CHAPTER 44: “MADE IN VIKINGNAR” “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA”

BY WILLIAM WARNER

CHAPTER 44: “MADE IN VIKINGNAR” “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA”

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Skaalandr’s capital no longer resembled a place meant for life, but rather a stage upon which something deliberate and cruel had been carried out. The pale sky above cast its dim, colorless light across the canyon, illuminating the shrines, the stained ground, and the silent remains of a world that had not been destroyed in chaos, but reshaped through intention. The jungle surrounding the capital stood still, its towering trees and dense foliage forming a natural barrier that seemed to hold the silence in place rather than break it. Every detail in the environment reinforced the same unsettling truth—this had not been a random attack, but something calculated, something meant to be witnessed.

Halrick remained near his father, his form still lowered beside Alrick’s body. The strength that once defined his posture had given way to something heavier, something rooted in the weight of loss rather than the readiness of war. He did not move when I approached him, nor did he look up immediately. His attention remained fixed on what was left of Alrick, as though trying to reconcile the image before him with the memory of who his father had been only hours before.

I stepped closer, allowing the quiet to settle before speaking, knowing that nothing I said would change what had happened, but understanding that silence alone would not carry us forward. “I'm sorry I sent your father & mother here.”

The words came without defense or explanation, offered plainly as acknowledgment rather than justification. Halrick did not respond right away. His gaze lingered on his parents for a moment longer before he finally spoke, his voice subdued but steady. “I'm just as guilty.”

There was no argument to follow, no attempt to shift responsibility. The understanding between us did not require further discussion, and in that moment, blame lost its meaning entirely. What remained was consequence, and the necessity of continuing despite it.

Behind us, Viking warriors worked with quiet discipline as they prepared the bodies. Their movements were careful and deliberate, each action carried out with respect rather than urgency. Alrick and Matilda were placed into reinforced body bags, their remains handled as though they still carried the presence they once had. The sound of the seals closing echoed faintly through the still air, a small but final confirmation of what had been lost.

Halrick lifted his head then, his expression changed not by relief, but by resolve that had formed beneath the grief. When he looked at me, there was no hesitation in what he asked. “Promise me to never stop killing the vile creatures from the Wraith.”

His voice carried a quiet certainty, one that did not demand vengeance for its own sake, but rather a continuation of something larger than either of us. I met his gaze without hesitation, understanding fully what that promise meant. “The metal headed droids just re-established communications with the rest of Vikingnar. I am heading to the world of Una to re-establish communication in that world, and start recruiting more warriors, workers, droids… There’s a lot of work to be done, and purging demons from this realm is the priority. You should stay here and get some rest.”

The words were not meant to comfort, but to provide direction. In the absence of answers, action was the only path forward. Halrick nodded slowly, accepting what had been said without resistance. There was nothing left to debate, nothing left to argue—only the understanding that the war would continue, and that each of us would carry our part of it.

I left him there, knowing that whatever he needed to process could not be done in my presence. Some burdens required solitude, even in a universe filled with allies. As I moved back toward Emily and Droid L-84, the scene around us began to shift in a way that contrasted sharply with the stillness I had just stepped away from.

The capital was no longer empty. Movement had returned.

Groups of civilians were being escorted through the area, emerging from hidden locations that had kept them alive during whatever had occurred here. Some came from underground safe houses, others from concealed compartments beneath structures, their appearances marked by exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty. Viking warriors moved among them in organized formations, guiding them into lines where they could be scanned and tested.

Endothermic scanners swept across each individual, ensuring no disguised threats had infiltrated the survivors. Portable diagnostic stations processed blood samples in real time, confirming identities and filtering out any anomalies. The operation was efficient and controlled, a stark contrast to the chaos that had previously defined this place. It was the first sign that something resembling order was being restored.

I came to a stop beside Emily, watching the process unfold as the survivors were accounted for. “Where did these people come from? They’re all young.”

Emily observed the civilians for a moment before responding, her tone grounded in practical reasoning. “Some are about our age. I guess they were hiding in underground safe houses, or underneath their own floor boards.”

The explanation fit what we were seeing. These people had not been spared—they had survived by remaining unseen, waiting until whatever had taken control of the surface had moved on. Now they were stepping back into a world that had changed without them, their survival marking the beginning of something new rather than a return to what had been.

Droid L-84 stepped slightly forward, his sensors scanning the operation with calculated precision before he spoke. “I think the three of us can carry on without them.”

His conclusion was logical. The civilians were being processed, secured, and integrated into a system that could protect them. That meant our focus could shift back to the broader war, to the threats that extended far beyond Skaalandr.

As I looked over the capital once more, the implications of what had happened here settled more clearly into place. The Shark People had not been responsible for this. The signs pointed elsewhere, toward something more deliberate and more controlled. The demons of the Wraith had not simply entered the war—they had made their presence known in a way that could not be ignored.

The battlefield had changed. And so would we.

The transition to Una unfolded with a precision that still surprised me, even after everything we had experienced. The teleportation field collapsed around us in a controlled shimmer, dispersing into the humid air as if it had never been there at all. When my vision settled, I found myself standing on solid ground within a world that felt entirely different from Skaalandr. The oppressive silence of death had been replaced by something quieter, but not lifeless—Una carried a sense of dormant potential, as though it were waiting rather than abandoned.

The first thing I noticed was the architecture. The city did not rise above the land in defiance of it like most industrial worlds. Instead, it blended into the surrounding canyon, its structures carved and grown into the natural terrain rather than imposed upon it. Moss-covered surfaces stretched across the walls of buildings, intertwining with metallic frameworks that pulsed faintly with dormant energy. The canyon itself was filled with a dense, rolling fog that drifted lazily between the structures, softening their edges and giving the entire city an almost dreamlike appearance.

I glanced at the teleportation device mounted on my arm, its systems already stabilizing after the jump. “I can't believe how good our teleportation devices keep getting.”

Droid L-84 stood beside me, his posture almost proud as his optics adjusted to the environment. “All thanks to your battery, sir! All thanks to your battery.”

I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head slightly as I stepped forward. “You're way too enthusiastic droid.”

He tilted his head a fraction, his response carrying an attempt at something close to human tone. “Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

We paused for a moment, taking in the view around us. The canyon stretched outward in layered terraces, each level housing a blend of organic growth and technological infrastructure. Vines draped across metallic beams, and water trickled down narrow channels carved into the rock, feeding small pockets of vegetation that thrived despite the artificial systems embedded around them. It was a world that had achieved harmony between nature and machinery, and yet, like everything else we had seen recently, it stood still—untouched, but inactive.

Ahead of us, the bio-lab factory loomed within the canyon wall. It was exactly as we had left it.

The entrance stood open, its internal systems powered down but intact. Inside, rows of gestation pods lined the walls, each one empty, their glass surfaces reflecting the faint ambient light that filtered in through the fog. The silence within the facility carried a different weight than Skaalandr’s—it wasn’t the aftermath of destruction, but the absence of purpose.

Emily stepped forward, her gaze moving across the empty pods as she processed what she was seeing. “Where are we going to get the necessary bio matter to get this place running again?”

I allowed myself a slight smirk, already anticipating the answer. “Funny you'd ask that,”

I turned slightly toward the Droid L-84. “Droid, you care to tell the lady?”

Droid L-84 stepped forward, his tone matter-of-fact as he explained. “We have plenty of raw shark meat to start up this bio-lab factory. We may have dumped deceased Shark People into acid tanks from previous battles, but we have left overs.”

Emily’s expression shifted immediately, concern replacing curiosity. “Wouldn't that contaminate the newborns?”

Droid L-84 didn’t hesitate. “All newborns have one percent of Shark People. Guess where that one percent comes from.”

Emily paused, the realization settling in. “Oh,”

She turned toward me, her thoughts moving quickly to something else. “How does that explain the three percent from Anisia's test results?”

I folded my arms slightly, leaning against the edge of one of the inactive consoles as I answered. “It was due to contamination, and all life found throughout the universe has zero point five percent Shark People DNA in their genome.”

Emily’s brow furrowed slightly as she tried to process the implication. “Meaning what exactly?”

I looked out across the rows of empty pods, the scale of what we were about to do settling into place. “Those stories about the Shark People and Dragons seeding life throughout the universe, are true.”

Emily let out a quiet breath, her disbelief still present but no longer dismissive. “I can't believe we're part fish or lizard.”

The statement lingered briefly in the air as the three of us moved deeper into the facility. The control tower sat at the far end of the lab, elevated slightly above the main floor, its interface systems still functional despite the shutdown of the production lines. As we entered, the room came alive with faint light, the consoles responding to our presence as dormant systems began to initialize.

I approached the central control panel, placing my hand against the interface as it recognized my input. The displays flickered on, revealing system diagnostics, resource requirements, and communication channels that had been waiting to be reactivated.

Behind me, Emily and Droid L-84 moved through the room, checking the surrounding systems and ensuring everything was still operational. Switches were tested, conduits inspected, and the intricate network of machinery that powered the bio-factory began to stir from its dormancy.

With a few precise inputs, I opened a communication channel back to Cybrawl, preparing to request the transport of the raw materials we would need to bring this place back to life.

“Good job Willy,” said Emily.

I looked at her with a serious expression, and said, “We must go to Cybrawl, and get the fucking shark meat. We should also check on the pyramid as well.”

We walked out of the factory. The empty pods around us no longer felt like relics of an unused facility.

Emily and I made our way back toward the portal without speaking, our footsteps the only sound breaking the quiet as we left the bio-lab behind on Una. The fog of that world clung faintly to my armor, dissipating as we approached the gateway. The portal shimmered with controlled energy, its surface rippling like liquid glass, and without hesitation, we stepped through it together. The sensation of transition was brief but disorienting, a folding of space that collapsed distance into nothing, and when it released us, we stood once again on Cybrawl.

The air here felt different—cleaner, more structured, as though the artificial world itself had already begun adapting to the next phase of our plans. The main factory pyramid rose in the distance, its geometric structure glowing faintly against the synthetic sky. Movement had returned to the city, with droids and workers carrying out tasks in quiet coordination, their presence reinforcing that Cybrawl was no longer merely recovering—it was rebuilding.

We spotted two droids stationed near one of the primary transport hubs at the base of the pyramid. Their frames stood rigid and attentive, awaiting instruction as we approached. I didn’t slow as I issued the command.

“I heard we had extra deceased shark people. We need to send them to the world of Una.”

The two droids responded in unison, their voices mechanical but precise. “Yes sir.”

With that directive set into motion, the process of supplying Una’s bio-factory would begin immediately. There was no need to linger on it. The system would handle the rest.

Emily and I turned away from the pyramid and began moving through the city, leaving behind the ordered structure of Cybrawl’s core and entering the outer regions where the artificial environment blended more seamlessly with nature. The terrain shifted gradually, metallic surfaces giving way to cultivated earth, synthetic pathways dissolving into natural ground. The man-made forest stretched ahead of us, its trees grown in perfect alignment yet indistinguishable from those that would have existed naturally. Light filtered through the canopy in soft beams, illuminating the path as we walked deeper into the controlled wilderness.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Emily finally broke the silence. “Why are you so quiet?”

I kept my eyes forward, my pace steady. “Silence helps me focus.”

She didn’t accept that answer as final. “Do you want to talk about what happened, with our dorse, Harlick's parents, anything?”

I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I continued walking until we reached a small clearing within the forest. At its center stood an unassuming console, partially embedded into the ground, its surface blending into the environment as though it had always been there. It was designed to be overlooked, to remain unnoticed unless you knew exactly what you were looking for.

I stepped up to it and began entering the access code.

The system responded instantly, its surface lighting up as the hidden mechanisms activated. A low hum resonated through the clearing as energy began to gather, and the air in front of us distorted, forming the outline of a gateway.

Only then did I answer her. “What happened, happened. The only thing we can do is act to prevent further loss.”

The portal to pocket dimension 04888144 opened fully, its surface dark and shifting, revealing the interior beyond. Emily stepped slightly closer, her attention drawn immediately to something within.

“Will,” She raised her hand, pointing into the dimension. “The pyramid is gone?”

I stepped forward, my gaze moving across the landscape inside the portal. The difference was immediate and undeniable. Where once there had been towering structures—an ancient pyramid and a sprawling metropolis—there was now nothing but emptiness. Black sand stretched across the ground in uneven waves, broken only by jagged rock formations that jutted upward like remnants of something long forgotten. Ravens circled overhead, their dark forms cutting through the dim, lifeless sky.

The absence was complete.

Emily spoke again, her voice carrying disbelief. “Are you sure this is the right pocket dimension? Even the metropolis is gone.”

I kept my eyes on the barren expanse as I answered. “Yes I'm sure. I guess the shiver fleet occupying Cybrawl took it before we sucked them into a black hole.”

Emily turned toward me, her confusion sharpening into concern. “What, why? What use does a beast have with such ancient technology?”

I shifted my attention back to her, considering the implication before responding. “Technically, that ancient metropolis, and pyramid were there. The only questions are, where did they take the city & pyramid, and how do they plan on using it?”

The weight of that realization settled between us. Whatever the Shark People had done, it wasn’t random. It was intentional, calculated, and tied to something far larger than a simple invasion.

Emily’s expression tightened as she processed it, her concern deepening rather than fading. After a long pause, I spoke again, redirecting the focus. “Besides, we have greater threats to worry about.”

She didn’t fully agree, her instincts still pulling her back toward the unanswered questions. “Then why did they attack a Shungite Pillar? Their attacks may serve a greater purpose.”

I exhaled slightly, keeping my tone firm. “Emily, enough with the conspiracies, we need to get moving.”

She hesitated, then relented. “Fine.”

I turned back to the console and initiated the shutdown sequence. The portal flickered once before collapsing in on itself, the energy dissipating until nothing remained but the quiet clearing and the inactive interface.

Without another word, we stepped away from the console and made our way back through the forest toward the main factory pyramid. The path ahead was clear, leading us once again toward the nearest portal that would take us back to Una.

Behind us, the pocket dimension remained closed, its secrets buried deeper than before. And whatever had taken the city… Was still out there.

The return to Una felt different this time, not because the world had changed, but because we had. The portal opened with its usual controlled precision, folding space just long enough to carry us across the distance, and when Emily and I stepped through, the humid air of the jungle canyon greeted us again. The fog still clung to the layered terraces of the city, drifting between structures that seemed grown as much as built, but the stillness that had defined this place earlier was gone. In its place was movement—organized, relentless, purposeful.

Everyone had already begun.

The bio-lab factory had come alive in a way that transformed its entire presence. Where there had once been silence and empty pods, there was now a constant rhythm of machinery operating at full capacity. Mechanical arms extended and retracted in precise sequences, conveyor systems moved in synchronized lines, and containment units glowed faintly as they processed raw material into something entirely new. The scale of the operation was immense, stretching across multiple levels of the facility, each section dedicated to a different stage of production.

Emily and I stepped forward from the portal just as a series of transport units arrived, each one carrying the remains of fallen Shark People. The bodies were unloaded without hesitation, guided by droids that showed no sign of hesitation or discomfort. The process was clinical, efficient, and entirely devoid of emotion. The corpses were fed into mechanized grinders, their forms disappearing into reinforced chambers where the machinery reduced them into a dense, organic slurry.

The sound of it was constant—a low, grinding hum that echoed through the facility.

That processed material, once refined, was diverted through a network of conduits that fed directly into the genetic fabrication systems. There, the extracted DNA was isolated, purified, and repurposed. The bio-matter was no longer waste; it had become the foundation of something else entirely. The remaining mass was redirected into gestation pods, where forms began to take shape—lab-grown Humans, Wulvers, Elves, and Crimseeds developing simultaneously, each one constructed with deliberate precision.

The pods pulsed faintly as the growth cycles advanced. Inside them, silhouettes formed. Life rebuilt from what had once been our enemy.

I let my gaze move across the facility, taking in every detail of the operation. This was no longer a contingency plan. It was a system—one that could sustain itself, one that could produce the numbers we would need to continue this war without relying on dwindling populations across the galaxy.

And standing above it all, observing the process with calculated focus, were Droid L-84 and Beelzebub.

The two of them stood on an elevated platform overlooking the main production floor, their presence contrasting sharply with one another. L-84 remained rigid and analytical, his optics scanning data feeds as they updated in real time, while Beelzebub stood with a more organic stillness, his wasp-like form partially silhouetted against the glow of the machinery below, his awareness extending beyond what could be measured by instruments.

Emily and I approached them together, our steps steady as we ascended the platform.

I spoke first. “Make sure this fresh batch of Vikings are robust. We can't afford any more casualties.”

Beelzebub turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting toward me with a subtle intensity. “Casualties? Like how we lost the Star Castle Pyramid, and the city?”

The reference was immediate, cutting through the momentum of what we were building here. The loss lingered in the background of everything we were doing, a reminder that even as we gained ground, something else was taking from us.

I stepped closer, narrowing my focus on him. “You're psychic, do you know who & why they took it?”

Beelzebub remained still for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “I don't, and that's what worries me.”

The answer settled heavily. Not knowing was worse than knowing. It meant we were moving forward without understanding the full scope of what we were facing.

I folded my arms slightly, keeping my tone controlled. “Do we still have time?”

Beelzebub’s posture shifted just enough to suggest unease, his wasp-like features tightening subtly. “We do, but I feel something bad will happen right under our noses.”

The implication was clear. Whatever was coming wasn’t distant. It wasn’t waiting. It was already in motion. I cut in before the thought could settle too deeply. “We'll work together to prevent manifesting your fears.”

The words were not reassurance—they were intent. Beelzebub gave no immediate response, but he did not challenge it either.

Droid L-84, who had remained focused on the production data, finally turned his attention toward us, his voice returning to the practical matters at hand. “As for a robust batch of warriors. They should handle pressure, and I'll upload artificial memories & knowledge. They'll be well informed when crawling out of the artificial womb.”

I looked back out over the production floor as he spoke, watching as another series of pods activated, their internal systems accelerating the growth cycles. The idea of warriors emerging from these chambers already trained, already prepared, was both efficient and unsettling. They would not grow into their roles—they would begin within them.

It was necessary. But it changed what it meant to be one of us.

The machinery continued its work without pause, transforming the remnants of our enemies into the foundation of our future. The entire operation moved with a level of precision that left no room for hesitation, no room for doubt.

And yet, beneath all of it, Beelzebub’s words lingered. Something was coming. Not from afar. But from somewhere close enough to strike when we least expected it.

The capital building on Skaalandr stood in silence, its towering interior illuminated only by the faint, pale light that filtered through the fractured glass panels above. The structure still carried the grandeur of Vikingnar design, with its high vaulted ceilings and reinforced beams stretching upward like the ribs of a great beast. Suspended from those beams were the skeletal remains of a dragon, its massive bones bound together by metallic supports, its skull angled downward as though it still watched over the hall long after its life had ended. Dust hung in the air, drifting slowly through the quiet, undisturbed by movement or sound.

Halrick sat beneath that skeleton.

He leaned back against one of the stone pillars, his posture relaxed but his expression distant, as though his thoughts were elsewhere. The silence of the capital wrapped around him, not oppressive, but hollow, like something that had once held meaning and now existed only as a memory of itself. There were no warriors here, no movement, no signs of conflict—only the quiet presence of a structure that had outlived whatever purpose it once served.

The main doors to the capital creaked open slowly. A figure stepped inside.

She moved cautiously, her steps measured as she crossed the threshold into the vast chamber. Her presence felt small against the scale of the room, but she continued forward, drawn by something unseen. Her blonde hair caught the faint light as she moved, and her blue eyes scanned the interior with a mixture of curiosity and hesitation. There was something uncertain in her posture, something restrained, as though she wasn’t sure she belonged there.

Halrick noticed her immediately.

He shifted slightly, his attention settling on her as she approached, and the faintest hint of a smile crossed his face—not out of amusement, but out of recognition of the hesitation she carried. “Hey, there's no reason to be shy. Do you have a name?”

The woman paused for a moment before answering, her voice soft but clear. “My name is Astrid.”

Halrick nodded once, the introduction grounding the moment in something simple and human. “I'm Halrick, it's nice to meet you.”

Astrid stepped closer, her confidence growing slightly as the distance between them closed. “I've heard a lot about you.”

Halrick leaned his head back against the pillar, considering that for a brief moment before responding. “That's nice. Why did you want to talk to me?”

Astrid hesitated, her gaze lowering briefly as she gathered her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice carried something more personal, something that reached beyond simple curiosity. “I figured we could relate to each other. My parents were also murdered by monsters.”

Halrick’s expression shifted, the weight of her words settling in. “Which ones?”

Astrid met his gaze again. “Trolls.”

Halrick exhaled slowly, the memory of his own loss surfacing beneath the surface. “My parents were murdered by demons.”

Astrid nodded slightly, her expression softening with understanding. “I believe William's parents were murdered by demons as well.”

Halrick’s eyes drifted momentarily, his thoughts moving to something more complicated. “That may be so, but William & I have nothing in common or at least that's what he says.”

Astrid tilted her head slightly, trying to understand. “Why?”

Halrick let out a quiet breath, his tone shifting into something more reflective. “Him, his Emily, and his close friends are immortal. They can't die, which is why they're desensitized to death. I wouldn't bother trying to relate to them.”

Astrid considered that, her gaze lingering on him before she spoke again. “But they're the same age as us? Look like us?”

Halrick gave a faint, almost amused smile, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Sooner or later, they will look the same while we grow old.”

Astrid’s expression shifted again, something deeper forming behind her words. “They'll look young on the outside, but they'll grow old and tired on the inside.”

Halrick let out a quiet chuckle, the sound brief but genuine. “Yeah, I suppose that's true.”

Astrid stepped closer and lowered herself beside him, the distance between them closing completely. Without hesitation, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, the gesture simple but sincere. “I just don't want you to feel lonely, Halrick.”

The words settled into the silence of the capital, filling a space that had been empty for far too long.

The memory inside the capital lingered with a strange clarity, as if it had been etched into the structure itself, but it dissolved the moment the present pressed back in. The silence that had once filled the hall was broken by a distant rumble that carried through the stone and metal alike. It began as a low vibration, barely noticeable at first, then grew into a sustained tremor that rippled through the rafters where the dragon skeleton hung. The bones shifted slightly within their bindings, producing a hollow, echoing rattle that resonated across the chamber.

Halrick turned his head toward the entrance at the same moment Astrid did, both of them registering the disturbance without needing to speak. The stillness that had defined the capital was gone, replaced by something active, something approaching. Without hesitation, they rose and moved together toward the massive doors, their footsteps echoing against the interior as they crossed the hall.

When they stepped outside, the scale of the change became immediately clear. The sky above Skaalandr was no longer empty. Our fleet filled it.

Drakkar carriers hovered high above the capital, their massive silhouettes cutting across the pale atmosphere, while smaller dropships moved between them in coordinated patterns. The faint glow of engine trails streaked across the sky, leaving temporary marks that faded as quickly as they appeared. It was not the chaotic presence of an invading force, but the controlled, deliberate formation of an organized fleet reclaiming space that had been compromised. Below, the ground reflected that same sense of regained control. Viking warriors and droids moved through the capital with purpose, securing positions, assisting survivors, and establishing a perimeter that extended far beyond the immediate structures. The shrines that had once dominated the space now stood as remnants of something already being dismantled, their influence reduced by the presence of those who had returned.

Emily and I approached from the edge of the capital, our pace steady as we moved toward Halrick and Astrid. The distance between us closed quickly, the weight of everything that had happened lingering beneath the surface, unspoken but understood. There was no need for long explanations, no time to dwell on what had already been lost. What mattered now was movement—forward, away from this place, toward what still needed to be done.

I stopped in front of them, meeting Halrick’s gaze first, then Astrid’s. “Are you guys ready?”

Halrick nodded.

There was no hesitation in the gesture, no uncertainty left in his posture. Whatever had needed to settle within him had done so, and what remained was the same resolve that defined the rest of us. Astrid stayed close beside him, her presence no longer tentative, but grounded, as though the moment they had shared inside the capital had anchored something in both of them.

Together, the four of us turned toward the landing zone where a Drakkar Dropship waited. Its hull reflected the pale light of Skaalandr’s sky, its engines humming softly as it prepared for departure. The ramp extended outward, and we moved up it in unison, stepping into the interior where the controlled environment of the ship replaced the open air of the capital.

The ramp sealed behind us with a solid mechanical lock, and the Dropship began its ascent almost immediately. The ground below pulled away as the engines increased output, lifting us smoothly above the capital. Through the forward viewport, the landscape of Skaalandr stretched outward, revealing the full scope of what we were leaving behind.

The temperate desert regions blended seamlessly into forested areas, the natural beauty of the world still intact despite everything that had taken place. From above, it was difficult to see the scars, the shrines, the remnants of what had happened. The planet still appeared whole, still capable of sustaining life, still worth protecting.

And that was exactly why we had come.

The citizens and workers we had left behind would not be abandoned. They were as vital to Vikingnar as any warrior, perhaps more so. It was their labor, their resilience, and their ability to rebuild that ensured our survival in the long term. That was why they remained under heavy protection, guarded by an army of loyal combat droids and a million warriors positioned across the planet. This was not a retreat—it was a transfer of responsibility, a calculated decision to secure the world while we moved forward.

The Dropship continued to climb. The atmosphere thinned, the sky darkened, and the stars began to emerge as points of distant light. Skaalandr’s surface shifted beneath us, its colors becoming more defined as the curvature of the planet revealed itself. Blue oceans, green landmasses, and red-toned deserts merged into a single, unified image—a living world suspended in space.

The further we ascended, the smaller it became. What had once felt vast and immediate now fit within the frame of the viewport, a marble of blue, green, and red slowly shrinking as we approached the waiting fleet. The scale of it all shifted in perspective, reminding me how small even entire worlds could appear when viewed from the right distance.

But distance did not diminish importance. It clarified it. And as the Dropship aligned with the mothership and prepared to dock, I knew that what we had left behind on Skaalandr was only one part of a much larger conflict that was still unfolding across the galaxy. We had secured the world.

Our fleet descended upon Una with the precision of a machine that had already learned from every prior movement. The Drakkar Dropship cut cleanly through the humid layers of the planet’s atmosphere, its reinforced hull absorbing the pressure and heat as we approached the canyon city below. From the viewport, I could see the sprawling integration of nature and technology once again—the moss-covered terraces, the glowing conduits embedded into the canyon walls, and the bio-lab complex now fully operational, its systems pulsing with a steady rhythm that signaled growth rather than dormancy. The Dropship landed with controlled force, stabilizers anchoring us against the uneven terrain. As the ramp lowered, the warm, damp air of Una rushed inward, carrying with it the scent of organic growth and faint chemical processing. Emily and I stepped out first, followed closely by Halrick and Astrid, both of them taking in the environment with a mixture of curiosity and unease. This world was nothing like Skaalandr—it wasn’t scarred by recent violence, but it carried something equally unsettling: the quiet knowledge that life here was being manufactured.

We didn’t waste time.

Emily and I guided Halrick and Astrid through the facility, moving past rows of active machinery and gestation pods that now contained developing forms. The scale of the operation had only intensified since we had last seen it. Glass canisters lined the walls in towering rows, each one filled with a faintly illuminated fluid that housed newly forming bodies. Shapes could be seen within them—human silhouettes, Wulver frames, elongated elven structures—all suspended in a state between existence and completion.

At the center of one of these sections stood Serenity.

She was positioned beside a set of human-sized glass canisters, her posture composed as she monitored the process. When Halrick and Astrid approached, her attention shifted toward them, her expression calm in contrast to the confusion that immediately overtook Halrick’s face as he looked at the canisters. “What the hell is this?”

Serenity didn’t hesitate. “We reverse engineered you to be more robust.”

Halrick’s confusion deepened, his gaze moving between the canisters and his own hands as if trying to understand the connection. “How, and why?”

Serenity gestured subtly toward the canisters, her explanation precise and unflinching. “We took genetic material from Vampires. Only the good stuff. You'll have increased strength, speed, stamina, vision, and you'll have some re-generation abilities.”

Halrick’s expression shifted into something more uncertain, a trace of discomfort surfacing beneath his initial shock. “Are they trying to turn us into blood suckers?”

I stepped forward before the thought could spiral further, keeping my tone firm but controlled. “No! Vampires need to drink blood in order to survive in environments with radiation, like sunny beaches. You won't have any of those defects.”

Halrick let out a small chuckle, the tension easing just slightly as he processed that clarification. “Does this mean I'll be like you?”

Serenity interjected immediately, her voice grounding the reality of the situation. “You'll still age, and enough blood loss could kill you. You're not invincible by any means.”

Halrick nodded slowly, the weight of that truth settling in without resistance. There was no illusion being sold here, no false promise of immortality—only enhancement, refinement, and a chance at survival in a universe that demanded more than what natural bodies could endure.

Without further hesitation, he accepted it.

Astrid remained close to him, her own uncertainty giving way to trust as they prepared to undergo the procedure. The canisters before them weren’t just containers—they were replacements, improved versions of themselves waiting to be inhabited. The process was unsettling, but necessary.

As they were guided into position, something else began to surface in my mind. A thought. A contradiction. Something that didn’t align.

I stepped away from the group and motioned for Serenity to follow, pulling her aside just enough to speak without interruption. “What the hell is happening?”

She looked at me with a slight tilt of her head, her expression shifting into curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

I lowered my voice slightly, trying to piece together what was bothering me. “Didn't our past authorities, and scientists say that they solved the problem of aging?”

Serenity’s brow furrowed faintly, her response measured. “Can you be specific?”

I exhaled, narrowing the thought down. “Didn't Subi & Samuel people of Vikingnar can't age?”

Serenity’s expression changed—not dramatically, but enough to signal a correction. “Will, those people are liars. The only immortality mortals have is to switch bodies. Why, what's the matter?”

I paused for a moment, the realization not fully forming, but present enough to disturb my sense of continuity. “Nothing, I feel like the timeline shifted again.”

The words left my mouth before I could fully process them. Emily had been close enough to hear.

She turned toward me, her expression shifting with concern as she stepped in. “Is the clock broken again?”

I shook my head slightly, forcing the tension out of my posture. “It's nothing Emily, I was just panicking... Do you guys ever feel like time moves fast in our heads? A good example would be, an event that took place eight years ago feels like eight seconds ago?”

Emily considered it for a moment before nodding. “Yes actually.”

Her answer should have been reassuring. It wasn’t. Because the feeling wasn’t just about perception. It felt like something else entirely. Something subtle. Something shifting beneath everything we were doing.

Behind us, the machinery continued its work without pause, and Halrick and Astrid moved closer to the moment where they would leave their old bodies behind. But even as we pushed forward, I couldn’t shake the thought. That something had changed. And we hadn’t noticed when it happened.

Far from Una’s living foundries and Skaalandr’s wounded silence, the world of Vondrakka stood beneath a dim, cloud-choked sky that allowed only the faintest bleed of light to reach its surface. The air carried a chill that seeped into everything, not from temperature alone, but from the nature of the world itself—a place shaped by creatures that thrived in shadow rather than sunlight. The architecture reflected that nature in full, blending industrial precision with gothic grandeur. Steel paneling formed the backbone of its structures, while arched ceilings, spiked embellishments, and narrow corridors gave the entire environment a sense of controlled intimidation.

Deep within one of these structures, Samuel, Lia, and Yursa were confined in a holding cell.

The room was constructed from thick steel panels that reflected dim, artificial lighting, casting faint glimmers across the surface but offering no warmth. The walls were reinforced, the seams barely visible, and the single entrance was sealed by a heavy, mechanized door that emitted a low, persistent hum. The atmosphere inside the cell felt stagnant, as though the air itself had been recycled too many times, stripped of anything resembling freshness.

Two vampiric guards stood watch near the entrance, their presence unmoving and deliberate. Their pale features and sharp, angular expressions contrasted with the dark armor they wore, and their eyes carried a faint glow that seemed to track every movement within the room without the need for visible effort. They did not speak, nor did they shift their stance. They existed as part of the structure itself—silent enforcers of a system that required no explanation.

Samuel remained near the far wall, his posture composed despite the situation. Lia stood closer to Yursa, her presence tense but controlled, while Yursa herself stood at the center of the cell, her attention focused not on the guards, but on the door.

Then the silence broke. The heavy door slid open with a sharp mechanical release, and a new presence entered the room with purpose. Vafri.

His entrance carried authority, not through volume, but through certainty. He did not hesitate, nor did he acknowledge Samuel or Lia as his gaze settled directly on Yursa.

“Yursa, the matriarch would like to see you.” There was no room for refusal. Yursa didn’t resist. She stepped forward, her movements measured, her expression unreadable as she allowed herself to be escorted out of the cell. The door sealed behind her with a solid finality, leaving Samuel and Lia once again under the silent watch of the guards.

Yursa was led through a series of corridors that reflected the same industrial-gothic design as the cell, but on a far grander scale. The walls rose higher here, lined with dark metallic supports and illuminated by dim, vertical light strips that cast long shadows across the floor. The further she was taken, the more the structure shifted from functional to ceremonial, the architecture becoming less about containment and more about display. Eventually, the corridor opened into a vast chamber.

The throne room.

The space was immense, its ceiling disappearing into shadow as towering columns stretched upward to support the structure. The floor was polished to a dark sheen, reflecting the faint light that emanated from strategically placed fixtures along the walls. At the far end of the chamber, elevated above the rest of the room, stood the throne.

And seated upon it— Lilith.

Her presence commanded attention without effort. She sat with a composed elegance, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her posture relaxed yet undeniably authoritative. Her black dress flowed naturally around her form, contrasted by the sharp lines of black leather thigh boots that reinforced her presence rather than softened it. Her eyes, dark and steady, focused on Yursa as she approached, carrying an awareness that felt deeper than simple observation.

She spoke first, her voice calm and controlled. “Hello Yursa, my name is Lilith.”

Her tone carried no hostility, only certainty. “You're not in any trouble, but your friends are. I know you don't trust my people or I, but most of that energy stems from my brother who works for the Templars remaining kingdom.”

Yursa stepped forward, her posture firm despite the circumstances, her mind already working through what she was being told. “Who's their leader?”

Lilith’s expression shifted slightly, not with emotion, but with recognition of the name she was about to speak. “Their leader is Adam, but he prefers the name Arthur, due to his ego.”

The answer landed with weight, and Yursa’s reaction was immediate, confusion mixing with disbelief. “Wait, Adam? Are you the first Vampire and the first woman from Earth?”

Lilith did not hesitate. “Yes. Adam & I were the first two humans on earth, and we were perfect. I could be under the sun without the need to drink blood, and Adam never feared aging. Until one day, a female figure came to our garden with a pet dragon to demand worship and in return immortality or invincibility. I was skeptical of what he said, and I resisted. When doing so, the figure turned into a demonette named Bethany. She cursed me, and my descendants, to be vampires. Adam got some immortality, but at the cost of becoming so corrupt with demonic energy, he wears a helmet to cover his monstrous form. Adam or Arthur & his mistress Eve still want Immortality without defects, and I sure hope he doesn't find out what your friends are. He'll do anything to get that type of power.”

The story settled into the chamber, filling the vast space with a history that stretched far beyond the present conflict. Yursa absorbed it, her expression tightening slightly as the implications unfolded.

Then she asked something unexpected. “Did you have any kids with Adam?”

Lilith’s composure shifted just enough for a faint trace of amusement to surface. She let out a soft laugh, the sound echoing lightly through the chamber. “No. Adam isn't fond of my need to drink blood, and to be honest I've been practicing holding back my desire to drink blood. So don't worry honey, I don't bite, at least not you anyway.”

Her tone remained calm, but beneath it was something else—restraint, practiced and deliberate.

The throne room returned to its quiet state, but the weight of what had been revealed lingered in the air. The history of vampires, demons, and the origins of their curse was no longer distant or theoretical. It stood before Yursa in the form of the one who had lived it.

And somewhere beyond this chamber, forces were already moving to claim the power that history had left behind.

Our fleet moved in tight formation as we entered the outer reaches of Vondrakka’s galactic sector, the vast expanse of space ahead marked by distant stars and the faint glow of unfamiliar worlds. From the bridge of the Drakkar carrier, I stood at the viewport, watching as navigation systems plotted our course with steady precision. Everything felt controlled, predictable for once, until something unexpected cut through the silence of the ship’s systems.

A distress signal. Not just any signal. It carried a voice that made my attention sharpen instantly. Yursa.

The audio repeated faintly through the ship’s comms, distorted just enough to feel wrong, like something mimicking her rather than truly being her. The signal’s origin appeared on the display—an unremarkable, isolated world positioned directly ahead of our current trajectory. It was the kind of place that wouldn’t normally warrant attention, let alone carry a transmission tied to someone we knew.

I narrowed my eyes slightly, studying the data before speaking. “Well that's odd, that a distress signal is coming from this backwater planet? I say we check it out. Emily & I will take a dropship to the surface, and I'll look for the signal source. It should only be a quick trek.”

There was no resistance to the decision. The bridge crew acknowledged it without hesitation, understanding that something about the signal demanded investigation, even if it didn’t make sense. Emily stepped beside me as I turned away from the viewport, and together we moved toward the exit of the bridge, already preparing for descent.

The Drakkar Dropship separated from the main carrier with a smooth mechanical release, its engines igniting as it angled toward the planet below.

As we entered the atmosphere, the environment revealed itself—a dark, forested world locked in the grip of winter. Snow blanketed the landscape in thick layers, broken only by the silhouettes of towering trees whose branches reached upward like skeletal hands. The sky above was dim and overcast, allowing only a faint gray light to filter through.

We landed in a small clearing, the Dropship stabilizing itself against the uneven terrain as the ramp lowered. Cold air rushed inward immediately, biting against the exposed surfaces of my armor as I stepped out into the snow. The ground beneath my boots crunched with each step, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent forest.

I didn’t look back at first. I already knew Emily was watching. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

That was the expectation. Nothing about this felt like it should take longer than that.

I moved forward into the forest, leaving the Dropship behind as I followed the direction of the signal. The trees closed in around me, their trunks thick and dark, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally fell in soft cascades when disturbed by the wind. The deeper I went, the quieter it became, until even the faint hum of the Dropship had disappeared completely.

The signal grew stronger. Then I reached the clearing.

The transition from forest to open space was abrupt, as though the land itself had been carved out intentionally. The ground beneath the snow gave way to a flat stone surface, its edges defined by ancient architecture that rose in fragmented archways around the perimeter. Tombstones were scattered across the clearing, their surfaces worn and partially buried, their inscriptions long faded into obscurity.

At the center of it all lay the source of the signal. A device.

I approached it cautiously, my eyes scanning the area as I reached down to examine it. The moment I saw its structure clearly, I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t Vikingnar. It was a Templar.

The realization settled instantly, and I drew my chainsword without hesitation, the weapon forming in my hand with a low mechanical hum. The silence of the clearing pressed in around me, heavier now that I understood what I was standing in.

Then a voice emerged from the shadows. “William, it's an honor to meet you.”

I turned toward the sound, my grip tightening on the chainsword as a figure stepped forward into the dim light. He wore dark gunmetal-gray armor that reflected the pale glow of the sky, its design both regal and imposing. A crown was fused into his helmet, not worn but integrated, and the face of his visor bore a gaunt, carved expression that gave him an almost inhuman presence.

He continued forward with measured steps. “I'm King Arthur, and I believe you killed my son Aelle.”

I didn’t let him finish building his narrative. “Careful old man, I didn't kill your son, that was Bethany's doing.”

Arthur’s stance shifted slightly, not with doubt, but with refusal. “No, that's not possible.”

I took a step forward, meeting his presence head-on. “What did that bitch say, to coerce you into her side?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “She promised me I would be Immortal without flaws. I just need to kill you for it.”

That was all the explanation I needed. He attacked first.

His movements were fast—faster than I expected. His blade cut through the air with precision, forcing me to react immediately. The clash of steel echoed through the clearing as we collided, the force of the impact sending vibrations through my arm. I adjusted my stance and countered, but it quickly became clear that this wasn’t going to be a simple encounter.

Arthur was skilled. Relentless. And enhanced by something beyond natural limits.

His strikes came in rapid succession, each one calculated, each one pushing me back further than I intended. I shifted my footing, trying to regain control of the exchange, but he pressed the advantage without hesitation. His blade cut through my defenses, severing my left arm in a clean arc before I could fully adjust. The loss barely registered before the next strike drove into my leg, then my abdomen, each hit delivered with brutal efficiency.

Then came the final blow. The world shifted. My perspective dropped.

Darkness edged into my vision as my head separated from my body, the impact of the strike carrying through even as consciousness lingered. Arthur stepped back, his posture relaxing slightly as he turned away, convinced the fight had ended.

He was wrong. My body remained standing.

The wounds began to close, flesh reforming, systems reconnecting as if the damage had never occurred. My arm lay in the snow a few feet away, still intact, still usable. My head rested nearby, my vision angled upward as I let out a low, deliberate laugh.

Arthur turned immediately.

I reached for my arm first, lifting it and pressing it back into place as the connection sealed itself seamlessly. Then I picked up my head, holding it in my hands as I faced him. “Well sir Lancelot, you're going to have to try harder than that.”

I reattached my head to my neck, the final connection locking into place as I surged forward. This time, I didn’t hold back. My strike drove into his armor, tearing open a gap in his abdomen and exposing what lay beneath. The force of the blow staggered him, but he didn’t fall.

Instead, he kept fighting. Even as his body failed him.

He knocked my chainsword from my hand, forcing me into close combat. I adapted immediately, seizing his own weapon and driving it upward into the eye portion of his visor. The impact forced his head back, but I didn’t stop there. I followed with a series of strikes, each one designed to destabilize him further, until he faltered just enough.

That was all I needed. I gripped the handle of the sword lodged in his visor and twisted. His neck rotated fully under the force, the motion unnatural, final. He collapsed. I stepped back, watching him for a moment before turning away. The fight was over. Or so I thought.

The ground beneath him gave way suddenly, the edge of the cliff collapsing as his body disappeared into the mist below. Snow and debris followed, cascading downward into the unseen depths.

I waited.

Minutes passed as the mist shifted, slowly revealing the other side of the canyon. And there he was. Still alive. Broken, but not finished. I didn’t move to pursue it. Not yet.

Instead, I turned and made my way back through the forest, the snow crunching beneath my boots as the clearing disappeared behind me. The Dropship came back into view, its presence steady against the frozen landscape. Emily stood near the ramp, waiting exactly where I had left her.

I didn’t say anything as I approached. Some battles didn’t need to be explained. And some enemies— Didn’t stay dead.

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CHAPTER 44: “MADE IN VIKINGNAR” “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA”