the faint vibration of contained energy humming through the casing as it met the floor. From a compartment on his left shoulder, a compact servo scanner deployed and unfolded midair, its small frame stabilizing as its sensors activated. Without delay, it launched forward, weaving through the chamber with mechanical precision, scanning the upper walkways, slipping between damaged machinery, and probing into the deeper sections of the pillar where shadows gathered thickest.

We waited as it worked.

The silence pressed in again, heavier now that we knew something had been here. Halrick paced near the central platform, his eyes moving constantly, searching for any sign of movement. Emily stood beside me, her attention fixed upward, ready for anything that might emerge from above. The rest of the group spread out cautiously, checking nearby stations and ensuring nothing had been overlooked.

After several long moments, the scanner returned, gliding back toward Droid L-84. He raised his arm and pulled the incoming data onto the display embedded in his gauntlet. His optics flickered as he processed the results, analyzing every reading with careful precision. “It appears that this situation is ambiguous. No Shark People here. No Shiver fleet, or a dead planet. Skaalandr's surface is still intact.”

The words didn’t sit right.

I looked down at the tooth still in my hand, then back at the bodies scattered across the chamber. Everything in front of me pointed to a Shark People attack, yet the evidence of their presence ended there. No lingering bioforms. No infestation. No ongoing assault. “That's fucking weird, they attacked the Shungite pillar, and left?”

It wasn’t how they operated. Every encounter we had faced before had been overwhelming, relentless, and absolute. They didn’t strike and withdraw—they consumed everything in their path. Yet here, they had done something entirely different. They had come, killed everyone inside the pillar, and then disappeared without continuing their advance.

I turned back toward Droid L-84, forcing my focus onto what needed to happen next instead of what didn’t make sense. “Droid L-84, let's get this planet up and running again. Emily And I will take Halrick down to the surface to look for his parents, Alrick, and Matilda.”

The decision moved through the group immediately. Mathew, Cole, Hanna, and Elizabeth shifted toward the control systems, preparing to restore power and bring the pillar back online. Serenity and Anisia remained near the central platform, watching the scene with quiet tension, while the crate of thor batteries sat ready to be integrated into the system that could reestablish Skaalandr’s defenses.

Even as we began to act, the unease remained.

Something had come here, carried out a precise and brutal attack, and then vanished without a trace. That alone was enough to change the nature of the threat we were facing, because whatever had done this was no longer behaving like the enemy we thought we understood.

The teleportation onto Skaalandr’s surface ended with a faint distortion in the air, and as the light faded, Emily, Halrick, and I found ourselves standing just outside the capital’s central district. The environment immediately felt wrong. The same pale sky stretched above us, casting its dim, lifeless glow across the terrain, but the stillness below carried a weight that hadn’t been present before. The capital, which should have been a thriving center of life and movement, now stood silent, its structures intact yet felt hollow, as if everything meaningful had been stripped from within it.

As we stepped forward, the truth revealed itself with brutal clarity. The open space ahead of the capital building had been transformed into something ritualistic, something intentionally arranged to be seen. Shrines made of bone, metal, and carved stone stood scattered across the area, each one marked with symbols that had no place in Vikingnar culture. The ground bore dark stains that had soaked into the earth, and the air carried a metallic scent that lingered without wind to carry it away.

Halrick stopped before I did. His movement halted abruptly, as though his body had reached a point his mind was not ready to accept. I followed his gaze and immediately understood why.

Alrick.

His father’s body lay at the center of the clearing, mutilated in a way that left no room for interpretation. The positioning of the two halves of Alrick's corpse was deliberate, arranged as if it were part of the shrine itself rather than a casualty of battle. There was no chaos in the placement, no randomness—only intention, as though whoever had done this wanted it to be witnessed.

Nearby, another sight struck just as deeply. Honey.

The Dorse lay motionless beside one of the altars, her body positioned with the same disturbing precision. The strength and life she once carried were gone, replaced by stillness that felt unnatural even in death. The sight lingered in my chest longer than I expected, cutting through the war-driven focus I had maintained for so long.

Emily saw it too, but neither of us spoke. There were no words that would have added anything to what we were seeing.

Then I noticed Halrick’s mother Matilda. She was still alive.

Her flayed body had been fixed upright against a wooden beam, secured with crude nails that pierced through her limbs and held her in place. Machines had been attached to her, feeding into her body and forcing it to remain active despite the state she was in. The purpose of it was clear—it was not meant to preserve her, but to prolong her suffering. The entire setup was intentional, constructed not out of necessity, but out of cruelty.

I approached her slowly, my steps measured as I moved closer. The faint mechanical sounds of the devices keeping her alive were the only noise in the entire area, each quiet pulse reinforcing the unnatural state she had been left in. Her hollow chest rose and fell weakly, ribs exposed, and her eyes barely able to focus as she registered my presence.

I leaned in just enough for her to hear me. “What happened here?”

Her lips moved slowly, her voice barely forming as she forced out a single word. “Demons.”

That was all I needed to hear.

The confirmation settled everything in place. This wasn’t the work of the Shark People. This was something else entirely—something deliberate, calculated, and far more sadistic in its intent.

I raised my plasma pistol without hesitation. The weapon formed in my hand, its energy core humming softly as it activated. I held it steady for a brief moment, not out of doubt, but out of acknowledgment of what she had endured and what remained.

Then I fired. The shot ended it instantly.

The machines continued to hum for a moment longer before becoming irrelevant, their purpose extinguished along with the life they had been forced to sustain.

I lowered the weapon and turned away.

Halrick had dropped to his knees beside his parents' corpses. His posture had collapsed inward, the weight of the moment pulling him down in a way no enemy ever could. He didn’t speak, didn’t react outwardly beyond that single motion. He simply stared at Alrick’s body, as though trying to understand something that could never be understood.

The capital remained silent around us, the shrines unmoving, the pale sky unchanged. Everything about the scene suggested intention, not destruction for the sake of conquest, but destruction designed to send a message. Whoever had done this wanted it to be found exactly as it was, left behind as a warning rather than a battlefield.

And standing there, looking over what remained, it became impossible to ignore the truth that had already begun to form in my mind. This wasn’t an invasion. This was something far more deliberate.

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CHAPTER 43: “NO SERENITY” “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA”