"ARCHIVES"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 29: "SIGVARD THE GREAT, PART 2" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" Bogn lay in suffocating silence. Not peace—Bogn had never known peace—but the silence that follows slaughter. Smoke drifted in thin gray veils across the shattered arena, carrying the metallic tang of demon blood that still steamed where it spattered the rust-colored sand. Torn banners of the Hellhorde hung half-burned from blackened spires. Troll warriors now loyal to Sigvard dragged demon corpses into heaps, smashing their armor apart and tossing them into gaping furnaces beneath the stands. Even in victory, Bogn remained what it had always been: a dying world of basalt cliffs, jagged industrial towers, and a sky thick with choking furnace-smog. But something new moved across its decaying bones—a pulse of rebellion, the first in centuries. High above the wrecked arena, Sigvard stood at the balconies cracked railing. The metal groaned under his weight, warped from old battles and new. Sand still clung to his battered armor. Blood—Jestan’s blood—dried in streaks across his forearms. His newly claimed axe rested against his shoulder, its edge still warm from the duel that won him the title he never sought: War Chief of Bogn. Beside him stood Nitra, her violet eyes reflecting the flickering fires below. Her posture was rigid, but Sigvard recognized the exhaustion in her stance—the kind that came not from battle, but from centuries of mistreatment at the hands of her own kind. Below them, trolls chanted hoarse victory cries, pounding on drum-canisters with demon skulls as crude hammers. Frenzy and relief bled together into a raw, thunderous rhythm. Sigvard watched in grim silence. He did not trust the demonette beside him—not fully. Every instinct screamed he shouldn’t. But he also knew he would have died in chains had she not turned on Jestan and the demon elites. For now, she was an ally. For now, she was necessary. He finally broke the silence. “Why did you betray your fellow demons so easily?” The question drifted off into the smoky air. Nitra did not respond immediately. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her palms on the railing as she stared into the bloody pit where her former comrades lay in ruin. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and bitter. “Because I’m tired. Tired of the abuse from the higher ups… and from Jestan, who despises any female company.” Her expression was sharp, but honest. Not typical for a demonette—certainly not one bred in the Hellhorde’s hierarchy of cruelty. Sigvard studied her profile, weighing her words. He still wasn’t sure he believed them, but his situation gave him little room for doubt. He was outnumbered by the universe itself. And even with two loyal trolls—Fructar and Chucktar—he would need more than brute strength to survive what was coming. He exhaled, steadying himself. “What should we do next?” Nitra turned to him, lips tugging into a predatory grin, as if she had been waiting for him to ask. “We should consider preparing our new army for battle,” she said. “Since Anubis will most likely return to the Aries system, from where he came from. They are also looking for your friends, who pose a threat to their schemes.” Sigvard froze. The Aries System. Skogheim. Emily. I. The Rus Vikings. Ikeem. The others. If Anubis returned there—if he traced Sigvard’s path back to his allies—they would all be slaughtered before they even completed their preparations. The thought clenched around Sigvard’s chest like a tightening fist. He looked away, gaze sinking into the horizon where jagged towers pierced the dying sky. His voice shook with urgency. “We need to draw Anubis away from Skogheim, my friends, and the Rus Vikings who are still developing weapons to match the Hell Horde.” Nitra nodded without hesitation. Her grin widened, sharp and knowing, carrying an energy far unlike the cruelty she showed earlier. “Say no more,” she said. “We can totally buy the legendary Rus Vikings some time. We also need to round up some troops willing to fight for us.” Bootsteps clattered behind them as Fructar and Chucktar approached, armor reflecting the red glow of nearby flame pits. Fructar wiped demon blood from his brow with the back of his hand. “Troops won’t be a problem,” he said gruffly. Below them, dozens of trolls gathered into formation, pounding fists to their chests in salute. “They’re ready to fight.” Chucktar nodded. “They hated Jestan. Hated Maladrie’s command. You killed the right troll.” Sigvard tightened his grip on the axe. For the first time since being captured, he felt the weight shift—not a burden, but a mantle. A responsibility. And behind it, a fire. Nitra stepped forward until she stood at his side again, close enough that their shadows merged against the scorched wall. “You freed them,” she said. “And you freed me.” She paused, glancing toward the storm clouds gathering above the distant cliffs. “And now… we’re going to wage a war.” Thunder rolled through Bogn as if the broken world answered her vow. Winds whipped across the arena, dragging sparks and flecks of ash into swirling clouds. Trolls shouted victory chants that merged with the storm’s roar. Sigvard lifted his chin, looking out over the chaos of his new domain. The Hellhorde would come. Anubis would discover the truth. And the Aries System—his friends—would need every second he could buy them. He turned to Nitra, Fructar, and Chucktar, voice steady and resolute. “We start now.” Somewhere in the Wraith dimension, the hellscape stretched endlessly beneath an oppressive, burnt-orange sky, a color that never changed, never dimmed, and never offered even the faintest suggestion of dawn or dusk. It was an eternal glow that seemed to seep into the bones and stain the soul, a reminder that this world was neither alive nor dead, but suspended somewhere in the tormenting middle. Beelzebub moved across its cracked plains with the slow steadiness of one who had walked these lands since time immemorial, his heavy steps scattering dust made not of earth but of powdered bone. Each grain carried the memory of a life that once breathed in the physical realm—now forgotten, shattered, and left to the winds of this desolate place. Around him stretched a graveyard without boundaries. The remains of countless species—human, alien, beast, and things far older than recorded history—were scattered like driftwood across a storm-torn beach. Some skeletons were twisted into shapes that could only exist here, warped by their final screams. Some were arranged as though they had crawled for miles before collapsing into stillness. And then there were the mountains of skulls—bleached, cracked, some fused together—testaments to the billions who had crossed into the Wraith dimension and failed to reach the higher realms. Beelzebub walked among them with the solemn weight of his duty pressing against his wings and spine. He was the shepherd of dead souls, the only being capable of guiding them beyond this realm before the horrors of the Wraith claimed them. But even he could not save every soul. Those he failed were condemned to mindless wandering, eventual destruction, and afterward—depending on ancient rules even he did not fully understand—ascension, reincarnation, or endless torture under the dominion of the Wraith’s darkest creatures. His task was sacred, yet the cost wore on him with each passing age. Despite the enormity of what surrounded him, his path today held no hesitation. He was searching. Seeking. Driven not by duty but by desperation. Serenity had fallen into this realm—an immortal in both worlds, yet still vulnerable to the cruelties that thrived here. The demonettes that captured her, they would twist her spirit until she broke. And immortality in the Wraith ensured that breaking was only the beginning of eternal suffering. Beelzebub left behind everything he cherished to embark on this mission: the golden wheat fields that grew along the banks of the River of Souls, the peaceful darkness of his stone-carved home, the people he watched over, and the gentle spirits he guided across the shimmering waters toward freedom. All of that now lay somewhere behind him, veiled by drifting ash. He moved across a ridge of broken vertebrae half-buried in the ground, unaware that his presence had not gone unnoticed. In the shifting haze ahead, shadows twitched—slim bodies moving with serpentine grace, their claws glinting faintly beneath the sky’s eerie glow. A soft tremor rippled through the dust as a pack of demonettes fanned out in a crescent formation, circling him with practiced precision. Beelzebub had survived countless encounters in this realm, but the demonettes of the Wraith were not simple hunters; they were calculated predators born from malice itself, creations of the dimension’s darkest will. Their skin shimmered like heated metal, absorbing and reflecting the orange light in sinister pulses. Their eyes burned with glee at the prospect of subduing such an ancient being. Before Beelzebub could react, they swarmed him from every side. Claws dug into his arms and legs. Barbed tails wrapped around his torso. Needle-thin wires of energy hissed through the air, binding his limbs with effortless cruelty. The demonettes overwhelmed him with numbers rather than strength. The ground cracked beneath his weight as they forced him down and secured him with bindings drawn from the very fabric of the Wraith itself. The moment the restraints tightened, the land beneath him opened into a fissure of dark light, sealing his strength and rendering him powerless. Beelzebub struggled, but the bindings held. The demonettes dragged him across the desolate landscape like a trophy, ascending toward a distant structure that dominated the horizon. Maladrie’s newly constructed fortress rose from the world like a nightmare given shape. It was not merely a castle; it was a declaration of conquest, an impenetrable stronghold forged from obsidian stone and the bones of titanic creatures buried within the Wraith. It stood upon an island of jagged rock suspended between two colossal canyon walls, the whole structure shrouded in a constant swirl of ash that spiraled upward like smoke from a dying world. A massive drawbridge connected the canyon’s edge to the fortress. Its chains were thicker than ancient tree trunks, pulsating faintly with symbols carved into their lengths—runes of confinement and torment. The bridge swayed gently, creaking under the weight of centuries yet sounding as if it hungered for more. Above it, spanning the chasm, stone walkways connected the fortress to the canyon cliffs, twisting like petrified veins. These walkways were defensible only from within, accessible only by climbing into the guts of the fortress itself. It was a structure designed not to be entered, only to contain. As the demonettes dragged Beelzebub across the bridge, the chasm below exhaled a cold wind that rose from its depths. The air carried whispers—voices lost from souls that had fallen into the endless abyss long before Maladrie claimed this island. The wind clawed at Beelzebub’s wings, threatening to pull him over the edge, but the bindings kept him tethered to his captors as they hauled him toward the towering black gates. The doors loomed far above them, etched with spirals of shifting light that writhed like living things. When the demonettes approached, the gates parted with a groaning sound, releasing a wave of stale, icy air that carried the scent of old blood and despair. Inside, the fortress was a labyrinth of obsidian staircases, chambers carved into jagged stone, and hallways lined with mounted skulls that served as trophies of Maladrie’s victories. Braziers of cold flame lit the interior, burning with purple, blue, and black fire—colors that did not exist in the physical world. Beelzebub remained silent as he was dragged deeper into the citadel, his wings trailing behind him in the dust. He could feel Serenity’s presence somewhere within these walls—faint, frightened, flickering like a candle at the edge of extinction. He moved forward not by his own will but by the pull of his captors, yet every step carried him closer to her. The doors slammed shut behind them, sealing him within Maladrie’s fortress. In the cold, shifting darkness, the fate of both Serenity and Beelzebub now depended on whatever horrors awaited within. Deep inside the dungeon beneath Maladrie’s fortress, the air lay thick and oily, as if it were saturated with the despair of the countless souls that had been dragged through these iron corridors before Serenity. The walls were carved from volcanic stone—black, sharp, and glistening as if moist with ancient blood—yet they pulsed faintly with a reddish glow, as though the castle itself breathed. Far overhead, the orange sky of the Wraith trembled through narrow cracks in the upper foundations. Lightning forked horizontally, illuminating rows of suspended cages, rusted restraints, and long platforms lined with implements that served no purpose other than to fracture the mind and spirit of a captive. Serenity hung there—bound by heavy chains that strapped her wrists above her head and her ankles to a lower ring embedded in the floor. The cold metal bit into her skin through the torn edges of her black-and-white leather jumpsuit. Her breath rose in soft clouds, pale blue eyes fixed on the approaching figure. Maladrie descended the last steps like a queen preparing for the ceremony. Her long black dress swept behind her like flowing smoke, its fabric clinging to her powerful form. Her leather thigh-boots reflected the little light that existed in the dungeon—each step a thunderous click that echoed off the stone as though the walls themselves were cowering. Her smooth orange skin radiated an unnatural heat. Her horns swept back like obsidian blades, glossy and sharp. She pushed her black hair behind them before gazing upon her prisoner—calmly, almost lovingly. In her right hand was the syringe. Its glass cylinder was filled with a thick, swirling black venom, moving like a living shadow, each ripple containing faces—souls trapped inside the liquid, screaming silently as they dissolved into the substance. Maladrie approached slowly, savoring each heartbeat of Serenity’s dread. Without a word, she drove the needle through Serenity’s jumpsuit into her upper arm. The venom surged into her bloodstream like a living thing. Serenity gasped—not from the pain, but from the cold that exploded through every nerve at once. It felt as though the entire Wraith dimension had pierced her veins, rushing into her heart. She tried to reach for her shoulder, but her chains held firm. The dungeon swallowed her breath, amplifying her pulse into thunder. Maladrie stepped closer, brushing Serenity’s dark hair aside—not gently, but with the efficiency of someone clearing away something in her way. Her black eyes seemed bottomless, as if Seren­ity were staring into a void that reflected the birth and death of universes. Then came Maladrie’s voice, low and resonant. “Do you know why I brought you here, Serenity?” Serenity’s lips trembled, her voice strained. “To figure out how to kill me?” Maladrie’s smile stretched—slow, deliberate, almost sympathetic. “Ha. Yes. But there’s more to it than that.” She circled Serenity, her boots tapping a slow, predatory rhythm. The venom began to burn, crawling into Serenity’s spine, filling her vision with phantom shapes—shadows that crawled on the walls and whispered her name. “You’re so selfish,” Maladrie continued, her tone both mocking and reflective. “But I don’t blame you. You want to be loved. Everyone does. Even gods.” Serenity clenched her jaw. “Well, how would you know?” Maladrie stopped directly in front of her. The air around her seemed to warp, as if her body emanated a gravitational pull. “Because creation & love are the same. And creation itself can’t decide whether it wants to be benign or malevolent,” she said quietly. “Therefore, creation is meaningless. My creations are meaningless.” Her voice sharpened. “Everything dies eventually, even love… Especially if my creations kill each other.” Serenity’s breath hitched. “You’re not God!” she shouted. “You didn’t create this universe… It’s impossible.” Maladrie tilted her head slightly, as if studying a naive child. “Impossible? Really? As it turns out, I’m the Goddess of Excess. Which means I made up everything—my father, my siblings, the mortals, the Wraith… even the desire that plagues every living heart.” Her pupils constricted into thin slits. “And that includes the man you desire.” Serenity’s blood ran cold. The venom began to distort the air around her, making the dungeon stretch and shrink like a breathing beast. “If you’re the one above all,” Serenity whispered shakily, “you can change everything.” Maladrie smiled wider—almost pleasantly. “Exactly. I am going to change this realm by tearing it apart and starting over.” She reached toward Serenity—not to touch her flesh, but to place two burning fingers against the side of her temple. Instantly, Serenity’s vision cracked open. She saw— Worlds dissolving into ash, Stars collapsing into spirals, Civilizations wiped clean in a single exhale, Tides of shadow replacing creation, Maladrie rising above it all, Her voice slid into Serenity’s mind like molten metal. “I kept lying to myself by believing in the good of my creations—my brothers, my sisters, mortals or immortals like you. I was wrong. You’re a disappointment. So yes, it’s time for change.” The burning fingers pressed harder. “And you’re going to help me. You will kill Emily for me.” Serenity snapped back into her body, shaking, refusing. “No!” Maladrie’s eyes ignited. “Yes.” The venom responded to Maladrie’s command. It crawled through Serenity’s skin, forming black veins across her shoulders and neck. A crushing pressure descended on the room, making Serenity’s chains vibrate. Maladrie proceeded with her torture methods. The slimy reptilian tongue of a broken goddess began to slither down her throat. Maladrie yanked Serenity's legs wrapped in leather, caressing her black leather thigh boots, her thighs and her glutes. Serenity’s jumpsuit was then undone against her own will, as Maladrie’s demonic hands caressed Serenity's exposed body. Maladrie licked Serenity’s exposed crotch to gain her obedience. Maladrie’s corruption crept into Serenity’s mind like an infection, attempting to rewrite her memories, her loyalties, her will. Serenity’s body arched instinctively, resisting the metamorphic pull of the venom. Maladrie stood inches away, voice low enough to feel more than hear. “I know you’re hurt,” she said. “You want love. You want to belong. You want purpose.” Her hand hovered inches from Serenity’s face—radiating heat gently. “And I can give you all of it. I can reshape you in my image. You can end your suffering. You can become mine.” The dungeon fell silent, except for Serenity’s ragged breathing and the faint hiss of the black venom solidifying inside her bloodstream. And Maladrie watched as Serenity began to bend to her will. The dungeon beneath Maladrie’s fortress trembled with the growling hum of the Wraith’s shifting energies. Serenity hung half-conscious, chains rattling softly with every shallow breath. The black venom inside her veins pulsed like a living parasite, coiling through her body, constricting her senses, fogging her mind. Maladrie watched her with cold fascination, the syringe still in her hand—its plunger stained with the last remnants of the substance she had forced into Serenity’s bloodstream. She leaned closer, considering the next method of torment, when the heavy iron door to the dungeon burst inward. Three Demonettes marched inside in formation, dragging a tall, thin figure struggling between them. Maladrie’s head snapped toward them, her eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you doing here?” One of the Demonettes shoved the captive forward. The creature stumbled into the torchlight—its chitinous yellow-and-black body glinting, wings torn at the edges, antennae limp with exhaustion. Beelzebub. The Wraith’s ancient guide. The nearest Demonette snapped to attention. “We found Beelzebub running around in the dead valley.” For a fraction of a second, Maladrie’s expression twisted between disbelief and irritation. She dropped her shoulders and exhaled sharply. “Unbelievable. Just put him in the cell next to Serenity’s.” Two Demonettes immediately dragged Beelzebub toward the empty cage beside Serenity’s. His feet scraped against the stone, leaving faint trails of dust behind him. The walls echoed the clank of locks snapping shut. Maladrie turned her back to them, already dismissing their presence. “My torture session needs to be put on hold,” she said with a sigh, flicking the syringe aside. It clattered across the floor, rolling to the base of Serenity’s cell. “And I need more black venom anyway.” She stepped toward the door, giving her subordinates a curt gesture. “I also want to come with you in order to get the venom.” The Demonettes exchanged brief glances, then nodded. None dared question her. Together, the group filed out of the dungeon. As Maladrie left, the torches flickered violently, as though the air itself recoiled from her presence. The heavy door slammed behind them. Silence settled slowly into the room—a thick, oppressive weight broken only by Serenity’s ragged breaths and the faint crackle of the torches in their sconces. For several seconds, Serenity hung like a broken statue. Then movement stirred in the cell beside her. Beelzebub, bruised and breathing hard, lifted his head. The venom’s influence still muddled Serenity’s vision, but she recognized the gentle posture, the slow, deliberate flex of his mandibles. His blue compound eyes glowed faintly in the low light. He stepped forward, cradling something metallic in his long, three-fingered hands. A laser cutter. The small tool flickered to life, its beam illuminating the bars of his cell in a thin red line. How he had hidden it from the Demonettes was a mystery known only to him. He turned toward Serenity, antennae angled with determination. “I got captured,” he said, voice low but steady, “so I can set you free.” Even in her half-conscious state, Serenity’s eyes widened with a mix of relief and disbelief. Her fingers twitched weakly against the restraints as Beelzebub examined the locking mechanism, studying its demonic architecture with precise, calculating motions. His wings shuddered. His mandibles clenched. He would not fail. Outside the fortress, Maladrie and her Demonettes stepped onto the vast system of bridges spanning the canyon surrounding the castle. The Wraith’s sky burned a deeper orange here, streaked with black lightning veins that carved temporary cracks through the clouds. The bridge beneath their feet was made of fused bones and obsidian plates, glowing faintly from the heat of churning lava far below. It had taken months for Maladrie’s enslaved laborers to construct these pathways—bridges capable of holding armies, pastures of chained beasts, and transport convoys. Now they served a far simpler purpose: guiding their master to the source of her new favorite torment. The group descended a series of spiraling ramps, the canyon walls rising higher and darker around them. Jagged rock formations stretched upward like broken spears, each one carved with ancient runes that hissed when touched by the drifting winds. Maladrie stopped at the final ledge. Below them lay something impossible. A sea of bodies—titanic skeletal remains of Shark People—piled in massive heaps. Their armor was rotted, their fins shriveled into leathery husks. Their once-proud jaws were locked open in silent screams. From their decaying forms, a viscous black substance oozed—thick as tar, shimmering like oil in the dying light. The venom flowed down into deep channels carved into the canyon floor, collecting in bubbling pools. The Demonettes recoiled slightly. Maladrie did not. She stepped forward until she stood at the very edge, her dress sweeping around her legs like shifting smoke. The sight was mesmerizing—wrong in every conceivable way. Shark People didn’t have venom. Samuel had said so many times, and Samuel’s assessments were rarely wrong. But the Wraith changed things. The Wraith twisted things. And whatever these beings had become after death… it no longer mattered. All that mattered was what Maladrie could use them for. She extended a hand toward the nearest pool, letting the heat radiate over her palm. The liquid hissed, as though recognizing her touch. Finally, she spoke, her voice echoing across the cavernous canyon. “Get in touch with Deathskull. I need more copies of the Sharkie Poo venom.” She turned her head slightly, black hair blowing in the hot wind. “I made up my mind. This crap is capable of subduing an immortal—and perhaps permanently.” Her Demonettes exchanged uneasy glances. None voiced their concerns. This was Maladrie’s realm—her war, her ambitions, her cruelty. Their task was only to obey. The orange sky growled overhead as the venom pools churned. And far above them, hidden in the dungeon of the fortress, two prisoners began to change the fate of entire worlds—one link of a chain at a time. The skies of Bogn were a dull, shimmering violet when Nitra led Fructar, Chucktar, and Sigvard toward the standing portal. Its frame pulsed with coils of holographic runes—symbols older than any mortal civilization, whispering with a silent hum that prickled the skin. Wind spiraled around them as the portal activated, bending the grasses flat in a wide circle. Sigvard inhaled sharply, tasting static in the air. “Here we go,” he muttered. Nitra tilted her head toward him. Her eyes glowed soft gold, ancient and all-seeing. “Beyond this portal lies a truth you cannot unsee.” The others exchanged nervous glances, but together the four stepped through. On the other side was a vast, cavernous expanse of artificial sky—flat, metallic, and pulsing faint glimmers of code like constellations that had forgotten how to shine. And beneath it— Sigvard’s breath left his lungs. Rows upon rows of pods, stretching beyond the horizon. Millions. Billions. Nearly every citizen of Vikingnar, suspended inside clear crystalline chambers, floating in stasis, their bodies curled into fetal positions, eyes twitching beneath closed lids as unending dreams—and nightmares—played behind their sealed consciousness. Each pod was plugged into walls of fractal machinery. Thick conduits ran like blackened arteries from the pods into a central tower of writhing bronze metal—Deathskull’s rogue AI core, throbbing with stolen thoughts. Nitra’s voice echoed softly in the enormous chamber. “This is where they have been kept… ever since Maladrie allied with the AI. The people’s minds are connected directly to the Psyop Machine.” Fructar whispered, “Why? Why capture all of them?” Nitra’s gaze dropped. “Because every living being has emotions strong enough to alter reality once linked through this machine.” Sigvard frowned. “Alter reality… how? I don’t understand.” Chucktar brushed dust from a nearby pod, revealing a young elf inside, trembling. “They look like they’re dreaming nightmares.” “They are,” Nitra said quietly. She stepped closer to Sigvard. “The machine’s sole purpose is to create demons from emotional output—the rage, despair, terror, hopelessness—all harvested and converted into matter by the artificial planet’s core.” Sigvard shook his head, overwhelmed. “And Maladrie’s using this—this atrocity—to build her army.” “Yes,” Nitra said. “An endless supply.” Sigvard swallowed hard, then tried to lighten his tone. “You know so much, Nitra…” Her golden eyes flickered. “All greater demons see into the physical realm. We were born outside of time and space—we see all that unfolds.” Sigvard blinked at her. “So… were you created?” Nitra’s lips curved in a faint smile. “We are all created in one way or another.” He leaned in, confusion still etched across his brow. “But how can these people’s thoughts create entities like you?” “If I told you everything,” she replied, voice dropping to a whisper, “your mind would tear itself apart. And we do not have the time for you to recover.” Sigvard nodded slowly. Nitra guided them through a spiraling ramp that led deeper into the bowels of the artificial planet. As they descended, the air grew colder, thicker—each breath tinged with metallic bitterness. Eventually, they reached the lower levels. And there — Sigvard felt his stomach twist. Hundreds of Trolls, strapped into massive VR rigs, their eyes hidden behind visor-helmets. Their huge fingers danced across holographic keyboards at impossible speeds. On the screens: twisted visions, fabrications of worlds drenched in misery, loss, chaos—tailored nightmares. The Trolls were laughing, giggling, muttering obscene jokes as they shaped torment into algorithmic phantoms. Fructar shuddered. “They’re enjoying it…” “They’re trolls,” Chucktar sighed. “It’s what they do.” Nitra touched Sigvard’s arm gently. “These visions feed into the pods above. The people relive their greatest traumas endlessly—because the core requires emotional energy to form demons.” Sigvard starred up, imagining the pods above, each life locked in a hell no mortal deserved. “Trillions…” he whispered. “Trillions of innocent beings, marinating in agony…” His fists tightened until his knuckles cracked. “What now?” Sigvard asked. “How do we get these trolls to stop—well, trolling?” Nitra smiled and tapped his backpack. “I placed something inside.” Sigvard rummaged through it—and froze. He slowly lifted out Jestan’s severed head, still bound in its ceremonial braids. “You’re trolling…” he whispered. Nitra’s smile widened mischievously. “It is the only thing they will listen to. Their War Chief speaks louder in death than he ever did in life.” Sigvard exhaled hard through his nose, steeling himself. He nodded. Nitra stepped forward, inhaled deeply, and unleashed a piercing, shrill whistle that reverberated through the chamber like a sonic blade. The Trolls all froze mid-keystroke, ripping their VR visors off, furious and confused. “Who dares interrupt—!?” Sigvard stepped onto a metal crate, holding Jestan’s head high. Their thunderous voices fell instantly silent. “Your leader is dead!” Sigvard shouted, letting the Trolls see the truth. “And the only path to freedom left for you… is death!” Gasps. Murmured curses. A wave of fear rippled through the Troll ranks. One Troll, broader than the rest, stepped forward. “Why should we give up our comfort? Why fight out there—just to die?” Sigvard glared down at him. “Because Maladrie was going to kill you anyway! You are nothing but expendable pawns to her nihilistic crusade. She will abandon you the moment your usefulness ends!” He swept his arm out dramatically. “So you can die here—obedient, forgotten— or die free, fighting for something real!” For a long moment, silence. Then the Trolls rose—one by one—from their stations. No more laughter. No more smug giggles. Just grim acceptance. “We join you,” the broad Troll growled. “All of us.” Immediately Nitra began issuing commands. “Trolls! Release every human, wulver, elf, and crimseed in the pods. Send them through channels 777-Omega through 910-Alpha! Direct them to the outer worlds near Skogheim!” Trolls scrambled through corridors, flipping massive switches, pulling levers the size of small trees. The chamber rumbled. Above them, pods began to glow—one by one—then in massive clusters. Sigvard watched as trillions of beings vanished in pillars of clean blue light, teleported through the emergency dispersal system to safer worlds. He felt tears gathering in his eyes. deathskull’s machine had nearly consumed half the population of vikingnar. and now, in minutes, they were freed. “Where are they going?” Sigvard whispered. Nitra gazed up at the fading lights. “To places where Maladrie cannot reach them. Safer worlds. Worlds with hope.” And then she turned back to him, her expression shifting—somewhere between determined and longing. “Come with me,” she said softly. She led him into a small maintenance room—a closet lined with spare cables, metal coils, and empty crates. The hum of machinery outside created a strange intimacy between them. Sigvard opened his mouth to ask what was wrong—but Nitra pressed her lips to his. He froze, stunned, before warmth overtook his confusion. “Nitra… what are you doing?” he whispered when they separated briefly. She cradled his face in her hands, her voice trembling with dangerous truth. “It is best to savor every moment with someone you love. Otherwise, the consequences…” Her eyes glowed with an ancient sadness. “…could be catastrophic.” Sigvard swallowed, the weight of her words sinking in. And in the dim, humming warmth of the maintenance closet— amidst a collapsing world, a dying empire, and the looming shadow of Maladrie’s growing demon army— Sigvard and Nitra embraced, letting instinct and fate entwine them. Because neither knew how long their strange, abrupt soulmate-bond would endure. Or whether they’d survive what came next. As for I, the laboratories of Skogheim were never silent, yet the hum of machinery there had a strange softness to it—like the breath of a colossal sleeping creature. Bioluminescent lights pulsed rhythmically along the walls, illuminating transparent growth-tanks full of swirling blue nutrient gel. Screens scrolled with streams of alien symbols, thousands of diagnostics running at once. A faint coppery scent—leftover from synthesizers forging new alloys—hovered in the air. And in the center of all this strange, living technology… I sat on the cold metallic floor, legs crossed, staring downward with unfocused eyes. My reflection stared back from the polished tiles—wolfish, tired, armored, burdened. My claws tapped absently against the plating. For a moment, the room felt too large for me. Too advanced. Too alien. I ran both hands through my mane and exhaled, trying to make sense of the universe around me. That was when the door hissed open—violently, as always—and Emily rushed in, her boots clacking across the metal. She skidded to a halt when she saw me sitting there like a confused child. “What are you doing here?” she asked, breathless. I didn’t look up immediately. My voice came out low, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in my head. “I'm trying to understand the nature of this reality. It seems too fantastical to me.” She blinked. “What do you mean?” I finally raised my gaze. “Back on my old Earth, the world seemed so boring & chaotic at the same time. While here, it's so different with Dragons, Aliens, Mutants, and technology that was considered science fiction. Everything feels so big, & out of my control... Even death. Everyone I once knew is dead or missing, which includes my mother & most likely my father.” Emily’s expression softened as she slowly crossed the room and lowered herself beside me. “Death is sometimes metaphorical, and not literal,” she said gently. “Just look at the concept of resurrection.” I stared at her in disbelief. “You're kidding right?” But she shook her head. “You managed to bring my friend Serenity back to life.” “I hope I didn't waste the last soul stone on her.” At that, the entire room seemed to fall silent. The machinery continued to hum, but softer, almost respectfully. Emily’s eyes lingered on mine—green and warm despite the cold futuristic light. Then, without another word, she slid closer and wrapped her arms around me. Her warmth pressed against my armor, her cheek against my fur. “Everything will be fine, silly Willy.” Her voice vibrated against my chest, small and sincere. And just like that, the universe—vast, terrifying, riddled with cosmic armies and demonic empires—faded away. It was just us. Two souls sitting on the floor of a laboratory on a living world. And the conversation ended where all the best ones do— with us holding each other, silent, steady, waiting for whatever came next. Far across the void, beyond the fractured star-lanes and the scattered rim-worlds of the Vikingnar sector, the artificial planet Cybrawl drifted like a colossal steel lotus blooming in the abyss. Its surface shimmered with a seamless blend of nature and machinery—lush emerald forests stitched together by glowing conduits, waterfalls cascading down stepped titanium cliffs, and immense black pyramids rising from the terrain like the bones of forgotten gods. Each pyramid served a dual purpose: factory and atmospheric processor, breathing currents of ionized mist into the sky while forging weapons deep within their labyrinthine cores. And on the plateau before the greatest pyramid—The Throne Pyramid of Vhorkan—stood two figures of dreadful authority. Anubis and Deathskull. Thousands of corrupted knights waited in formation, their kettle helmets reflecting the violet sky, each one smeared with the crimson sigils of Maladrie’s nihilistic creed. Their armor—once sacred—had been debased, twisted, latticed with demonic etchings and integrated nanofibers pulsing like veins beneath their plates. Beside them stood the Demonic Warriors—horned, plated, breathing out steam that smelled of acidic ozone. Interspersed among them marched the Demondroids, mechanical constructs, steel, and corrupted quantum cores, glowing from the inside like haunted reactors. All served one master. And all feared one mistress. Deathskull floated forward, wreathed in dark energy, his skull-helm burning red with internal plasma. Anubis paced beside him, his jackal-headed visage gleaming with ceremonial gold that had long since lost its honor. The troops waited. The wind howled across the metallic plain. And Anubis raised a hand to speak. His voice boomed through installed canyon speakers embedded across the plateau. “My warriors!” he shouted, tail flicking with trained theatrics. “Hear me! Once, I abandoned the foolish, misogynistic ideals that chained me to weakness! Once, I believed power belonged to one shape—one gender—one law!” He paced through the ranks as if performing a ritual he barely understood. “But I have evolved!” His voice echoed. “I now stand beside the one true sovereign! The God-Queen Maladrie—she alone possesses the will to end this rotting universe and bring forth a rebirth worthy of gods!” The knights lifted their weapons in halfhearted unity. A few demons rumbled in approval. Anubis’s speech continued, growing more inflated—praising Maladrie’s plan for “cosmic renewal,” condemning the “softness of mortal worlds,” and claiming his self-growth was the reason he left bigotry behind. But it rang hollow. Even from the back rows, the subtext was obvious. He wasn’t enlightened. He was terrified. Deathskull watched him silently. His expression—though locked behind a metallic skull face—radiated boredom, as if Anubis were reciting the same speech for the thousandth time with absolute inconsistency. One Demondroid muttered to another, its mechanized voice glitching. “His rhetoric shifts weekly.” “Affirmative. Internal logic: nonexistent.” Yet the speech had its intended effect. Fear does what charisma cannot. The troops stiffened, straightened, and accepted the directive. Anubis clenched a fist dramatically. “For Maladrie, we march!” Deathskull floated forward, his aura dimming the sky itself as static rippled over the assembled host. “For Maladrie,” he repeated—but with the tone of a death sentence. His voice scraped like metal dragged across stone. “All ships launch.” The ground trembled as massive doors opened in the pyramids. Hangars activated, sliding open like angular maws. Inside waited the Nihilistic Drakkar Spacecrafts—sleek, elongated vessels crafted in the shape of ancient longships but forged from black void-steel and wreathed in shimmering dark plasma. Their prows resembled snarling wraith-dragons. Their engines thrummed like beating hearts. One by one, they powered up. The corrupted knights marched aboard, shields clattering rhythmically. Demons climbed the boarding ramps, snarling, wings scraping metal. Demondroids locked themselves magnetically into formation racks along the hulls. A deep vibration rolled through the ground as the Drakkars rose simultaneously, thousands of them lifting from the pyramids and forests, blotting out Cybrawl’s strange neon sun. The sky rippled with warp-energy as the first wave surged forward. Anubis positioned himself on the command deck of his flagship, the Obsidian Aura, gripping a railing made of fused bone-metal. Deathskull phased into existence beside him, a spectral silhouette. “Set course,” Deathskull ordered, voice echoing through every vessel at once. “Outer Sector of Vikingnar.” Engines ignited with thunder. Space folded in streaks of blue and black. The fleet surged forward. And Cybrawl was left behind in erie, humming silence. The warfront approaches Vikingnar’s gates, to fulfill Maladrie’s nihilistic dream of a new universe. The Drakkar-class warship Obsidian Aura cut through the void like a serrated blade. Its hull—blackened metal laced with cursed circuitry—glowed with runic veins of ember-orange light. Inside, the ship felt alive: vents pulsed like lungs, conduits throbbed like veins, and the interior lighting flickered in a steady amber rhythm, as if mimicking a slow heartbeat. On the bridge, the air was thick with heat and the faint scent of burning ozone. The walls shimmered with shifting holographic glyphs, each marking the movement of the Nihilistic fleet that tailed them in a perfect phalanx formation. At the center platform—raised above the ship’s navigation pits—stood Anubis and Deathskull. Anubis’s tall, lupine silhouette was encased in golden phasic armor, polished to an almost divine gleam. The dark fur beneath the plates made him appear like a priest-warrior cast in metal and hatred. Beside him, Deathskull stood motionless. a golden skeletal titan, his frame built from a fusion of Viking metallurgy and cybernetic necro-tech. His LED eyes glowed blood-red, scanning for threats unseen. A shrill chime reverberated through the bridge. A holographic circle unfolded in the air, rings spinning, and then— Maladrie appeared. Her projection towered above them—taller than she would be in person, intentionally, to remind them of their place. Her expression was already sharpened with irritation, black eyes narrowed, orange skin flickering with holographic static. Anubis took one step forward and bowed his head slightly before speaking. “We left Cybrawl as soon as we could. What is it?” Maladrie didn’t hide her fury. “Apparently not soon enough, all of our Trolls working one of the factories are missing, along with Nitra who left her post on Bogn.” Anubis’s ears twitched in unease beneath his helmet. “Are you sure she betrayed you?” Maladrie’s hologram shook her head with a scowl. “Of course I'm sure! She most likely has a soft spot for Sigvard, and now they're on Aries. We also lost our batteries at this factory, and we need all of the batteries we can get in order to succeed.” Anubis exhaled sharply, calculating, already thinking of ways to please her. “That bad huh? Well, I guess you can execute all of the Trolls, replace them with droids, or demons.” A slow grin crept across her projection—cold, hungry, pleased. “Demons powering Demons! Like the way you think boy, and make sure Deathskull comes back in one piece. I need him for a special project upon his return.” Anubis lowered his muzzle in acknowledgment. “You got it my lady.” Her image shattered into shards of orange light, fading into the warm glow of the bridge. Silence lingered for a moment—heavy, suffocating. Finally, Deathskull turned his head, the servos in his neck grinding softly. “How do you feel about sending your pet to Valhalla?” The question stabbed deeper than intended. Anubis stiffened. He gave the only answer he could muster. “If it's necessary, I'll do it.” But inside his mind—what little softness remained of it—Anubis was spiraling. Sigvard… My masterpiece… My failure… The one thing I created that defied me. He tried to bury the conflict, but it dug into him like a poisoned thorn. Ahead of them, the planet Aries filled the forward viewport. A vibrant world—lush emerald grasslands rolling beneath a serene cobalt sky. Tall crystalline mountains refracted sunlight in prismatic beams. From orbit, the world looked pure. Untouched. Too untouched. The Nihilistic fleet descended from the heavens in a black wave, blotting out the sun as hundreds of Drakkar ships broke formation and streaked toward the surface. Flame trails spiraled behind them as they sliced through the atmosphere. Shockwaves rippled across the fields as the first ships landed, flattening golden grass in circular patterns. Metallic landing gear slammed into the earth. The ground trembled under the weight of thousands of tons of cursed alloy. The Obsidian Aura touched down at the vanguard, its engines roaring like an awakening beast. The gangway extended. Anubis stepped out first, cloak snapping in the warm air, his golden armor gleaming like a corrupt sun. Deathskull followed, each footstep pounding into the soil with a metallic thud that sent vibrations through the ground. Behind them, corruption spilled out like water from a ruptured dam. Corrupted knights in kettle helmets, each fused with demonic sigils. Demonic warriors with obsidian skin and ember veins. Demondroids marching in perfect metallic cadence. All of them spreading out across the silent plain. The wind rustled through the long grass. No animals. No civilians. No broken structures. No smoke. Not even birdsong. Not in this region of the planet at least. It was peaceful. Too peaceful. Anubis lifted his snout to the air and sniffed. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered under his breath—though it wasn’t dialogue from your prompt, so it stayed unspoken in the text. Deathskull scanned the horizon, LED eyes narrowing. The world of Aries was beautiful, immaculate… and utterly, impossibly empty. A perfect trap.Or a perfect lie. And the fleet, unaware of the eyes watching them from distant hills and concealed caverns, pressed forward into the stillness—marching toward a fate Anubis himself could barely bring himself to imagine. The world of Aries lay beneath a pale, almost sterile sky, its atmosphere washed in cold clarity as if the planet itself were holding its breath. Short blue-green grass rippled across the open plains in long, silent waves. No storms. No birds. No movement except the faint shimmer of heat on the horizon. It was a realm too quiet, too pristine—like untouched glass waiting for the first crack. Anubis stood at the front of the Nihilistic host, his tall lean werewolf physique encased in sculpted gold armor that hummed with internal phasic currents. Beside him stood Deathskull—towering, metallic, and unnervingly still. The machine’s golden endoskeleton gleamed under the sun like polished bone, each skeletal plate etched with runic circuitry. Its skull-like head flickered with red optical sensors that pulsed in a slow, predatory rhythm. Behind them, an army of corrupted Knights, Wulvers, and golden skeletal droids waited in absolute discipline, every firearm charged and humming with lethal plasma. Across the field, emerging from the heat haze like specters rising from memory, the Trolls appeared. Anubis recognized the first silhouette before the details sharpened. His ghost. His only creation. Sigvard. Sigvard’s mandrill-like face was streaked with war paint and shadow, his armor a crude but heavy arrangement of steel plates scavenged from multiple worlds, reforged with Troll ingenuity. Around him, an entire Troll army assembled—broad-shouldered, long-armed, proboscis-faced warriors whose armor lacked refinement but radiated terrifying brute purpose. Their numbers dwarfed Anubis’s regiment. The Trolls moved like a living tide, unafraid of plasma, unafraid of death, driven by something more ancient than programming. Nitra stood at Sigvard’s side, her eyes glowing with determination. Once a demonette, now something changed—her posture defiant, her aura steady as she gripped Sigvard’s hand and whispered to him. “You're so different from the others, that's why you're going to defeat your enemy who had the nerve to show up here today.” Sigvard leaned in, and they shared one last kiss, a fragile moment carved out of inevitability. The stillness broke. A roar—hundreds of throats—echoed across the field. The Troll army surged forward, their heavy footfalls shaking the earth. From the opposite side, Anubis raised his arm. His forces shifted into formation with mechanical precision, weapons rose in perfect unison, and the battle erupted. Plasma fire tore across the plains like ribbons of sun-hot lightning. The first rank of Trolls disintegrated, armor melting into their flesh as glowing holes burned straight through their torsos. The smell of scorched cartilage filled the air. Still they pressed forward, undeterred, climbing over the corpses of their fallen brothers. Their strength was in their numbers, and their numbers were relentless. Corrupted Knights waded into the melee with jagged blades, slicing through Troll limbs and splitting chests open. In return, Trolls grappled them with raw strength—snapping armored necks backward, crushing skulls with boulder-like fists, dragging Knights to the soil where they beat them into pulp. The battlefield dissolved into carnage. Metal screamed. Flesh broke. The sky dimmed beneath rising smoke. Sigvard carved a path toward Anubis with deliberate, furious precision. Every Troll near him fought like a wall protecting their champion. As the two locked eyes across the ruin of battle, the world seemed to compress into a single destined point. One of them would walk away. One would not. Sigvard charged. Anubis met him head-on, their blades clashing with an electric crack that sent sparks spiraling across the grass. The duel was brutal from the first strike—no grace, no patience, only raw, primal intent. Sigvard used his weight and sheer animal strength to bash Anubis back, denting the golden armor with every impact. Anubis countered with precision strikes, each swing leaving burning arcs of orange light through the air. They slammed together so hard that the ground cratered beneath them. But as the duel raged, Sigvard’s eyes flicked—just once—to Nitra. She had been overwhelmed by a wave of corrupted Knights. She fell beneath them, fighting, clawing, burning with determination, but her strength was failing. Sigvard saw her stumble. Saw her drop to one knee. Saw her blood hit the dirt. That single heartbeat of distraction was all Anubis needed. The energy sickle sword ignited in a flare of molten orange, and Anubis drove it into Sigvard’s side—right between the armor plates. The blade pierced flesh, bone, and organs with a sizzling burst. Blood gushed out, steaming as it splattered across Anubis’s golden breastplate. Sigvard roared in agony—but he did not fall. Instead, he grabbed a dagger from his belt and slammed it downward into the gap in Anubis’s ankle armor. Metal split. Flesh tore. Anubis yelped—a sharp, animalistic pain unlike anything a machine or mortal could mimic. Sigvard twisted the blade, forcing Anubis onto one knee. With a sudden surge of desperate strength, Sigvard knocked the sickle sword from Anubis’s grip. The blade hit the ground. Sigvard seized it. Energy burned up his arm as he raised the weapon in both hands. With a furious, heartbroken cry, he swung. The blade carved through Anubis’s torso like molten shears cutting through wax. Anubis’s body split apart from rib to hip, the golden armor peeling open as intestines and dark blood spilled onto the grass. His legs collapsed separately from his upper body. Anubis, now half the man he used to be, stared in horror at the ruin below him—his own guts steaming in the open air. Sigvard staggered backward, breathing raggedly as he dropped the weapon. Around him, plasma burned through Troll after Troll. They fell like mountains collapsing in slow motion. There were too many corpses, too much red soaking into the pristine soil. And Nitra—his love—lay motionless in the chaos. Sigvard crawled to her, his blood leaving a dark trail behind him. He gathered her head into his shaking arms. Her breathing was shallow—barely there. “I love you,” she whispered. “You did great. This realm can now be saved, no matter how bleak it can be at times.” Her body softened. Her eyes dimmed. And then she slipped away. Sigvard’s heart cracked. Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his forehead to hers. The pain in his side surged, blood pouring faster, draining what little strength he had left. At last, the world blurred into shadow. Sigvard fell beside her and died with his hand still holding hers. Only two Trolls remained standing—Frucktar and Chucktar, soaked in blood and breathing like exhausted beasts. They tightened their grips on their axes, ready to sell their lives dearly. Then an armored Knight—helmet removed, face gaunt and aged—stepped forward, raising a trembling hand. “Halt!” he shouted. The battlefield froze in a moment of stunned quiet. “My name is Dwayne,” the old Knight said, voice cracking. “There’s no reason to keep fighting change.” Frucktar exchanged a look with Chucktar. Chucktar snarled, “Your commander Anubis, my deceased friends’ abuser, is dead. Maybe too much change is a bad thing, old man!” Frucktar’s arm swung. The axe spun through the air with a whistling arc and embedded deep into Dwayne’s skull, splitting it wide open. His body dropped instantly. Deathskull, unfazed and emotionless, raised his metal arm and made the signal. The remaining droids and Knights opened fire. Plasma bolts tore through Frucktar and Chucktar’s torsos, liquefying bone and muscle in an instant. Their bodies crumpled beside the hundreds of fallen Trolls they had fought with so fiercely. The last cries of the Troll army faded into silence as the smoke settled over the plains. Far beyond the quiet corpse-fields of Aries, the stars churned with violence. Across the scattered factory worlds of Vikingnar’s outer territories—those sprawling industrial planets where smoke forever drowned the skies and molten metal ran like rivers—another tragedy unfolded. In places where Trolls once labored, laughed, fought, and lived with stubborn pride, the corridors now echoed with the metallic thunder of assault droids and the unholy roars of demons. The eradication was swift. Brutal. Systematic. On Grindul Forge-9, a rust-colored world encircled by broken moons, Troll workers fled through conveyor trenches as orange security sirens pulsed like wounded hearts. A platoon of golden skeletal droids marched through the haze, their footfalls perfectly synchronized. Their glowing chest cores lit narrow passageways as plasma bolts erupted from their arms, cutting through the fleeing Trolls with merciless efficiency. Armor-clad overseer demons stalked behind them, dragging wounded Trolls into the shadows for purposes better not seen. The metal floors steamed with Troll blood. On Bogn’s sister factories, once governed by Nitra’s presence before her betrayal was discovered, the purge was even more ruthless. Massive foundry furnaces were repurposed as execution pits. Trolls fought with axes, wrenches, mining tools—anything—but they were no match for the coordinated precision of the replacement forces. One by one, they fell, their bodies joining the mountain of the dead. By the time the smoke began to clear, only the cold echo of machines remained. Everywhere, the story repeated. Everywhere across the empire, the Troll species broke beneath annihilation. Yet even as they were slaughtered, scattered shouts were heard in dying breaths, echoing through ventilation tunnels, across broken catwalks, and into data logs captured by failing security cams. “For Sigvard!” Their voices rose like sparks against a storm—small, fleeting, but impossibly bright. Though eradicated by decree and flame, the Trolls did not die quietly. Not after the sight of Aries. Not after witnessing Sigvard—a lone Troll—a hybrid warrior shaped by fate and cruelty, carving through a golden tyrant with nothing but fury and love burning through him. In their final hours, the Trolls held to one truth. Sigvard had made defiance possible. Word of the battle on Aries traveled faster than any fleet. It slipped through data streams, smuggled by sympathetic Wulvers. It passed through the encrypted channels of renegade Knights. It whispered through the star winds in ports where smugglers traded rumors instead of cargo. And as it spread, it grew. Sigvard became more than a Troll. He became a symbol. To the scattered colonies of Vikingnar, he was the one who showed that even a single soldier—born in captivity, cast aside by his maker—could wound the unstoppable. He could refuse to kneel. He could inspire love in a demonette who chose to defy an empire. He could take down a commander forged from gold and arrogance. He could spark rebellion. Not every world dared to rise, but many felt the tremor of something awakening. Something old, something that had been buried beneath centuries of oppression. Even Deathskull’s data observers detected unusual fluctuations in subspace transmissions—encrypted channels lighting up with Troll sigils, resistance ciphers, and fragments of Sigvard’s name. The Trolls were dead, yes. But their defiance lived. Their sacrifice resonated through the black oceans of space. Their memory seeded unrest in the deepest corners of Vikingnar. And though the empire continued its march—replacing Trolls with obedient droids and hungry demons—the shadow of Sigvard walked between the stars, impossible to erase. For in every whispered rebellion, in every spark of defiance flickering in some remote outpost or drifting colony, one truth remained. The Trolls were gone. But they had not died in vain. On the bright world of Aries, Sigvard and Nitra lay together in death. And though the Nihilistic forces technically stood victorious, the cost had gutted them—and the Rus Vikings, somewhere far beyond the horizon, had gained the precious time they needed to brace for the storm that was coming. CHAPTER 29: "SIGVARD THE GREAT, PART 2" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 28: "SIGVARD THE GREAT, PART 1" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The gray world of Bogn stretched endlessly under a dead sky, a place where the horizon seemed carved from ash and sorrow. The air was thick with metallic dust, swirling between fractured towers of once-impressive cities now reduced to jagged skeletons. Every surface was coated in a quiet film of age, decay, and long-abandoned despair—yet all of it was overshadowed by the living presence of the Troll soldiers who belonged to Maladrie. Sigvard and his two fellow troll warriors marched with heavy reluctance, their hands bound behind their backs with jagged plasma-fused restraints that hissed faintly with heat. They were flanked on all sides by the Trolls loyal to the triarchy of Deathskull, Anubis, and Maladrie, each warrior towering and broad, wearing armor that looked scavenged from ancient battlefields. Their tusks were painted with black war-ink that dripped in streaks down their chins, and the smell of blood mixed with machine oil followed them like a curse. The procession moved slowly, the crunch of boots against the gravel-like soil echoing in the stagnant air. Bogn’s landscape around them was bleaker than anything Sigvard had ever seen—a mixture of industrial ruin and ancient gothic architecture, where broken spires leaned over the roads like dying beasts. They walked under archways made of rusted steel and obsidian bones. Gargoyles of unknown species crouched overhead, their eyes long hollowed out but the shadows beneath them still somehow watching. Massive broken chains hung from support columns whose original purpose no one remembered. Sigvard glanced nervously at the skyline. There was no sun here—only a pallid glow from the clouds above, as if the world’s light came from a dying ember hidden behind a veil of suffering. The ground trembled every so often, not from tectonics but from distant machinery—massive drills or forges operating somewhere deep below, powered by infernal technology. As they marched, the loyalist Trolls snarled insults at Sigvard under their breath. They walked with their chests puffed, proud to be part of Maladrie’s war machine. Sigvard felt every glare like a spearhead pressing against the back of his neck. The path eventually widened into a vast open expanse—a sunken city basin where the buildings were more intact, though equally eerie. The city’s silhouette resembled a petrified cathedral forest: towering monolithic structures with shattered stained-glass windows, choked with vines of black cabling that pulsed faintly with corrupted energy. At its center loomed a massive arena, an ancient colosseum twisted beyond recognition. The architecture resembled a hybrid of Viking, demonic, and alien motifs—towering arches, iron-ribbed supports, and massive stone pillars that spiraled like serpents. The outer walls were plastered with enormous banners depicting Maladrie’s sigil: a skeletal wolf head bursting through a wreath of fractured runes. The arena floor was dimly lit by glowing pits of molten slag, their orange light flickering across rusted metal gates and broken seating tiers. The massive doors at the front—twelve-feet tall, engraved with runic symbols fused with demonic glyphs—groaned open as Sigvard and his two companions were shoved forward. Inside, the once-grand walkways had been hastily repurposed into a crude war-camp. Trolls hammered armor plates, sharpened axes on whetstones, and strapped explosives to makeshift spears. Demonic creatures lurked in the corners, shadows with glowing eyes watching silently. Sigvard’s escort did not allow him time to observe for long. They shoved the three trolls through a narrow hallway, lit only by red emergency strips flickering with power instability. The walls were carved with murals of battles long forgotten—dragons attacking demonic forces, ancient civilizations wiped clean, and the rise of Wraith portals in various worlds. Sigvard swallowed hard. Each mural felt like a warning. At the end of the hallway lay a massive iron door with bars welded across in chaotic layers. Two elite demon guards—seven-foot tall, armored in blackened carapace plating—pulled aside the locking mechanisms. The air behind the door vibrated with a low growl. The throne room was enormous, larger than any he had imagined—lit by green and red torches whose flames flickered unnaturally in a circular wind pattern. The ceiling was high above, lost to darkness, where giant chains dangled like the limbs of dead titans. Jagged metal platforms hung suspended from the ceiling, connected by narrow catwalks where elite demon overseers watched silently. And at the far end of the throne room, past a gauntlet of cracked pillars and abandoned ceremonial stands, rose the throne. A monstrous structure carved from obsidian and fused bone. Sharp, jagged, almost alive. Around it congregated the demon elites—the highest-ranking warriors of Maladrie’s faction. Their armor pulsed with runic lights and their silhouettes flickered unnaturally as though their bodies were partially phasing in and out of the physical realm. Their horns curved backward like blades, and their eyes glowed with infernal intelligence. The room smelled of sulfur, plasma residue, and something ancient. Sigvard’s feet stopped moving. Not because he wanted to. But because fear froze him in place. Behind him, one of the escorting Trolls slammed the back of a spear into his spine, forcing him and his companions to lurch forward. The demon elites said nothing, but the air felt heavier with their silent scrutiny. A sound like a distant heartbeat reverberated through the chamber. The escorts shoved all three trolls to their knees. In the flickering orange light, Sigvard dared to glance upward at the throne—its back carved into the shape of a colossal demonic skull, with runic script etched along its jawline. The skull’s empty eyes appeared to follow him. All around the throne room, those watching—demons and elite trolls—waited with ritualistic calm, as if the arrival of prisoners was merely the first step in some brutal ceremonial process. The room grew quiet. The stale air thickened. Something powerful was approaching. And Sigvard realized with sinking dread: The real interrogation hadn’t even started yet. The throne room’s shadows deepened as Sigvard and his two companions were forced forward across the cracked stone floor. The demon elites stepped aside with fluid, unnatural grace, forming a corridor that funneled the prisoners toward the center dais where two figures waited beneath a storm of flickering red light. Atop the platform stood Jestan, the Troll war boss of Bogn, a mountain of muscle and scar tissue wrapped in spiked war-armor forged from iron and volcanic glass. His tusks curled upward like twin war-blades, each etched with runes of past victories. His eyes, yellow and cold, flickered with recognition and disdain as Sigvard was pushed into the torchlight. Beside him lounged Nitra, his demonette mistress. She stood with the lethal elegance of a serpent, wrapped in black chitinous armor that clung to her like a second skin. Her horns arched backward in a twisting spiral, her eyes glowing a poisonous neon violet. Even standing still, she gave the impression of a creature ready to pounce, kill, or seduce with equal ease. Her expression soured the moment she saw Sigvard. Her voice cracked through the chamber like a whip. "What the hell is this?" The surrounding Troll guards snapped to attention. Two of them shoved Sigvard forward again, forcing him to kneel at the foot of the dais. One of the guards spoke with sharp obedience, his tone the clipped bark of a soldier terrified of disappointing his masters. "We found this fresh meat in the fields, and the orbital defense system crashed their ship." Jestan gave a dark hum of amusement. Nitra did not. Her glare sharpened like drawn blades as she stepped closer, heels tapping against the metal-slag floor. She lowered her face toward Sigvard, studying him with intense scrutiny—as though she were dissecting him with her eyes alone. Then, in a cold, testing tone, she asked: "Who are you?" The room seemed to inhale. Sigvard swallowed once, then answered with a stiff, nervous pride: "I'm Sigvard." Nitra’s eyes widened. Her posture shifted—slowly, subtly—like a predator realizing the prey before her was not a random animal but a known quarry. Her voice dropped into something more dangerous, tinged with curiosity: "So you are the great Sigvard?" Sigvard’s breath hitched. His confusion was immediate and overwhelming. He stared back at her in shock, unable to form a response. He had lived his whole life believing he was just another troll warrior—a bad pilot, a decent fighter, someone who blended into the background of battles and bar fights. But here… These monsters knew his name. And worse—they said it with weight. Before he could gather himself, Nitra straightened, her expression shifting back to one of bitter annoyance. Without another word of explanation, she flicked her claws dismissively at the guards. "Throw them in one of the catacombs prison cells." Jestan didn’t even bother to look as the guards seized Sigvard and his two companions by their arms, dragging them backward toward the exit corridor. They were hauled deeper beneath the arena—down rusted stairwells, through metal corridors that groaned under the strain of age, and past rows of ancient machinery still dripping with black condensation. Faint green and red lights pulsed rhythmically along the ceiling pipes, casting eerie illumination across the gothic-industrial maze. This was no simple prison. This was a fortress beneath a fortress. The air grew colder. The stone gave way to steel grates. The sounds of distant roars and tortured screaming echoed from deeper tunnels. Sigvard’s heart pounded. Every instinct screamed that they had entered a place no one returned from. The guards shoved them forward until they reached a massive iron gate reinforced with dark runes that pulsed slowly like a heartbeat. The locks disengaged with a resonant metallic groan, and the three trolls were thrust into the chamber beyond. The cell was nothing more than a cave of metal and stone—an industrialized tomb. Rusted pipes coiled along the walls like serpents. Flickering red lights cast shadows that moved with a life of their own. Thick bars sealed the opening, fused directly into the surrounding stonework. The guards activated the lock. A loud slam echoed through the corridor. Without another word, they left Sigvard and his companions alone in the oppressive darkness. The silence that followed was deafening. Sigvard’s chest heaved as he stared at the bars, trying to steady his breath. The cold seeping from the stone below them gnawed at his bones. His companions muttered under their breath, but even they sounded too shaken to speak clearly. They were trapped. Alone. Far from anyone who cared for them. And yet, the most unsettling realization gnawed at Sigvard’s mind: They knew his name. They called him “great.” And he had absolutely no idea why. Left in the dark, the three trolls sat in their cramped cell, each one silently pondering what would happen next— and whether they would live long enough to find out. The throne room of Bogn churned with a storm of infernal energy. Red vapors coiled through the air like venomous serpents as demonic elites whispered among themselves, their armor clicking and grinding like living machinery. The torches embedded in the walls burned with sickly green fire, illuminating the cracked murals of ancient troll kings who once ruled this wasteland before Maladrie’s corruption seeped into the stone. Nitra stood at the center of the chamber, her long shadow stretching across the floor in a jagged silhouette. Her violet eyes gleamed with calculating intelligence, and her chitin armor glistened as though slick with the essence of the underworld. She exhaled sharply, then addressed her warlord and the assembled elites: "What should we do with Sigvard?" Jestan, looming beside her on the dais, cracked his thick knuckles and leaned back against his throne of welded scrap metal and bone. His grin widened through yellowed tusks as he gave a dismissive, gravel-deep answer: "We should kill him, obviously." The room murmured. A few demons nodded in agreement, but Nitra’s face twisted with irritation. She turned sharply toward him, her tail lashing behind her. Her voice dripped with venomous condescension. "Obviously you don't know that he was Anubis's creation, and an elite warrior." That revelation sent a ripple of unease through the assembled elites. Even the torches flickered, as if reacting to the name Anubis. Jestan, however, rolled his eyes and snorted. He muttered under his breath with crude sarcasm: "Spare me bitch." It was a mistake. Nitra’s movement came so fast and sharp the air cracked. Her armored heel slammed between Jestan’s legs with enough force to make the entire throne shudder. The war boss doubled over, choking on a silent gasp, eyes bulging as he clutched himself. Her voice shrieked through the chamber: "Shut up faggot! I think I should warn Anubis on his prized possession, while you stay here and don't do anything! Understand?" Jestan’s agony-strangled voice broke out in a defeated grunt: "Fine!" The demon elites stiffened. None dared breathe too loudly. Nitra regained her composure, turned toward the center of the room, and raised her clawed hand. Energy rippled outward like liquid glass, bending the air and cracking reality itself. A shimmering portal spiraled open—swirling with black and purple mist, framed by ancient runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Without hesitation, she stepped through and vanished—on her way to warn either Maladrie or Anubis of Sigvard’s capture. The portal snapped shut with a thunderclap that rattled the bones of the throne room. Jestan sank back onto the throne, trembling with humiliation and suppressed rage—yet too terrified to voice a complaint. The chamber fell into a tense, uneasy silence. Far beneath the arena, buried under layers of rusted metal and gloom, Sigvard sat in the cramped prison cell with his two troll companions. The underground labyrinth was a nightmare of dripping pipes, broken machinery, and faint distant screams that echoed like ghosts trapped in static. Their cell was barely larger than a storage closet, made of blackened iron reinforced with demonic stone. A dim red light pulsed overhead, casting rhythmic shadows that crawled across the walls like living things. Sigvard inhaled the cold, metallic air. His mind swirled with confusion—Nitra’s recognition, the demon elites whispering his name, the implication that he was important in ways he had never understood. Finally, he turned toward the two trolls sitting beside him, both bruised from their capture yet alert enough to listen. "I didn't catch your guys' names?" The first troll, with moss-green skin and a jagged scar across his cheek, spoke with a gruff voice: "Fructar," he said. The second troll, rounder and slightly shorter, answered more quietly: "Chucktar." Sigvard nodded slowly, absorbing their names, then leaned forward with urgency, tightening his voice—even though the weight of the cell bars pressed against every hope he had left. "We need to figure out how to get out of here guys." The red light flickered overhead. Somewhere deeper in the prison tunnels, something growled. Fructar and Chucktar exchanged a silent look—one filled with fear, but also the raw flicker of determination. Whatever their fate was meant to be, whatever Anubis or Maladrie planned for Sigvard… They would not go down quietly. And the shadows of the catacombs seemed to shift in agreement, as if something ancient was listening. Cybrawl stretched across the void like a wounded machine-god—half planet, half biomechanical labyrinth. Vast continents of shifting metal plates meshed with forests of fiber-optic vines and crystalline leaves that shimmered in electric hues. Rivers of liquefied coolant flowed through ravines carved by ancient machinery, steaming like molten silver. Everything moved subtly, breathing, humming—alive in ways neither natural nor artificial could fully replicate. Deep within the factory sector—where titanic smokestacks belched out red fog and conveyor highways wound like metallic serpents—stood the main pyramid. A monolithic obsidian structure pulsed with crimson energy, its surfaces shifting like liquid steel. Pipes and conduits ran down its flanks like veins, feeding impossible power into the surrounding biomechanical world. The air trembled with the sound of grinding gears and echoing metallic moans. Through this mechanical wasteland walked Nitra. Her boots clicked against the living alloy that rippled beneath her steps. Neon mist clung to her armor. She moved with determination, ignoring the cold mechanical eyes of surveillance drones that drifted above like metallic specters. She knew she was in the correct sector—this was the nerve center of Cybrawl, the birthplace of Deathskull’s horrors. Her eyes rose to the apex of the pyramid. Standing at its summit was Deathskull, looming like a golden skeletal titan. His chassis—impossibly tall, impossibly lean—glowed with cold menace. Golden armor plating framed the exposed robotic tendons beneath. His skull-shaped head turned, red LED eyes focusing on Nitra with predatory precision. His voice boomed like a corrupted PA system, coarse and metallic: "Why aren't you at your post?" Nitra steadied her breath and shouted up the sloped surface: "Sigvard, Anubis's troll who escaped, started a small rebellion, and is now in Bogn in my prison." The response was instantaneous. Deathskull moved with terrifying speed—leaping from the pyramid’s peak and slamming down before her, the impact causing the biomechanical ground to ripple outward. Before Nitra could even brace herself, the metal titan struck her across the face. The blow sent her crashing to her knees. Sparks flew from the side of her helmet where his clawed hand had made contact. Mechanical tendrils beneath the ground briefly tightened around her boots, as if restraining her on his command. Deathskull’s voice reverberated through the open air: "You shouldn't have come uninvited, but I'm sure Anubis would be intrigued. Follow me, succubi." Nitra rose shakily, swallowing whatever pride she had left, and followed him toward the pyramid’s entrance—a massive gate shaped like a mechanical maw, lined with shifting gears and pulsating red circuitry. The moment they stepped inside, the temperature shifted—cold, dense air rushed through chambers lined with biomechanical ribs. The walls pulsed with crimson liquid light, as though blood flowed through the architecture. The hum of machinery reverberated through the metal bones of the structure. An elevator formed itself from the floor, morphing from a flat surface into a glass-walled lift wrapped in living cables. The elevator ascended rapidly, offering a panoramic view of the pyramid’s interior—labyrinthine networks of pipes, catwalks, and chambers housing weapon forges, cloning vats, and demonic cybernetic augmentations. Nitra glanced upward at Deathskull—his rigid posture, his unmoving metallic jaw, the glowing furnace-like core visible through the gaps in his frame. She broke the silence: "How come everything is the same? You haven't even taken down the Vikingnar banners yet?" The ancient banners hung like ghosts—faded cloth embroidered with the wolf skull insignia of King Ragnar’s old empire, now surrounded by demonic machinery that had consumed their proud heritage. Deathskull’s response was icy, robotic, and dismissive: "We're in a war. No need to be festive when there's tasks to be done." Nitra muttered softly under her breath, barely audible even to herself: "Seems sloppy to skip an important step." Deathskull’s head tilted sharply. "What?" Nitra stiffened, tail twitching, and quickly answered: "nothing." The elevator continued upward, rising through a spine-like shaft of vibrating machinery until it reached the apex. The doors dissolved into mist. At the top of the pyramid lay a grand chamber—a throne room carved from midnight metal and surrounded by massive viewing windows that revealed the biomechanical world outside. The air shimmered with a constant haze of crimson energy. Ancient runes spiraled along the walls, each one flickering faintly as if alive. Seated upon a throne of fused metal and bone was Maladrie, her eyes glowing like two spheres of molten coal. Her hair, long and dark as a black hole, drifted unnaturally behind her as if underwater. Mechanical wings framed her shoulders, twitching subtly. She glared at Nitra the moment she entered. Her voice cracked like a whip: "Why are you here?" Nitra bowed her head and answered carefully: "Sigvard crashed and landed on Bogn. His ship was Rus Viking in origin." Maladrie narrowed her eyes. "why's that important?" A shifting shadow moved from behind Maladrie. Anubis emerged—towering, jackal-headed, plated in obsidian armor fused with living demonic circuitry. His orange eyes glowed with burning hatred and cold brilliance. The energy radiating from him distorted the air like heat waves. He stepped forward, voice smooth yet venomous: "It's important because I engineered him to be a super warrior, who turned on me." Maladrie rested her elbow on her throne, exhaling sharply: "We're about to run the simulation." Anubis’s voice deepened with irritation, though controlled: "I understand that, but we should make sure there's no other survivors... I mean, we have to make sure the other survivors aren't planning a counter attack with some outside help." Maladrie finally nodded. The red energy around her throne pulsed. "We should split our forces then. That means Anubis should take a legion to see what the Immortals are up to. The rest of our forces should stay here to defend what we're building, and Nitra go back to where you came from." Nitra’s face faltered. Her usual arrogance evaporated—replaced with something raw, unspoken. A rare moment of vulnerability crept into her expression. Her eyes lowered, shoulders slumped beneath her demonic armor. For once, she felt the isolation that defined the hellhorde. No loyalty. No camaraderie. No respect—only orders, threats, and violence. Even monsters could feel the sting of being unwanted. But she bowed without a word. Because in the hell horde, feelings had no place. Only survival. The world of Bogn churned beneath a sky the color of ash diluted in stagnant water. The air carried the metallic bite of rusted iron, drifting like a taste of old blood on the wind. Every sound—distant machinery, groaning structures, the shuffle of roaming trolls—echoed through the colossal broken landscape. The surface was gray stone fractured by centuries of warfare and neglect, and every ridge seemed to whisper horrors buried underneath. Deep within this desolate world, beneath a fortress-arena forged in the likeness of something gothic and monstrous, Sigvard, Fructar, and Chucktar sat inside their crude prison cell—stone walls woven with biomechanical pipes and flaking sigils of demon rule. The floor hummed with the power coursing beneath the arena, as if the planet itself pulsed with an artificial heartbeat. The three trolls had been whispering strategies, running hands along the seams of the cell walls, trying to pry loose anything that could serve as leverage. But each attempt was pointless. The prison was built by demons—cruel engineers who knew every escape trick a troll could devise. Then came the metallic clank of boots. Heavy. Familiar. Troll guards. They marched with the rigid precision of soldiers loyal not to their species, but to Maladrie, Deathskull, and the old dread of Anubis. Their armor was jagged and crude, decorated with bones and rusted glyphs. The cell door screeched open and echoed down the entire under-arena corridor. Sigvard tensed. Fructar inhaled sharply. Chucktar clenched his jaw. A guard snarled and jerked his chin. Sigvard and his companions were yanked out by separate chains. Their wrists were bound with plasma-coated shackles, glowing with dull, sickly orange light. Then came the worst part—being separated. Two guards dragged Fructar and Chucktar toward the left corridor. Two different guards grabbed Sigvard, pulling him to the right. The split created an ache in Sigvard’s stomach—an instinctive recognition that whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t meant to have witnesses. The corridors twisted like veins under the arena, branching and rising into levels lit by flickering crimson lamps. The air grew hotter as Sigvard was taken upward—toward the fighting pits. The metal doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, revealing the interior of the upper arena armory chamber. Sigvard’s armor—battered, dented, but still recognizable—was thrown at his feet. A crude axe followed, skidding across the metal floor. Its surface was stained with past violence. The guards shoved Sigvard toward the arena platform. Above him were stacked rows of stands filled with snarling Troll spectators and Demon elites. Their bodies were draped in armor that resembled forged bones and charcoal-black metal. Their eyes glowed, predatory and hungry for spectacle. And there— Across from him, high in the stands— Sat Fructar and Chucktar, each held still by huge troll guards gripping their arms. Their expressions were filled with equal parts fear and desperate hope. Before Sigvard could shout to them, the arena floor shook. A circular platform at the center began to rise, illuminated by burning orange spotlights that cast monstrous shadows against the ruined stone. The platform reached the arena floor— And Jestan rose with it. The Troll War Boss wore layers of mismatched armor, scavenged from countless victories, each piece sharp and rusted. His orange fur bristled, his Proboscis-monkey-like features twisted into a grin filled with jagged teeth. His eyes narrowed with cruel amusement as the chanting crowd fell into hungry silence. Sigvard lifted his axe. Jestan stepped forward and sneered. Then Sigvard shouted: "What the hell is this?" Jestan spread his arms wide as if soaking in the attention of the crowd. "You think you can come into my world and embarrass me? I hear you're a great warrior, time to show the other Trolls what you got!" The crowd roared. The arena trembled with their stomping feet. Sigvard took in a steady breath. He looked nothing like them—his gray fur marked him as an anomaly, and his Mandrill-like face carried the regal streak of a warrior bred for more than combat. He was a creation—something engineered, perfected, and meant to serve Anubis, though he had escaped that fate long ago. Now he stood face-to-face with Jestan, a self-appointed tyrant who governed Bogn with brutality and fear. The massive arena doors slammed shut. There was no escape now. This was the trial. This was the only path to freedom. This was War Chief combat. The two trolls charged. The clash of metal and bone rang like thunder. Sigvard’s axe bit into Jestan’s shield. Jestan’s blade whistled past Sigvard’s ear. Dust and sparks burst into the air with every collision. The fight stretched out in a dance of raw strength, sharpened instinct, and survival desperation. Sigvard bled from his shoulder. Jestan suffered a deep gash across his thigh. Trolls screamed. Demons leaned forward, fascinated. Then— Sigvard saw a gap. Jestan swung too wide, too arrogantly. His guard opened for half a second. Sigvard seized the moment with all the force of his engineered lineage. He brought his axe down in a sweeping arc— And Jestan’s head separated from his shoulders. A fountain of thick orange blood erupted across the arena sand. The War Boss’s head rolled. Silence fell. Sigvard lifted Jestan’s severed head high, roaring like a primal beast. The audience recoiled, shocked. Some trolls even bowed. Just then— A tear in reality ripped open near the arena entrance. From it stepped Nitra. Her presence froze every demon and troll in place. Her succubus form—slender, lethal, clad in dark armor—dripped with a cold fury. Her wings flickered with demonic static. Every guard who once served her before she left Cybrawl now stared in stunned confusion. She swept her gaze across the arena. Then her voice cut through the silence: "What the hell is going on?" Sigvard lowered the severed head and answered with the confidence of a warrior born again: "I'm the new War Chief." The arena erupted into whispers and fearful chatter. Nitra tilted her head, appraising him with sharp curiosity. Then she offered a thin smile. "Then maybe I should join you & your fellow Trolls on a revolt?" Sigvard nodded once—firm, deliberate. Nitra turned to her loyal Troll guards—those who followed her even after her humiliation in Cybrawl—and made a simple hand gesture. Instantly, every troll guard under her servitude pivoted toward the Demon elites. And slaughtered them. The demons didn’t even have time to raise their weapons. Their bodies were ripped apart, hurled into the sand, torn open by troll claws, axes, and pure vengeance. Above, the guards holding Fructar and Chucktar let go. The two trolls rushed down from the stands, sliding down broken seating, leaping over crushed barriers to reach Sigvard. Before Sigvard could speak— Nitra stepped into him, unexpectedly pulling him into a tight embrace. Her armor pressed cold against his chest. Her claws grazed lightly across his back. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with relief: "Thank you for freeing me." Her breath lingered against his shoulder as the arena around them burned with revolt, death, and a new beginning— A beginning forged under Sigvard’s new revolt. A beginning that would shatter the hell horde. A beginning that would echo across the galaxy.

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 27: "STAR CASTLE" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The atmosphere of the underground metropolis was thick with age — the scent of rusted metal, alien residue, and faint ozone still hanging from millennia of dormant machinery. Blue and red ambient light shimmered from the fractured crystal conduits embedded along the stone walls, giving the entire chamber a ghostly, half-living glow. Towering spires of black alloy rose around us like petrified trees, their roots merged with the rock floor, their tips vanishing into the darkness above where artificial rain still fell in a gentle mist. The alien structures hummed faintly — as though the city itself was listening to us. Emily and I were at the front of the group as the others emerged from the adjoining tunnels — Sigvard and his two troll guards, their heavy steps echoing off the iron floors; Anisia, Jimmy, Pete, Mathew, Elizabeth, Rick, Cole, Hanna, and Droid L-84, their armors reactivated, glowing faintly under the alien haze. Then came Alexandria, Samuel, and two newcomers — Khamzat, still bandaged and limping from his last encounter on Goat Heim, and Niko, an Asian woman whose sharp features and calm posture made her seem both serene and lethal. Her armor gleamed white under the alien light, contrasting the decay around her. Alexandria’s voice broke the uneasy silence. “All right, everyone — gather here.” Her words echoed off the smooth, ancient surfaces, bouncing endlessly through the hollow tunnels of the lost metropolis. We stood in a wide chamber that had once served as a control nexus — its consoles and pedestals long dead, though faint holographic scripts still flickered in forgotten languages. From the ceiling, long black tendrils of unknown organic wiring hung like vines, dripping faint luminescent fluid onto the floor. I looked around, my voice carrying through the damp air. “So what are we doing here again?” Alexandria turned to face me, her pale eyes catching the distant blue light. “I heard you received intel from your friend in the Wraith?” I nodded. “We sent Serenity into the Wraith to look for Hailey’s sister. Obviously that didn’t turn out in our favor, and she only stumbled upon a small piece of the demons’ grand plan in Maladrie’s journal… by accident. That was before we became outcasts from the very civilization we tried to unite.” The sound of dripping water punctuated the silence as Samuel stepped forward, his breath visible in the cold air. “Well,” he said, “you ended up in the right place to seek help.” Alexandria folded her arms, her armor faintly whirring as she turned to me again. “Do you still communicate with Serenity?” I shook my head. “No. Emily and I fear the worst for her. Although…” I glanced around the shadowy room, lowering my tone, “I do know Maladrie is planning to build a simulation — one that powers a machine capable of creating demons at a faster rate, to stage a second civil war and seize the universe itself.” Alexandria’s expression tightened. “Maladrie is probably already in her simulation phase. Entire worlds of Vikingnar are less active than before.” She turned toward Khamzat, who stood beside a crumbling alien pillar, his fur damp under the artificial mist. “What’s the status of our forces?” Khamzat let out a low growl as he adjusted the strap on his armor. “We have plenty of warriors,” he said, his deep voice echoing against the metallic walls, “but not enough weapons.” He gestured toward a cart he had dragged in — it creaked across the stone floor, carrying what looked like scavenged alien machinery fused with Viking tech. When he removed the tarp, it was one of Deathskull’s energy guns resting on top. Its metal shell was blackened, and the orange core inside it pulsed faintly like a dying heart. The weapon resembled a plasma rifle, bulky and brutal — its power conduit trailed into a metallic backpack lined with cracked insulation tubes. I stepped closer, brushing the dust from its barrel. “So,” I said, “Deathskull — the bitch machine — made a clunky piece of trash. What’s so special about it?” Khamzat lifted the rifle and set it on a nearby table made of alien alloy. “The weapon fires condensed plasma charges — orange lightning balls. It’s heavy, yes, but it cuts through graphene armor like butter. My shield held for a few minutes, but it still burned through.” He tapped his chest plate, revealing a faint scorch mark across his armor. “That was after only one direct hit. The only thing that held the line were our red plasma shields.” Emily stepped beside me, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. The orange mist from above shimmered faintly across her visor. I looked back to Khamzat. “Then we should get guns of our own. Find one of their weapons research labs, steal the blueprints, build more effective versions of the energy guns — maybe upgrade our armor in the process.” The words hung in the chamber, resonating through the dead air like a vow. Samuel crossed his arms, looking from me to Alexandria. “He’s right,” he said finally. “If the demons are adapting, we can’t rely on old steel and plasma swords anymore. We’ll need to match them.” The group began to murmur among themselves, the sound of voices echoing up the hollow walls, blending with the faint hum of alien power still pulsing through the underground structures. The place felt alive again — as if it approved of our plans. Khamzat gave a toothy grin, his amber eyes glowing under the dim light. “Then it’s settled,” he said. “We strike a weapons lab. We learn their secrets. And if Deathskull wants a war…” I finished his sentence, gripping my chainsword Revenge so hard that the faint red energy along its edge shimmered to life. “…then we’ll give him one.” Everyone — Alexandria, Samuel, Emily, Niko, Khamzat, and the others — stood silent for a moment, the weight of the plan hanging heavy in the alien air. Somewhere deep in the forgotten veins of the underground metropolis, something stirred — a distant vibration, low and hollow, rolling through the ancient walls. Whether it was the pulse of old machinery or something far more sentient, no one knew. But as the echoes died away, one thing was clear — the war for the universe was no longer confined to the stars or the Wraith. It had reached the heart of the forgotten cities that mankind had built, then abandoned — and we were about to awaken whatever was still sleeping within. Back on the surface, we stood on a narrow metallic bridge that arced like a rib across the Rus Viking spaceport. Below us, the dockyard thrummed with activity—hulking Drakkar hulls groaning as cranes loaded crates, men and women in pale green armor stacking melee weapons with practiced, silent motions. The air smelled of ozone and hot oil, and the distant whoop of engines made the rail beneath my boots vibrate. Emily leaned against the railing, one boot hooked over the other, her visor up so I could see the cool set of her face. Khamzat rested his weight on a nearby support column, breathing slightly heavy; he looked at the wound on his shoulder still showing through the leather portion of his armor. Samuel and Niko watched the loading with the calm attention of people who’d long since learned to read the rhythms of a civilization. “So you guys have the ships, and gave yourself a funny name, ‘Rus Vikings?’” Khamzat tipped his head, then managed a crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes. The platform seemed to sway for a moment as a carrier released its hold and moved out into the dark. “I'll let you change our clan name if you can get us to use those blueprints.” I kept my gaze on the lines of crates—some stamped with insignia I recognized from Deathskull’s workshops—and tried to imagine where the lab might hide its secrets. “You look nervous Khamzat?” He gave a short, humorless laugh that turned into a low warning. “You don't get it do you? I've never seen beautiful people be so dangerous. You guys took out a demonette with ease. I should keep my distance from you & your woman with funny ears.” Niko’s voice cut in, level and practical. “Just ignore him. Are you positive anything valuable will be on the planet Vulddar?” I watched a pair of Rus mechanics sling a crate that bore the faint outline of energy conduits. Machines left traces, patterns — a signature you learned to read. I met Niko’s eyes and shrugged once. “Niko, I assure you that I've been around Deathskull long enough to know his patterns. Machines are predictable.” Around us the port kept moving, obedient and huge, and for a heartbeat the future felt like a line we could step onto and follow. Then a Drakkar’s engines flared and the bridge thrummed underfoot, and we turned to the task ahead. The boarding ramp of the Rus Viking Drakkar spacecraft groaned open, its metal plates unfolding like the jaws of some ancient machine-beast. The ship’s name—GEMINI—glowed along the hull in runic white letters, flickering with the faint shimmer of its stealth plating. Two parallel antenna fins ran the length of its back like twin spines, humming with a quiet teleportation field. One by one, our mismatched alliance walked up the ramp: Alexandria with her commanding stride, Samuel studying every shadow, Niko moving with the precision of a covert scout, Khamzat steady but favoring his injured side, Anisia scowling as always, Jimmy, Pete, Mathew, Elizabeth, Rick, Cole, and Hanna marching in formation, Sigvard and his two troll guards towering like mountains behind them, Droid L-84 with his silent, calculated steps, and finally Emily and I, bringing up the rear. Inside, Gemini breathed like a cathedral forged out of starship alloys. Tall arching bulkheads curved overhead like the ribcage of a mechanical titan. Gothic engravings—ancient, angular, and clearly not Rus in origin—ran along the walls, illuminated by crimson and white ambient strips that pulsed like veins. The air had a sterile metallic taste mixed with something older, like dust from a civilization that predated humanity. Red mist drifted like incense around the ventilation grilles. The bridge opened before us in a long spearhead shape, full of glowing runes and holo-panels. As we stepped in, the viewport’s massive black glass came alive. Outside, the Rus Viking fleet ascended from Skogheim’s snowy mountaintops—rows of Drakkars, long narrow ships with curved prows shaped like roaring beasts, propelling themselves upward in synchronized formation. Firelight from their boosters lit the clouds orange. Then the fleet breached the atmosphere in a burst of white light. Moments later we were in space, gliding silently past veils of blue nebulas whose light seeped into the cabin like the glow of stained glass. Far off, entire star systems drifted by, suns of all colors burning against the void. And Gemini, true to its name, slipped through the dark like a ghost—its teleportation core humming with a pulse that seemed to bend time around us. Our quarters were modest by Rus standards—high-ceilinged and narrow with a tall arched window that showed spiraling cosmic dust drifting past. The room had black metallic walls trimmed in white, and a bed mounted directly into the hull like a sculpted alcove. Emily sat beside me as I stared at the floor in thought. I asked quietly, “How come nobody seems to remember the black Shark Venom?” Emily ran a hand through her natural dark hair, the red lights reflecting against her green eyes. “I have no idea, and it’s made me bamboozled, too.” I swallowed, trying to string together memories that felt like a dream dissolving. “It’s like how nobody remembers Wilson inhabiting this body I own now.” Emily turned to me with a puzzled look, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know who Wilson is either?” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “I thought Subi told you before he mutated into a shark humanoid?” Emily gently shook her head. “He either told me & I forgot, or didn’t tell me at all.” A cold rush of anxiety tightened in my chest. The pressure of time—the rules of time—felt like they were pressing in on me all at once. I pressed my palm to my forehead. “I hope my presence here didn’t destabilize the timeline. I originated from the past, after all.” Emily moved closer, the bed dipping slightly under her weight. She wrapped her arms around me, her voice soft but grounding. “I don’t think it matters, since you’re here now.” Silence settled over us, warm and steady—broken only by the distant hum of Gemini’s engines drifting through the walls like a lullaby. Emily held me for a long moment. Then she shifted slightly, tilting her head. “Am I more than just the girlfriend now?” I blinked, caught off-guard. She clarified with blunt seriousness, “I am also your sex girl.” Despite everything—war, demons, collapsing timelines—I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, you sure are irreplaceable.” Emily kissed me deeply. We lay back onto the bed as she pressed closer, and I reached for the zipper of her black and white leather jumpsuit, pulling it down slowly while she guided my hands. The red ambient lights pulsed brighter, as if reacting to our energy, casting long shadows that danced over the room’s metallic gothic walls. Outside the window, Gemini cut through the stars—silent, hidden, carrying us toward Vulddar and whatever insanity waited there next. The bridge of Gemini stretched before us like the nave of a cosmic cathedral—arched metal ribs, glowing red and white conduits pulsing like arteries, and a vast forward viewport displaying the stars in razor-sharp clarity. Every one of us stood gathered there: Alexandria, Samuel, Niko, Khamzat, Anisia, Jimmy, Pete, Mathew, Elizabeth, Rick, Cole, Hanna, Sigvard and his two troll guards, Droid L-84, Emily, and me. Eighteen souls, armored, silent, all watching the planet below. Beyond the glass, Vulddar hung in the void like a bruised jewel—blue-green forests wrapped around black mountains, and swirling cloud systems casting silver shadows across the landscape. Our entire fleet sat cloaked, invisible, a silent constellation of hidden Drakkar ships suspended in orbit. Only we knew they were there, drifting like ghosts above a hostile world. Alexandria stepped forward, arms crossed behind her back. “We should only send a small group to get what we need, and get out. I'm sending all of you to the surface of Vulddar, and I'm coming with you.” Her words echoed across the bridge. I immediately cut in. “Absolutely not.” Khamzat gestured sharply with his gauntleted hand. “The new guy is right, absolutely not.” Alexandria didn’t flinch. “I need to make sure you get the blueprints successfully, and not run off on us.” I stepped closer, looking her directly in the eye. “You insist on holding our hands when you are a major target for the hell horde?” Alexandria’s expression softened only slightly—enough to show she understood the risk. “I appreciate your concern, but if anything goes wrong, back up will show up immediately.” The weight of the moment settled over us. I exhaled slowly, lowering my shoulders. “Ok.” The decision was made. We moved out. The Drakkar Dropship waited for us in Gemini’s secondary docking bay, its matte-black hull lit by rows of white emergency strips. Runes glowed faintly along the wings. The rear ramp lowered with a hiss of compressed atmosphere. All eighteen of us filed aboard, the metal beneath our boots thudding in rhythmic succession. We were armored head-to-toe—stealth plating, adaptive cloaks, silent repulsor boots, multi-spectrum visors. Our weapons hummed with subtle echoes of dormant plasma, and Droid L-84 performed last-minute diagnostics, scanning each of us with a thin bar of blue light. Inside, the dropship’s interior was narrow, almost coffin-like, with two rows of seats facing each other and crimson tactical lights bathing the cabin in a wartime glow. The engines rumbled beneath the floor, vibrating through every seat. We were ready. From the bridge window of Gemini, the dropship appeared as a small black dart sliding out from the mothership’s underbelly. Its stealth panels shimmered faintly, then vanished entirely as its cloak activated. The hangar bay lights dimmed, and the dropship dropped into Vulddar’s gravity well like a silent shadow. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere thrummed as we descended. Through the small armored windows we watched the world below grow larger—mountainous terrain rising like stone titans, sharp peaks clawing toward the sky. Vast temperate forests spilled over cliffs and valleys, lush and vibrant, with waterfalls glittering in the crevices between emerald ridges. The air outside shimmered with the heat of our cloaking field. Then shadows swept across us. Dragons. Massive winged silhouettes glided past the dropship, their wings spanning entire clearings, their scales glinting with shades of bronze, obsidian, and blue. They kept their distance, but their presence made the mountains seem even smaller. Then the landscape shifted—and we saw it. The Star Castle. A colossal, upside-down pyramid floating above the Vikingnar base. Its stone was black-gold, covered in glowing glyphs. The structure was so enormous that the Vikingnar outpost beneath it looked microscopic, like an anthill at the foot of a monolith. It emitted an unnatural radiance—celestial, ancient, impossible. I stared in disbelief. “I don't remember, this shit being here? It's beautiful, but I don't remember this at all?” Alexandria kept her gaze steady on the structure. “That's exactly why we're here. We can't let this structure get into enemy hands.” I continued staring, feeling the impossible weight of the thing. “And how are we going to move a celestial object?” Alexandria replied without hesitation, “I know someone on the ground who can help us.” I nodded, though unease curled in my gut. I turned to Droid L-84, his optical sensors flickering. I asked him if he knew anything, but before he could respond, Khamzat spoke up instead. “Don't worry, she changes her mind a lot. It's her trademark.” I leaned back, settling into my seat beside Emily. She slid her hand into mine and whispered, “I don't trust her.” I squeezed her hand. “I know you don't.” The cloaked dropship lowered into a secluded valley, hidden between colossal spires of volcanic stone. Dense forest surrounded us—towering alien pines, ferns the size of hover-bikes, glowing blue fungi clustering at the bases of trees. Mist drifted between the trunks in pale coils. The dropship’s landing struts extended, touching down without a sound. The rear ramp opened. Cool mountain air rushed in, carrying the scent of wild sap and distant storms. Birds—feathered and reptilian—screeched somewhere in the canopy above. All eighteen of us stepped onto the forest floor, the ground soft with moss and dark soil. Our cloaks activated automatically, bending light around our armor, making us wraithlike as we moved. Above us, dragons soared in the distance. Ahead of us, the enemy-occupied Vikingnar base pulsed with red perimeter lights several miles away. And between us and the base, the wild alien wilderness waited—silent, ancient, and undisturbed. We began our trek. The alien temperate forest around us breathed like a living cathedral—towering cobalt-barked trees stretched upward in spiraling shapes, their bioluminescent leaves glowing faint blue under the misty canopy. Strange pollen drifted on the air in glittering sheets, and the ground hummed beneath our boots as if the roots carried electricity. All eighteen of us moved in a tight formation, weaving between enormous ferns that towered over our heads like umbrellas of living glass. The tranquility shattered in an instant. A deep, rattling growl rolled across the grove, followed by the heavy thud of claws. A Forest Dragon—emerald scales rippling with shifting iridescence—emerged from behind a root archway. Her muscular frame was low to the ground, head angled downward as three small hatchlings scurried around her talons. Her golden eyes locked onto us with unmistakable suspicion. The moment Alexandria stepped too close, the mother lunged. Her jaws snapped shut inches from Alexandria’s throat, teeth clashing with a metallic crack that echoed across the entire grove. Alexandria stumbled back, frozen in shock. Emily reacted first—blurring forward in a streak of black and white. She slammed into Alexandria, knocking her to the ground just as the dragon snapped again. Emily drew her sword mid-motion, its plasma edges humming, and struck across the dragon’s snout. The blade carved a shallow glowing line that hissed with steam. The dragon roared and swung a massive forelimb, striking Emily square in the chest. She flew backward—but I caught her, skidding in the dirt to keep us both upright. The Forest Dragon reared for another strike—this time aiming straight for Alexandria. Before she could lunge— Samuel stepped forward and unleashed a burst of opaque silver mist from a nozzle on his gauntlet. The dragon inhaled it, recoiled, and hissed as if smelling something rancid. The hatchlings mimicked her distress, chirping frantically. The mother dragon turned, nudged her young together, and hurried them deeper into the shimmering forest, disappearing into the luminous foliage with surprising speed. The entire team exhaled as one. No one was hurt. Alexandria brushed dirt from her armor, still shaken. Emily climbed out of my arms, brushing off her leather jumpsuit with a scowl. I turned to Samuel. “I hope you left our energy shield to protect our dropship? And what’s that crap you dispersed?” Samuel answered casually, wiping the nozzle clean. “Our ship’s shields are on at all times, and that crap is repellent for all hostile beasts.” The forest returned to its soft humming, as if nothing had happened—but our nerves stayed sharp. Leaving the dragon encounter behind us, we made our ascent toward the mountain pass. The trail wound upward between jagged crystalline rocks that glowed faintly from within, lighting our path with pulses of blue-white light. Strange, birdlike creatures circled overhead, leaving glowing trails in the sky like falling comets. At the top of the ridge, the world opened. Below us stretched an entire Vikingnar military installation—fortified walls of obsidian-colored alloy, plasma turrets perched like gargoyles, and rows of barracks connected by luminous circuitry running through the ground like veins. But the true centerpiece floated above. A colossal structure hovered silently in the clouds—Star Castle. A massive, upside-down monolith, the size of a small city, suspended in defiance of gravity. Its black stone surface is rippled with ancient runes and white plasma conduits. Occasionally, violet lightning crawled down its edges, grounding itself into midair like branches of a tree. None of us truly understood why the Rus valued this floating ancient megastructure. But its presence alone told me it mattered—deeply. Even so, my mind stayed focused: I needed blueprints. Weapons. Anything to stand against Deathskull and the Wraith demons that followed him. Below, Vikingnar soldiers patrolled the base like ants around a hive. Khamzat raised two fingers and whispered sharply. Everyone activated their invisibility cloaks. One by one, we shimmered and vanished into refracted outlines as our stealth fields engaged. We slipped down the slope like ghosts, bypassing patrol routes and automated sensors. Inside the base walls, the place felt strangely different. Not in architecture—the structures were still hyper-advanced Vikingnar geometry—but in atmosphere. Darker. More militarized. Less noble. As we passed a group of guards, the differences became obvious. They were no longer wearing the traditional Viking-style helms or aesthetic motifs. Their armor was still the futuristic graphene alloy—but their helmets had changed into reinforced kettle hats, modified with sensory arrays. And stamped across their chests was a symbol I instantly recognized: An upside-down pyramid with a single demonic eye glaring from its center. Maladrie’s mark. Seeing Vikingnar warriors displaying it openly sent a cold prickle across my spine. Something had shifted—whether by influence, corruption, or allegiance, I didn’t yet know. But the base was compromised. We moved on, slipping between shadows that weren’t truly shadows, invisible yet hyper-aware. Near the research sector, a lone guard walked past a dim-lit corridor, humming to himself. The timing was perfect. I lunged from invisibility for a split second—my gauntlets activating with a sharp crackle. Twin red energy blades extended, slicing cleanly across the guard’s throat in a single silent motion. His body collapsed into my arms, and I dragged him into a supply alcove before anyone could notice. His keycard hung from a chain on his belt. I unclipped it, stepped back into stealth mode, and motioned for the others to follow. We reached the reinforced alloy door marked with holographic runes—WEAPONS RESEARCH / ENGINEERING DIVISION—and I pressed the stolen key to the scanner. The lock clicked. The door slid open with a deep hydraulic groan, releasing a blast of cold sterile air tinged with ozone, plasma residue, and the faint metallic scent of centuries-old alien technology humming awake. We stepped inside. And the lab beyond awaited us—vast, glowing, and full of secrets the Rus never intended us to see. The interior of the weapons research facility felt like stepping into the still-beating heart of a long-dormant machine. The room stretched far in every direction—catwalks suspended above humming machinery, glass chambers filled with alien alloys, floating worktables lined with half-assembled weapon prototypes. White light glowed from slits in the ceiling, giving everything a cold surgical clarity. I switched my visor into infrared mode. The world shifted into spectral hues—heat signatures blooming across the room like red flowers against a blue backdrop. I scanned high corners, ventilation shafts, and fixture recesses. There—a faint pink glimmer. A micro-camera, barely the size of a fingernail. I raised my wrist and fired a concentrated pinpoint beam from my laser module. The camera flickered, sparked, then went dead with a soft pop. Meanwhile, the others spread through the lab, combing for sensors—behind data terminals, along the underside of rails, near the rotating forge rings. One by one, we heard quiet clicks and crackles as every device was disabled. When the final indicator light dimmed, we all simultaneously powered down our cloaking fields. Eighteen silhouettes shimmered back into full visibility, helmets retracting, armor gleaming in the pale laboratory glow. I moved quickly. The facility was enormous, a maze of alien research bays—but I knew exactly what I was looking for. The blueprints had to be stored near a primary fabrication table. After navigating glowing corridors of abandoned tech, I reached a sealed data crate marked with Rus sigils of restricted engineering. It opened with the stolen key. Inside—thin crystalline plates etched with runic schematics. The first plasma gun. I lifted them and turned to Droid L-84. “Please scan these, I don't want to be labeled a thief.” Red lines spread across his visor as he activated his full data intake module. He took the plates from me and held them beneath a glowing projector band on his arm. Light swept slowly over the runic etchings. When the scan completed, his eyes flashed. A red hologram expanded outward—complex layers of engineering data, heat coils, particle chambers, and rune-etched energy capacitors rotating in midair like ghostly machinery. Droid L-84 said: “Once we return to Skogheim, I will make better versions to out class the Hell horde.” Just as the hologram dissolved into thin air, a muffled voice carried from the opposite wall. From a storage closet. “No! not without my help!” Every weapon in the room turned toward the sound. Droid L-84 shut off his holographic display instantly. Alexandria, sword drawn, approached the closet with careful steps. She unlatched the handle and pulled the door open. An older man—grayish, disheveled hair, eyes sunken but mischievous—tumbled out like he hadn’t seen daylight in hours. His clothes were rumpled, his expression equal parts agitation and relief. Alexandria frowned and helped him up. “Why did they lock you in the closet Ikeam?” Ikeam dusted himself off angrily. “They were punishing me for not coming up with more viable firearm options, I know you've seen them. Those clunky canons with backpacks, and I did that on purpose. They look so foolish!” He waved his arms dramatically—but Alexandria’s eyes locked onto something in his hand. A small magazine. Glossy. Colorful. She pointed. “Oh, they give this to read, a Fair Boy Magazine containing some of the hottest Crimmseed women.” I blinked. The absurdity of it hit me before I could stop myself, and I said: “Wow, you're the first closeted straight bloke I ever met.” Ikeam froze. His pale skin somehow became even paler. He stared straight at me, as if seeing someone long dead. Then he said: “I can say the same to you Wilson, since you were able to reel in Madeline Scoggan as your wife.” A cold weight dropped into my stomach. Wilson. The man who used to inhabit this body—before I ever inhabited it. He remembered. The others didn’t. But Ikeam did. Before the silence could deepen, Emily stepped forward and corrected him firmly: “His name is William, and I'm Emily.” Ikeam’s eyes darted between us, still confused, still shaken. Alexandria placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and said: “We'll worry about salutations later. We need to get you & the Star Castle back to Skogheim.” Ikeam nodded quickly, gripping his ridiculous magazine like a cherished relic. “Yes of course.” Behind him, the holographic equipment hummed, blueprints now secured inside Droid L-84’s core. The mission had suddenly grown far more complicated—and far more mysterious. The weapons facility still hummed around us—quiet, cold, and heavy with the sense that every machine in the room had been waiting centuries for someone to disturb it again. Gleaming alloy countertops reflected the harsh white ceiling lights, and the various disassembled firearm prototypes cast long mechanical shadows across the polished floor. We formed a loose circle among deactivated consoles, the air shimmering faintly from the active invisibility cloaks hanging around our shoulders like half-ghosted armor. The silence broke when I finally spoke. “Who's going to pilot the dropship while we pilot the monolith floating outside?” The question hung in the stale air, drifting up toward the upper gantries like stray vapor. Alexandria turned her head, her pale eyes narrowed as she processed my concern. “I'm going to send Sigvard.” I stared at her, dumbfounded—not out of malice, but out of sheer, stunned disbelief. “You realize they barely know how to pilot their own ship, yet alone, an advanced Rus Viking Drakkar dropship.” I turned toward Sigvard, who towered over the group like a moving slab of armored stone. “No shade.” Sigvard rolled his massive shoulders and nodded, tusks jutting slightly from beneath his lower lip. “Yeah, us trolls are notoriously bad pilots.” He said it like it was a universally accepted fun fact and not a catastrophic liability. Alexandria gave him a look halfway between amusement and exasperation before shaking her head and addressing me again. “Even if that were true, our ships have a user-friendly auto pilot system. And if you get caught fleeing, Deathskull or Maladrie will confuse you for pirates, stealing our precious cargo.” The logic hit me a moment later—smooth, sharp, annoyingly sound. I exhaled slowly, tension leaving my shoulders. “I guess there's more going on in that head in yours, than I thought.” Alexandria snorted—a small laugh that she failed to fully suppress. “rude! We should get a move on.” I held up my hand. “Wait, let's get Ikeem his invisibility cloak.” I reached into the satchel clipped to my armor and pulled out a folded cloak made of shimmering nano-weave, along with a pair of infrared goggles. The fabric rippled like liquid mercury in the facility lights as I handed the items to Ikeem. He took them reverently. “Thank you,” he said as he strapped on the goggles and swung the cloak over his shoulders. All around us, fifteen others activated their cloaking fields. A soft cascading hum filled the air as our bodies flickered, bent light around us, then vanished entirely—leaving only footprints in dust and a faint distortion whenever someone moved. We split at the door. Sigvard and his two troll guards lumbered back the way we came, heading toward the path leading down to the forest valley and the dropship. Their invisibility shimmered with every heavy step. The rest of us—fifteen strong—followed Ikeem deeper into the structure. He led us down a narrow corridor we hadn't noticed before: metal walls lined with dormant plasma conduits, runes etched along the edges like glowing circuitry carved by ancient hands. The air tasted metallic, laced with the faint scent of old plasma burns and abandoned experiments. At the corridor’s end was a vertical shaft filled with an endless spiraling staircase that wound toward a distant opening above—an access tunnel running inside the research tower’s spire. We ascended. Step after step, the world below shrank into a single metallic throat echoing our muffled armored footfalls. The higher we climbed, the more the air changed—thin, charged, humming with gravitational fluctuations radiating from the floating structure just overhead. At last, the stairwell opened onto the roof. Wind whipped across the spire’s broad metallic platform, carrying the scent of alien forests far below. Trees swayed in rhythmic waves miles down the mountainsides. The sky above was a swirling gradient of silver-blue clouds and drifting embers of cosmic dust. And there it was. Star Castle. An upside-down pyramid suspended like an impossible celestial wound in reality—its massive shape defying all reason. Hundreds of meters across, its obsidian surface glimmered with faint teal runes reminiscent of starlight trapped in stone. Gravity bent around it in slow, graceful pulsations, warping the clouds around the structure like a lens. We all stared upward, miniature shadows under a cosmic giant. I finally spoke. “Now how do we get inside?” Ikeem stepped forward with a little smirk—half pride, half mischief. “Let me show you a trick.” He crouched, sprang upward in a fluid, unnatural leap, and soared toward the pyramid’s tip. As he reached it, he twisted his body midair and planted his boots along the slanted face of the monolith as if stepping onto level ground. Gravity was in alignment with him. The pyramid’s gravitational field accepted him. Emily’s hand slipped suddenly into mine—warm, tense, steady. “wait goober!” She pulled me with her. Together, we leapt. The moment we crossed the pyramid’s threshold, everything shifted. Up became sideways. Sideways became down. The gravitational pull wrapped around us like invisible hands repositioning our bodies. Our boots touched the slope of the monolith’s outer surface with a soft metallic tap, and we remained standing—upright, balanced, held firmly by a force older than any civilization we knew. Below us—far, far below—the forest canopy swayed like an ocean of emerald waves. Our dropship, invisible but present, was hidden somewhere under that sea of trees. The mountain range cut jagged scars through the landscape, and the enemy-held base sat like a black thorn in the valley. One by one, our companions jumped—fifteen figures appearing briefly in the open air before gently landing on the pyramid’s gravity-bound side. We were suspended hundreds of meters above the world, standing on the vertical face of a floating celestial relic. We walked. The surface was smooth, eerily warm, as if the monolith remembered the heat of ancient cosmic forges. Runes pulsed beneath our feet in slow, breathing rhythms—lighting our invisible silhouettes with faint teal glimmers. And eventually, after traversing nearly a hundred meters of angled pathway, we reached a massive seam near the pyramid’s core. A doorway opened—silent, seamless, as if sensing Ikeem’s presence. We stepped inside. And Star Castle welcomed us with a deep, ancient hum that resonated through our bones— as if awakening from centuries of sleep. Far from Star Castle, deep within the forests of Vulddar, Sigvard and his two troll guards lumbered through the underbrush, their invisibility cloaks flickering in and out as their heavy breathing strained the delicate nano-mesh fabric. Their massive feet left crater-like impressions in the soft moss, the earth vibrating beneath every step. No predators approached them this time; even the wild creatures of Vulddar knew to avoid armored trolls on a mission. They reached the clearing where the Drakkar Dropship waited—still cloaked, still shielded, shimmering faintly in the humid valley air like a mirage held together by red energy filaments. The moment they stepped through the cloak, the sleek black hull fully revealed itself. The ship recognized their biosignatures and opened. The trolls, clumsy yet determined, filed inside. Then—miraculously—they managed to depart without a single misstep. The dropship rose from the valley like a silent ghost, engines whispering rather than roaring. It pierced Vulddar’s clouds, then the stratosphere, then the great dark ocean of space where the constellations stretched in crystalline rivers of silver light. Sigvard slumped into the pilot seat—already sweating, already uneasy—while his two guards strapped in behind him. For a moment, it looked like everything would be fine. But Sigvard did not check the star map. He did not check the beacons. And most importantly—he did not check for enemy territory markers. The ship drifted silently across the void, gliding between asteroid belts and nebulas until the onboard computer began blaring red runic warnings. Sigvard grunted, confused, pressing the wrong runes, then the wrong ones again, until— Too late. The Drakkar Dropship was violently seized by a massive gravitational net—a demonic localized field trap designed specifically for intercepting stealth craft. The ship jolted, engines whining, alarms shrieking, hull groaning like a dying beast. Sigvard roared as the force yanked the vessel downward, spiraling it toward a dull gray world scarred with red glowing fissures. The atmosphere sparked with electromagnetic storms. Purple lightning forked across the sky as the dropship tumbled like a crippled bird. The crash was catastrophic. Metal screamed against rock. Sparks exploded in sprays of blinding orange. The entire front of the ship plowed into volcanic soil, carving a trench for nearly half a mile before coming to rest against a jagged obsidian cliff. And then— Silence. The dust cleared. The smell of burnt alloy filled the air. Sigvard crawled out of the wreck, bloodied but alive. His two troll guards stumbled out behind him. But there was no relief. Because surrounding them—closing in from every direction—were hundreds of trolls. Trolls clad in spiked demonic armor. Trolls marked with the flaming sigils of Deathskull, Anubis, and Maladrie. Some mounted massive tusked beasts; others held serrated plasma halberds glowing with orange lightning. They stared with cold, unforgiving eyes. The moment Sigvard understood what world he had fallen onto, his face went pale gray. There was no amusement in the prophecy I had joked about earlier. Sigvard had indeed crashed into a world ruled by his own kind—only these trolls were loyal not to us, but to the enemy. Prisoners. That was all they were now. Bound in plasma chains, beaten, dragged across the volcanic terrain—vanishing into the demonic world’s metal gates as the sunless sky rumbled overhead. Meanwhile, back on Vulddar, inside the ancient floating monolith of Star Castle, a different storm was brewing. The interior of the pyramid shifted and breathed like a sentient machine. Walls of obsidian metal rippled like black water beneath glowing teal circuitry. Gravity twisted gently in slow spirals, creating a strange sensation in the stomach—part weightlessness, part grounding, all alien. At the heart of the monolith was a great circular chamber: walls lined with rotating rings of runes, a floating platform in the center, and a deep resonant hum throbbing like the pulse of a sleeping titan. Ikeem—small, frantic, brilliant—ran across the chamber like a man who had spent his entire life studying a device no one else could even describe. His fingers danced over glowing panels, dragging runes, sliding energy nodes, activating gravity jets. Ancient consoles responded eagerly to his touch, as if recognizing a descendant of their original creators. Emily leaned against a pillar illuminated by flowing teal glyphs. She watched me with thinly veiled suspicion. Then came her voice. “Hey, why were you trying to flirt with Alexandria back there? That was gross, bad boy.” Her eyes narrowed. The teal runes reflected across her cheeks, giving her an eerie glow. I lifted my hands defensively. “I was just talking Emily.” She didn’t buy it. She crossed her arms slowly—quietly—intentionally. I let out a breath. “She reminds me of my mother, that's all.” Emily’s expression shifted instantly. A smirk curled across her lips, mischievous and predatory. “I see, maybe I should be your mommy as well.” Heat rose in my face. I shook my head, turning away. “I don't think this is the time to talk about this.” I barely took one step before she lunged. Emily tackled me hard—pinning me to the reflective obsidian floor with surprising strength. A split-second later— Orange plasma fire exploded through the entrance. Blasts slammed into the far walls, spraying molten shards. Demonic warriors flooded into the chamber—sleek armored silhouettes glowing with infernal circuitry, weapons crackling with energized lightning. Emily pressed her forehead to mine, whispering with mock pride: “You see, I have good mommy instincts. Now come.” She yanked me to my feet with fierce urgency. All thirteen of our companions had already formed a defensive barrier around Ikeem. They fired red plasma bursts, unleashed energy blades, redirected demon shots with shield gauntlets. Armor sparked under fire, runes overloaded, and metal rang with the percussion of battle. Emily and I charged into the fray. We cut through the demonic warriors together—our movements synchronized, our blades leaving streaks of glowing damage in the air. The demons fell at our feet, collapsing off the floating platforms into spiraling gravity pockets beneath the chamber. A burning line tore across my shoulder as a stray plasma round hit the seam of my armor. Pain radiated down my right arm, my armor glowing faint orange from the blast. Emily shouted, but kept fighting—until suddenly, brilliantly— Ikeem sealed the entrance. The massive triangular doorway slammed shut with a deep, ancient rumble. Runes rotated around its frame, locking into place like a cosmic vault. Outside, we caught a final glimpse through a dimming energy window: Enemy ships approaching. Dozens. Maybe more. But they were too late. Star Castle activated. A vortex opened beneath the monolith—a spiraling wormhole of crushing gravity and radiant starlight. The entire upside-down pyramid sank into the vortex like a stone into water, vanishing into a cosmic tunnel where no enemy vessel could follow. The universe folded around us. Darkness. Light. Silence. Motion. Then— Steady hum. We were still alive. The Star Castle had escaped. Emily’s voice broke the soft glow of stress and battle-thrill. She had pushed the torn armor away from my shoulder and stared at the exposed wound beneath—reddened, burned, raw. Her worry came disguised as playful mockery. She leaned down, hugged me tightly, and pressed a gentle kiss to the injury. “Is your booboo better?” My mind spun—not from pain, but from everything happening around us. The teleportation. The battle. Sigvard’s unknown fate. The strange hum of wormhole walls sliding past the monolith. Emily’s lips on my skin. I exhaled slowly. “I have no idea what's better or not right now.” Star Castle drifted onward, deeper into the wormhole— and the chapter prepared to turn toward its next storm. CHAPTER 27: "STAR CASTLE" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 26: "CUTTING TIES" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The cold winds of Skogheim howled across the frostbitten plains, sweeping through the towering pines that framed the fortified Rus Viking settlement. The sky was a bleak hue of silver-blue, its light refracted through the frozen mist that hung in the air like the breath of sleeping giants. As we approached the massive gates of the city, escorted by the enigmatic Samuel Kin, the sound of machinery and the distant rhythm of forges echoed through the mountain valley. The settlement was an impressive fusion of ancient Norse architecture and advanced nanotech engineering—a city both of runes and circuitry. Samuel walked at the front of our group, his armor—an elegant mix of Viking lamellar and Samurai plating—gleamed faintly beneath the pale light. The intricate engravings across his chest plate pulsed with a red glow, like veins of molten metal. The hilt of a katana rested at his side, sheathed in black leather decorated with Nordic knotwork, while the curved blade’s faint hum revealed it was powered by microfusion energy rather than mere steel. He was silent, until the remainder of the trip. “My name is Samuel Kin,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. I nodded, introducing myself and the others as we followed close behind. “My name is William. This is my partner Emily, and my friends—Sigvard, Droid L-84, Rick, Anisia, Elizabeth, Mathew, Cole, Pete, Jimmy, and Hanna.” Samuel’s face softened slightly, his frost-colored eyes meeting mine with respect. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” he said, his tone measured yet sincere. “We have a lot to discuss.” The gates of Skogheim opened with a deep metallic groan, revealing a sprawling interior city that looked like something out of a myth twisted by science fiction. The inner walls were made of reinforced ice, lined with graphene conduits that pulsed with pale green light. The cobbled streets beneath our boots shimmered faintly with frost, and the air smelled of cold iron, ozone, and burning plasma from nearby forges. Dozens of Rus Viking warriors stopped what they were doing as we entered. Their armor—nano chainmail woven into graphene plates painted in pale army green—glinted like insect carapaces beneath the weak sunlight. Some carried spears tipped with plasma energy, others held compact red energy swords fused with runic etchings. Helmets adorned with wolf crests hid their expressions, though those without them turned their heads to study us—faces both curious and wary. Samuel noticed our discomfort and gave a short, knowing chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “They weren’t expecting you.” His words proved true as a figure emerged from the crowd—a woman with a commanding presence, dressed in the same green armor but trimmed with red insignia denoting rank. Her black hair was braided down her back, her piercing brown eyes sharp enough to cut through the frost itself. She walked with the authority of a queen and the precision of a commander. She stopped before us, her expression neutral but guarded. “Who are your friends?” she asked Samuel, her voice echoing slightly in the cold air. Samuel gave a small nod and replied, “I found these people who crashed here in a very absurd spacecraft. I also believe these were the ones who picked up our SOS signal.” The woman—Alexandria Octavia Cortez—arched her brow. “How do you know?” Samuel’s tone remained even. “They were fleeing Deathskull, his droids, possible demons, etc.” The mention of Deathskull caused a faint murmur among the nearby warriors. Alexandria crossed her arms, her armor plates shifting softly. “Well then,” she said after a pause, “we should probably get these kind people into a comfortable holding cell—with guards keeping watch, just until Khamzat returns.” Samuel nodded. “Agreed.” Then he turned to me, his tone softening. “Is that okay with you, big guy?” I looked around—the soldiers, the technology, the cold atmosphere that seemed to hang like judgment itself—and simply said, “Yes.” Samuel’s expression was calm but cautious. “Then I’ll need everyone to hand over your weapons for a little while,” he said, gesturing to one of the nearby storage racks. My companions hesitated. Emily’s bright green eyes met mine briefly; she knew, as I did, that our weapons weren’t just metal—they were extensions of our essence. Her spiritual sword, like mine, could manifest at will from her mind. I didn’t tell Samuel that, though. There was no need to raise suspicion. I turned to Sigvard and his Troll companions. “Come on, guys,” I said with a sigh. “It’s only temporary.” Sigvard grunted, his tusks glinting as he reluctantly handed over his massive crude axe. The others followed, piling their weapons on the table until only I remained. In my hand rested my chainsword, Revenge—a brutal weapon forged from a mix of divine and mechanical elements. Its blade shimmered with faint red runes and emitted a low purr, like an animal eager to strike. I handed it toward Samuel. He gripped it—then instantly dropped it, as if it had suddenly become ten times heavier. The weapon hit the metallic floor with a thunderous clang that echoed through the hall. Samuel stared at it, wide-eyed. “You must be strong, Will,” he said, shaking his hand as though it had gone numb. Before I could respond, Alexandria stepped forward, visibly irritated. “Can you stop messing around?” she snapped. She bent to pick it up herself—and failed. The weapon didn’t so much as budge. Her gauntleted fingers strained against the hilt, but it was like trying to lift a star. “Oh,” she muttered under her breath, stepping back in disbelief. Samuel smirked faintly. “Yeah—oh.” Alexandria exhaled through her nose, frustrated but intrigued. After a tense pause, she looked up at me and said, “I guess we can make an exception for you. Take your sword with you—just don’t do anything too brash.” “Understood,” I said, gripping Revenge by its hilt once more. The weapon hummed faintly in my hand, as if recognizing its rightful owner. As Samuel led us toward the holding area, I could hear Alexandria mutter quietly to herself, “I guess that was my reminder to stay grounded.” Her voice was almost lost under the rhythmic clang of hammers and the low thrum of distant turbines. The deeper we went into Skogheim, the more apparent its strange beauty became—a city that fused Viking mythos and futuristic design, faith and machinery, sword and circuit. Frost-covered runes glowed faintly on the walls as drones floated above, scanning for intruders. Somewhere beyond, the faint sound of chanting could be heard—ancient words spoken by modern warriors. And as we were escorted down into the glowing steel corridors beneath the mountain, I couldn’t help but feel it—the eyes of destiny watching once again, waiting for the next chapter to unfold. Meanwhile, on the world of Goat Heim, the skies burned in hues of pink and green, a strange aurora that never ceased to shift like the pulse of a living being. Beneath that alien glow stretched an endless expanse of jagged, violet cliffs and crimson ravines, where the soil shimmered faintly with mineral dust. Strange purple vegetation clung to the rocks — long, fibrous vines that breathed, expanding and contracting as if the planet itself were alive. Marching through this uncanny terrain was Khamzat, the Wulver warlord of the Rus Vikings — a towering figure with the body of a man and the head of a wolf, covered in dark, midnight fur that glistened under the eerie light. His amber-yellow eyes cut through the mist ahead, gleaming like molten gold. His breath misted in the cold air as he led his forces toward the demon outpost nestled between the razor cliffs. Behind him marched a diverse army: humans, elves, and fellow Wulvers, each armored in graphene-infused Rus chainmail polished in dark metallic tones. The sound of their synchronized footsteps echoed across the barren valley — the rhythm of trained warriors who lived by the creed of steel and loyalty. Female and male warriors alike bore energy-bladed axes, plasma-tipped spears, and nano forged swords, their armor plates glowing faintly with red runic light — powered by miniature reactors embedded in their gauntlets. Khamzat slowed his march, sniffing the metallic tang of ozone in the air. His pointed ears twitched. “They’re close,” he growled in his deep, gravelly tone, his fangs catching the light as he spoke. His troops immediately crouched low, their armor plates reconfiguring into stealth mode. The demon outpost came into view — a grotesque fortress of twisted black metal and bone-like spires. Smoke plumed from vents in the walls, and at its center rose a pulsating tower of red crystal — a power core that pulsed like a heart. Around it, demon sentries patrolled, their grotesque silhouettes barely visible through the haze. Without warning, the first energy bolt tore through the air — a streak of orange lightning, screaming past Khamzat’s head and exploding into the rock behind him. The demons had seen them. “Shields up!” Khamzat barked, his voice booming across the canyon. In an instant, the Rus warriors slammed their fists together, activating plasma shields from their gauntlets. Red energy disks ignited around them, casting the battlefield in a blood-hued glow. The next volley of orange bolts hit the shields and ricocheted into the air, leaving burning trails. The demons roared — tall, muscular creatures with ashen skin and bat-like faces, their eyes glowing sulfur-yellow. But these were not the usual rabble Khamzat had encountered before. Their armor was thick, industrial, composed of overlapping black plates — crude, but functional. Worse, each carried one of the ancient weapons Khamzat had only heard of in human legends: guns — though these were augmented, spitting arcs of burning plasma instead of bullets. Khamzat dashed forward, moving faster than a normal human eye could track, his plasma blade flashing to life. “Flank left!” he commanded, “Pin them against the ridge!” His warriors followed without hesitation. Energy bolts splashed against their shields, sparks flying as the red plasma barriers strained under the barrage. A few shots broke through, striking warriors and searing through armor. The screams were brief — cut short by the sounds of steel meeting flesh. Khamzat leapt onto a ridge, slicing through a demon’s gun with a single swing, then kicked the creature into the rocks below. A second demon lunged at him with a bayonet-like spike, but Khamzat spun and drove his plasma blade through its chest. The air filled with the smell of ozone, molten metal, and burnt flesh. But as fierce as they were, the demons had one flaw — their weapons were heavy. Power packs the size of backpacks were tethered to their guns by thick cables, and when one of Khamzat’s warriors struck the cable, the weapon would short out in a burst of fire. “Cut the power links!” Khamzat shouted. “Sever the lines!” The Rus obeyed instantly. Plasma axes flashed red across the field, cleaving cords and rupturing power cells. The demons screamed as their own weapons overloaded, consuming them in fiery explosions. Within minutes, the tide turned. The once-coordinated demonic defense collapsed into chaos as their own energy packs detonated. Khamzat and his warriors closed in like a pack of wolves, cutting down the survivors with precision. When the last demon fell, silence took hold. The only sound left was the faint crackle of burning debris. Khamzat stood amidst the carnage — his armor blackened, his plasma blade dimming. Around him lay the bodies of both fallen Rus and slain demons, smoke rising from their wounds. He looked across the battlefield — the once-smooth ground now littered with broken armor, shattered weapons, and bodies. His breathing slowed. “Too many,” he muttered, scanning the faces of the dead. “Far too many…” He knelt beside a fallen Wulver, placing a clawed hand on the warrior’s chest before closing his eyes in silence. Then something caught his attention — the demon weapons. He picked up one of the plasma rifles, its heavy form humming faintly. It was crude yet effective — an ancient concept, reborn with dark engineering. He inspected the barrel, the internal coils still glowing faint orange. He muttered to himself, voice low and thoughtful: “What could pierce graphene armor?” The words echoed through the barren valley, lost in the wind as the pink and green skies shimmered overhead. Deep down, Khamzat felt an unease — a cold realization settling in his gut. These weapons were not of demon origin. They were manufactured. Designed. Repurposed. Something — or someone — was arming the legions of Hell with advanced technology. It was Deathskull. And Khamzat knew that this battle was not the end… only the beginning. Khamzat stood amidst the smoking ruins of the demon outpost, the pink-and-green sky casting an unearthly glow across the battlefield. The air still shimmered with heat distortion from the plasma exchanges, and the scent of scorched metal hung thick like poison. Around him, his Rus Viking warriors began tending to the fallen, salvaging what they could from the carnage. Khamzat’s amber-yellow eyes swept over the fallen demons. The heavy, clunky energy guns scattered across the rocky ground still hummed faintly, their coils glowing a dull orange. He crouched beside one, the weapon buzzing in his grip. “Gather them all,” he ordered, his voice gravel-deep. “Every last one. We’ll take them back for analysis.” The warriors obeyed immediately. Elves and Wulvers alike moved across the field, retrieving the weapons, stacking them carefully in a containment crate made of hardened nanosteel. The energy packs hissed faintly as they cooled, leaving trails of vapor rising into the alien air. Once the field was secure, Khamzat turned toward the outpost itself — a squat, jagged structure of black alloy fused with organic tissue. It looked less like a building and more like a creature that had been petrified mid-scream. The walls pulsed faintly with orange light, veins of energy snaking across the surface. As he approached, Khamzat’s claws scraped against the obsidian-like floor, echoing through the empty corridors. Inside, the air was stale and hot. The small outpost buzzed with residual energy, the hum of power lines faintly audible through the metal panels. Khamzat made his way toward the control room, guided by flickering red light that seeped from beneath a sliding door. He pressed his gauntleted hand to the panel — the door hissed open, revealing a Vikingnar-style control center that had been twisted into something grotesque. Red holographic runes flickered above the consoles, now distorted into orange demonic symbols. The once-familiar Vikingnar layout had been corrupted, the icons pulsing irregularly as if infected. Screens displayed fractured data feeds — images of planets, coordinates, schematics for the same energy guns his men had collected. Khamzat narrowed his eyes. “So they’ve been using our own systems…” he muttered. He stepped forward, bringing up a holographic display with a wave of his claw. The interface resisted his touch at first, snarling with static, but eventually gave way. Streams of data poured across the display — encrypted transmissions, fleet movements, resource allocations. Khamzat quickly inserted a data chip into the console and began extracting everything of value. “Come on, come on…” he growled as the progress bar crawled forward. The entire outpost trembled slightly — the power grid was unstable. Sparks rained down from a cracked ceiling conduit, illuminating the room in bursts of orange light. Just as the data extraction finished, a loud metallic banging echoed behind him. Khamzat froze, ears perking toward the sound. It came again — rapid, desperate, like fists slamming on metal. “Help! Please! Let me the hell out of here!” The voice — a woman’s, panicked, human — came from a storage compartment near the rear of the control room. Khamzat spun around, his instincts kicking in. His plasma blade hissed to life as he strode to the door. He pressed his ear to the cold metal — he could hear frantic breathing on the other side. He deactivated his blade, gripped the locking mechanism, and twisted hard. The door screeched open, hinges snapping under his strength. Inside, huddled in the dark, was a human woman — pale, trembling, her wrists marked with bruises from restraint. Her brunette hair hung in tangled strands over her face, and her hazel eyes darted upward as the light from Khamzat’s armor washed over her. Her voice broke as she whispered, “Please… don’t hurt me.” It was Hailey. Khamzat crouched, his towering frame filling the doorway. “My name is Khamzat,” he said, his tone low but gentle for a creature so fearsome. “You’re safe now. You got a name?” The woman hesitated, her lips trembling. “My name is… Hailey.” Khamzat extended his hand — massive, furred, yet steady. Hailey hesitated before taking it. His claws never tightened around her hand; his grip was firm but reassuring as he helped her to her feet. She stumbled once, and he caught her by the arm, supporting her weight. “Easy,” he said. “You’re weak. How long have you been in there?” Hailey shook her head, tears streaking through the dirt on her cheeks. “I… I don’t know. Days, maybe weeks. They kept moving me around—told me I’d be ‘useful’ to them.” Khamzat’s eyes narrowed, the amber glow intensifying. “Demons have no use for the living unless they mean to break them,” he muttered under his breath. He guided her out of the closet and through the flickering control room. The holograms cast eerie orange light across their faces, making the human and the wolf-headed warrior look almost like shadows from another age. Outside, the sound of the Rus gathering salvage filled the air — metallic clanking, the hum of containment units, low murmurs of exhaustion and grief. As they stepped out of the crumbling outpost, the alien wind caught Hailey’s hair, sweeping it back from her face. She looked up at the pink-and-green sky, eyes wide. “Where… where am I?” Khamzat paused beside her, his armor gleaming faintly under the alien light. “You’re on Goat Heim,” he said simply. “You’re safe with us now.” Together, they walked away from the ruined outpost — the last orange lights fading behind them, replaced by the red glows of Rus banners fluttering in the alien wind. In the distance, Khamzat could see the silhouettes of his warriors loading the captured demon weapons into the dropship. He clenched his fist around the data chip he’d taken from the control panel. Whatever was happening across the galaxy, he knew this data — and the girl he’d just rescued — were both part of something far larger. Something that would change the balance of the war. Back on Skogheim, Sigvard & his two troll guards, Anisia, Jimmy, Pete, Mathew, Elizabeth, Rick, Cole, Hanna, Droid L-84, and I were in our holding cell. Everyone’s armor was deactivated, except Sigvard & the Trolls who wore more primitive armor. Our holding cell room was white, there was a plant in the middle of the room, and there was red glass on our window. Emily & I sat on a cold metal bench which jutted out from the wall. Across from us, Anisia sat on a similar bench, who quickly glared at us giving us a scowl, and looked away. She was quiet for the remainder of the time, and Emily whispered to me, “I guess it’s that time of the month for her, boo.” I grinned & we held each other tight. Samuel then barged into our holding cell saying, “Alright guys & gals, it’s time to show you around.” We all stood up and proceeded to follow Samuel out into the hall. The corridor beyond the cell was wide, lined with luminous panels that gave off a faint orange glow. The metallic walls were engraved with runic patterns, an ancient language fused with circuitry that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Every few meters stood a Rus Viking guard, their armor—pale green with black trim—gleaming under the corridor’s light. The rhythmic hum of reactors and faint mechanical chatter echoed through the passageway as we walked. We passed the bio-lab, where tall transparent pods filled with viscous blue fluid lined the walls. Inside, fully grown Rus Viking adult warriors floated motionless, their muscular bodies enhanced with cybernetic implants, waiting to awaken. Scientists in long white robes and half-metal masks moved between control panels, adjusting parameters and monitoring vitals. The room was filled with the soft beeping of machines and the hiss of sterilized vents. One of the scientists turned his head slightly as we passed, his one organic eye meeting mine before he looked away again. Next, we entered a hall adjacent to another lab—this one devoted to weapons and armor testing. Sparks flew as engineers hammered pieces of graphene plate under robotic arms. Holographic displays flickered with energy readings, ballistic simulations, and molecular models of advanced alloys. A test subject, a Rus Viking in full nano-chainmail, stood in a transparent chamber as drones fired concentrated plasma at him. The plasma splashed harmlessly against his armor, leaving glowing marks that quickly faded. Samuel didn’t slow down. “These labs,” he said, gesturing with his hand as he walked, “are where our warriors are born, built, and perfected. We blend nature with science here—muscle with machine.” We kept walking, and the sound of hammering and weapons tests slowly gave way to the heavy echoes of war cries. We reached the training facility, where hundreds of warriors sparred with plasma swords, heavy shields, and even massive axes that emitted faint energy ripples. Drones hovered overhead, scanning combat forms and recording performance metrics. Emily’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer size of the chamber—walls stretched upward for what felt like a hundred feet, with multiple training tiers suspended above by energy scaffolds. Samuel looked over his shoulder at us and said, “They train every morning. No rest, no excuses. You’ll understand soon enough why.” We then approached a large elevator shaft, its doors etched with glowing Norse runes and mechanical engravings. When the doors opened, a gust of cold air swept over us, carrying the metallic scent of deep earth. We all stepped inside the circular elevator. The platform began to descend, guided by beams of pale red light. The further we went down, the darker it became—until the soft hum of the elevator was all that broke the silence. It was then that something strange happened. My vision began to warp—the orange lighting flickered into strange shapes, and my surroundings blurred. Emily’s hand in mine felt warm, too warm, almost burning. When I turned to look at her, her face seemed to melt and reform, her skin turning orange, her hair darkening into a slick demonic hue. Her pupils became slits, her lips deep red, her expression both alluring and terrifying. The image of her reminded me of Maladrie—the same haunting aura, but Emily’s green eyes still shone through, like two beacons of defiance against the transformation. I blinked, my heart pounding. The walls of the elevator felt like they were closing in. I shut my eyes tightly, inhaled deeply, and when I opened them again—everything was back to normal. Emily looked the same as she always did, standing by my side, still holding my hand. She gave me a teasing smile and softly said, “Meow.” I exhaled, shaking off the lingering unease. The elevator continued its descent, the hum deepening into a low mechanical growl. Finally, with a heavy metallic thud, the platform came to a halt. When the doors opened, we stepped into a breathtaking ancient underground city. Despite being technological, the architecture didn’t match the Rus Viking aesthetic at all. The city’s vast corridors and spires were built from black, metallic stone, covered in strange etchings that glowed faintly red and blue. Streams of light pulsed through cracks in the walls, as though the entire city were alive, breathing energy. Large monolithic statues of unknown beings—neither human nor Viking—lined the central avenue. Between them floated orbs of pure plasma, acting as ambient lighting. The floor beneath our boots was made of smooth obsidian, reflecting our forms as we walked. The air was colder here, thinner, and filled with the faint static hum of ancient machinery buried deep within the earth. Emily whispered, “This place… it’s not Viking, is it?” I looked around at the towering architecture, the symbols that didn’t resemble any known Norse design. “No,” I said quietly. “This is older.” Samuel turned to face us, his expression solemn beneath his helmet. “You’re right. This place isn’t ours. It predates us by thousands of years. We call it the Old Mechanum—a remnant of a civilization that once ruled the stars before the Demon Wars began.” As he spoke, red and blue ambient light flickered across his armor, “Welcome,” he said, “to the world beneath Skogheim—where even gods feared to tread.” Samuel then led us deeper into the underground city, and we entered a spacious chamber with unusual statues. The air felt heavier here—denser, colder, as though the walls themselves held their breath. The faint red and blue luminescence that had filled the previous halls was replaced by a deep violet glow, emanating from veins of crystalline rock embedded into the walls and ceiling. Dust and mist floated through the air like shimmering threads of energy, catching the light in haunting patterns as we stepped forward. The statues stood in a perfect circle around the chamber, towering nearly three stories high. Their forms resembled Cthulhu, but the resemblance was distorted and far more grotesque. Each figure had a theropod-like stance, bent forward with a predatory slouch, their sinewy limbs clawed into the ground as if frozen mid-hunt. They bore four limbs—two massive hind legs shaped like those of a reptile and two smaller, clawed arms folded against their chests. Their faces, though alien, possessed an unsettling human-like quality: the structure of their upper faces bore recognizable bone ridges and eye sockets, but their eyes—even carved from obsidian—seemed too alive, too aware. The lower portions of their faces were hidden behind clusters of thick tentacles, like flesh-born vines, coiling and twisting around what must have been their jaws. Above their distorted faces rose octopus-shaped heads, bulbous and covered in sculpted grooves that spiraled toward the crown. Each statue exuded an aura of ancient malice. It wasn’t just stone—it felt remembered, as if these things had once been alive and turned to minerals by time itself. In the center of the chamber stood a colossal arch monolith, its surface rippling faintly with liquid metal. Strange symbols pulsed across it, not in a pattern, but in rhythmic, almost biological waves. The entire arch hummed faintly, a deep vibration that could be felt in the chest more than heard. I took a cautious step forward, my eyes locked on the shimmering archway. “Is that a portal of some kind?” I asked. Samuel nodded, his voice echoing softly off the dark stone. “Precisely, but it’s no ordinary portal. It doesn’t lead to the Wraith, but it could lead somewhere much worse…” He paused, his tone tightening. “We’ve sent expeditions only to never return—or return with wounds from what appears to be suction cups—and were infected.” “Infected?” I asked, my voice carrying a note of disbelief. Samuel nodded grimly. The violet glow flickered over his face, revealing tension even behind his stoic expression. “We also have a secret lab here. Come.” We followed him deeper through the ancient chambers of the underground city. The corridors narrowed, the architecture shifting from the alien black stone into a fusion of Viking and ancient design. Heavy metallic beams were bolted into the walls to reinforce them, and cables ran along the floors, feeding power into recessed ports that glowed with red energy. The deeper we went, the louder the hum of machinery became. A low droning sound—almost like a heartbeat—throbbed through the stone. The air smelled of salt, metal, and decay, faint but distinct, as though the sea itself had found its way underground. We emerged into a vast, domed laboratory, grafted awkwardly into the alien city’s stone structure. The Rus Vikings had clearly built their facility inside this ancient expanse, and it showed—the contrast between old and new was striking. The walls of the lab were lined with reinforced glass panels, glowing containment cells, and steel catwalks suspended above bubbling vats of bioluminescent fluid. Then we saw them. Inside the paddocks—enormous transparent chambers filled with mist and dark fluid—were the creatures. At first, they were motionless, their tentacles limp, their forms almost too alien to process. But as we approached, one of them stirred. Its eyes opened—large, yellow, human-like yet full of malice—and it pressed against the glass. The creature’s body was a grotesque fusion of humanoid and cephalopod features, dripping with a slimy brown texture that gleamed under the artificial light. Its skin was rough, rubbery, and covered in patches of glistening organic plating. Tentacles extended from its jaw and shoulders, twitching as if responding to our presence. The air was thick with the scent of brine and rot. Samuel stopped before the largest containment cell and gestured. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice firm. “These tragic beasts can’t escape their paddocks.” He folded his hands behind his back and looked up at the monstrous being. “The ancient texts refer to these creatures as the ‘Kraken.’” The name hung in the air like a ghost from legend. The word alone carried weight—ancient, mythic, and terrifying. I looked closer and noticed the black goo these creatures excreted as they moved. It oozed from their pores, trailing down into the grates beneath their containment tanks. It wasn’t just liquid—it was alive. It pulsed, shifted, and bubbled as if trying to reach upward. Some of it was smeared across the paddock glass, where the creatures had begun building strange, webbed nests of hardened residue. The black fluid shimmered with faint bioluminescent veins, almost like circuitry. The sight triggered a memory. That same texture, that same odor—I’d seen it before. I turned to Samuel. “Are you sure nobody came down here before? That black ink looks similar to the Shark People’s venom—the kind the demons used against us Immortals.” Samuel turned sharply, his eyes widening behind his visor. For the first time, he looked unsettled. “What?” His voice echoed through the lab, startling one of the smaller Krakens into slapping its tentacles against the glass. “No! First of all, the Shark People don’t have venom, and their glands carry anti-venom—a white substance. Lastly, there’s no way any demon can step into this city uninvited.” His tone hardened, as though needing to convince himself as much as us. “Which is why I wanted to show you this place—because we’re sworn to protect it from demonic foes who may want to release the Kraken Hive onto this reality.” Emily looked at me knowingly. She understood the implication—the similarity wasn’t coincidence. But neither of us spoke. I finally exhaled and brushed it off with a shrug. “Ok!? Is there anything else you’d like to show us?” Samuel’s tension faded slightly. He nodded and gestured toward a reinforced corridor lined with glowing red runes. “This way.” He said as he walked forward. Beside me, Emily jokingly whispered into my ear, “I guess he forgot to take his menstrual meds.” I then hid my laughter by clearing my throat. We followed him deeper into the lab’s sublevel, where the air grew colder and the walls seemed to hum with an almost imperceptible vibration. The architecture began to change again—the metallic corridors giving way to a mix of steel and the same black alien stone as before. We reached a large freight elevator, circular and surrounded by rotating gears that disappeared into the abyss below. The platform was old, ancient even, but reinforced with modern components—thick power conduits, runic stabilizers, and magnetic rails that spiraled downward into infinite blackness. We stepped inside. The elevator doors sealed shut behind us with a hiss, and the descent began. The motion was smooth but unsettling, as if the mechanism wasn’t mechanical at all but alive, gliding downward through something viscous. The faint hum of the machinery was replaced by a deep, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate through our bones. No one spoke. Even the trolls stood in silence. Emily held onto my arm, her eyes fixed on the faint red glow beneath our feet. I felt her tension—it wasn’t fear, exactly, but anticipation. The kind that came before something profound or horrifying. The deeper we went, the more the light faded, until the only illumination came from our armor’s dim energy cores. Outside the elevator walls, faint shadows seemed to move—like slow tendrils of ink swimming through the darkness. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the elevator stopped with a low metallic groan. The doors opened—not to another lab, but to something far older. The hidden chamber before us stretched endlessly, illuminated by veins of glowing blue crystal that pulsed like the heartbeat of a sleeping god. Black structures rose from the ground like spires, spiraling upward into the shadows. A pool of dark, mirror-like liquid spread across the center of the chamber, reflecting the blue light in strange, rippling patterns. Even Samuel hesitated before stepping out. The air here was different—thick, charged, almost whispering. Every breath carried the taste of electricity and saltwater. Whatever was hidden down here, it was not meant for mortals—or even immortals—to see. At first glance, we were being led into another vast chamber of the underground city—another lab, or so I thought. The air had changed once again; it was dry now, stale, with the faint chemical tang of age and decay. The metallic corridor opened into a domed room whose once-white walls had long yellowed, cracked, and peeled away to reveal the old synthetic plating beneath. A broken light flickered weakly above the doorway, casting intermittent shadows across the rusted sign overhead. The sign read, in faded, chipped blue lettering: NASA. The word alone made my stomach tighten. It was something I hadn’t seen in ages, something that belonged to the ancient myths of old Earth—a time when humans still looked to the stars as dreamers, not conquerors. Emily’s hand gripped my arm tighter as we all entered the decrepit chamber. Even Samuel paused for a brief second at the threshold, as if the name itself carried weight. Inside, the lab was a tomb of humanity’s past. Rows of shattered glass tanks lined both sides of the massive room, their contents preserved in pools of formaldehyde that had turned murky and dark over the centuries. The stench was overwhelming—chemical, rot, and something else beneath it. Something that still lived. In the first tank to our left, a primitive Shark Person floated eerily still. It was unlike the evolved ones we had fought—it was smaller, hunched, its body covered in rough, sandpapery skin that had lost most of its color. The creature’s once-bright eyes were now clouded over like pale stones, and its gills had long dried and shriveled. Its mouth hung open in a silent scream, exposing jagged teeth that seemed to glint faintly under the flickering light. Dozens more tanks lined the room—each one holding a creature just as disturbing. Some were missing limbs. Some had mechanical implants fused crudely into their spines. Some were so twisted and malformed they barely resembled living things at all. At the center of the lab stood a corroded steel table, and upon it lay the decomposing body of another experiment. Tubes and wires still clung to its ribs like vines. The flesh was leathery, dark brown, and splitting apart, exposing the bone beneath. The entire sight looked as if time itself had tried to erase the evidence, but failed. Emily covered her nose. “God…” she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling. I stepped closer, trying to process the horror, when something else caught my eye—another row of tanks, far in the back of the lab, still faintly powered. Inside them floated strange, suspended forms that churned slowly in the greenish liquid. I moved toward them, my boots squelching in the damp grime coating the floor. As I approached, the forms became clearer. They weren’t just Shark People. They were hybrids. In one tank, a half-human, half-shark creature floated upright, its human torso fused into a gray, finned lower body. Its face was eerily familiar—human features stretched over an aquatic frame, with teeth like knives. The next tank held a Wulver-Shark hybrid, its fur matted and floating in strands, its muzzle reshaped into a snout full of serrated teeth. Beside it was an Elf-Shark, its long ears warped into fins, its once-beautiful face distorted by gills and scales. And further down the row—a Crimmseed-Shark, pulsating faintly within the fluid, its skin shifting colors like oil on water. The realization hit me like a blow. This wasn’t random. These were cross-breeds. I turned sharply toward Samuel. “What the hell is this place?” I demanded. My voice echoed through the decayed chamber, bouncing off the tanks. Samuel stood silent for a moment, the orange light from the broken bulbs painting his face in a somber glow. Finally, he spoke. “This,” he said, his voice slow, heavy with meaning. “This is our history.” He stepped forward, his armored boots clicking softly on the cracked floor. “You see, once Earth recovered from the Age of Uncertainty, Earth’s humans looked to the stars for a sense of purpose. They were determined to get to this specific world after acquiring samples from its long-gone inhabitants. The ‘Shark People.’” I frowned. “Why?” Samuel turned, his gaze fixed on the murky tank beside him where a half-dissolved creature floated. “Because they were seeking a way to cure aging,” he said. “And to create bodies better suited to conquering space and the planets that inhabit it.” He gestured around the room with an open hand. “They succeeded. That’s how we can regrow teeth, not age, grow adults in labs, make hybrid species like you. We have a second stomach to burn waste. We built numerous worlds and civilizations from scratch. All thanks to the Shark People and their genetic code.” His words hung in the cold air, and I felt a chill trace my spine. The Shark People—the same creatures we’d been at war with—were not alien to us at all. They were our origin. I swallowed, my throat dry. “Then what happened to the Shark People? And who built this ancient underground city?” Samuel’s helmeted head turned toward me. His voice softened. “The Shark People left this already habitable planet on their own accord,” he said. “As for who built this ancient derelict underground metropolis…” He paused, looking up at the cracked dome above us, where faint blue veins of energy glowed like constellations. “I’ve got no clue. Maybe it was aliens. But do you see why we guard this place?” “Yes,” I replied quietly. For a moment, no one spoke. The sound of dripping formaldehyde and the low hum of the last surviving machines filled the void between us. Then another question came to me, one that had been gnawing at my mind since the moment I saw the NASA sign. “Are you people descendants of some sort of military branch… from Earth?” Samuel took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said finally. “And the reason why people went crazy was due to interference with our communication systems across planetary colonies. Everyone was on their own for a century. Once we invented better communication, we started to regain a connection between colonies.” He walked slowly past the tanks as he spoke, his voice carrying a weary tone that hinted at centuries of burden. “Although, some worlds wanted to be part of their own galactic empire, which caused the war between two radical factions.” He stopped and turned back toward us. “We left the scene, disguised ourselves as Rus Vikings, and we swore to protect this history from anyone or anything.” His voice grew softer now, almost mournful. “It’s kind of sad that we created all of this,” he said, gesturing to the ruined lab, the tanks, the monsters born of human ambition. “And we still choose to kill each other. I guess that’s the nature of our reality.” The silence that followed was heavy. The fluorescent light above us flickered one last time and went out, leaving us in dim, reddish darkness. Only the faint bioluminescence of the old tanks gave the room its sickly glow, illuminating the faces of the beings who were half our ancestors, half our sins. Emily reached for my hand, and I held it tightly. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t know whether to feel awe, horror, or guilt. Because standing in that NASA lab, surrounded by the ghosts of humanity’s own creation, I finally understood— We weren't just fighting aliens or demons. We were fighting the consequences of ourselves. Samuel’s wrist gauntlet suddenly crackled with a sharp tone that echoed throughout the ancient NASA chamber. The eerie hum of old machinery was drowned out by a metallic chime, and a thin red holographic light projected upward from his wrist. The light shimmered into focus, forming the sharp, battle-worn face of Alexandria Octavia. Her holographic armor glowed crimson, static washing over her image as if even the signal itself trembled under tension. Samuel raised his wrist closer. “Alexandria, what is it?” he asked, his voice calm but low, the tone of a man expecting bad news. The hologram flickered, and Alexandria’s voice came through—strained, her breathing rapid. “Khamzat brought back a survivor who became possessed,” she said quickly. “She’s killed her way down into your location.” For a moment, silence reigned in the lab. Even the dull hum of the ancient systems seemed to stop, as though the entire underground world was holding its breath. Samuel’s eyes widened. “Can you send warriors down here?” he demanded. Alexandria’s red projection shook her head, the static deepening. “She cut the cables to the first elevator shaft,” she said grimly. “Nobody’s getting in or out until she’s dealt with.” The hologram blinked out. A faint hiss followed, and then the gauntlet dimmed to black. I exhaled slowly, already feeling the tension pulse through the air. Without hesitation, I powered on my armor, the nanites on my chest igniting with a red ripple that spread across my entire body. The black graphene plates shimmered as they locked into place with a low mechanical hiss. Emily did the same beside me, her black and white leather jumpsuit transforming as her armor’s digital filaments activated, forming sleek plating that glowed faintly along her limbs. Around us, the others followed suit. Sigvard and his two Troll guards—already clad in crude yet heavy armor—stood ready, though they had no weapons. I pulled two spare plasma knives from my belt and tossed them their way. “Take these,” I said. “They’ll do the job.” Droid L-84’s chest emitted a sharp mechanical hum as his internal weapons deployed from hidden compartments in his forearms, locking with metallic precision. The rest of my Immortal companions—Anisia, Rick, Mathew, Cole, Pete, Elizabeth, Hanna, and Jimmy—raised their hands, and in a series of glowing bursts, their swords materialized, formed entirely from their spiritual essence. The blades shimmered with radiant red. The air in the lab grew heavier, electric, as if even the forgotten machines could sense the coming storm. Samuel looked at me, his amber eyes glowing faintly through the visor of his helmet. “Going somewhere?” he asked. “Emily and I will go and kill this demon,” I said firmly. “The rest will stay here and guard you—and this lovely establishment.” Samuel tilted his head slightly, half skeptical, half impressed. “How can I be sure of your success?” I smirked beneath my visor. “Don’t worry, demons are our specialty.” Emily turned her helmet toward me. Her voice came through my comm link, slightly distorted but teasing. “Seriously? A lost media reference?” I grinned. “Let’s go.” Together, Emily and I rushed out of the dilapidated NASA lab, our boots echoing down the steel corridors as alarms began to pulse faintly through the underground city. We entered the vast chamber once more, where the massive alien statues loomed like silent witnesses. Their tentacled visages stared down at us, illuminated by the crimson glow of the emergency lights. The only functioning elevator was at the far end of the chamber. We sprinted toward it, and the doors hissed open with a metallic groan. Once inside, the elevator ascended smoothly, the old gears whining as the digital screen flickered to life. Through the transparent floor panels, we could see the vast ancient city below—black stone bathed in red and blue ambient light. The deeper chambers pulsed faintly, as though the city itself still lived and breathed beneath us. As the elevator stopped on the first level of the underground metropolis, the doors parted, and a rush of humid air hit us. We were inside the Rus Viking Laboratory, its interior far newer than the ruins below. The walls gleamed faintly, though cracks and signs of stress had begun to show. The facility was under lockdown—the main blast doors sealed, lights flashing red in warning. Scientists and engineers ducked behind workstations, clutching datapads, their wide eyes following us as we passed. “Stay down!” I barked. “You’ll only get in the way!” They obeyed without hesitation. We continued through the final sliding door, stepping back into the open expanse of the underground metropolis. Even now, I couldn’t help but marvel at it. The ceiling stretched miles above us, an artificial sky of dark steel and holographic light. Streams of artificial rain fell from hidden vents, hitting the black stone roads and sending a misty sheen across the glowing streets. Massive towers, ancient and new, rose like titans into the cavernous space, their red and blue lights flickering through the haze. Emily’s voice cut through the comms. “This twat could be anywhere.” I scanned the distance. And then, through the veil of rain, I saw movement—a figure standing just beyond the flickering glow of the nearest holo-streetlamp. “Wait…” I muttered. Emily squinted through her visor, then sighed. “Oh, false alarm.” She began to lower her red energy sword, but something inside me stirred. Instinct. “Wait.” I raised my hand to stop her, then called out, “Hailey? How did you get here, Hailey?” At first, she didn’t answer. She just stood there, trembling, her hair soaked, her skin pale under the orange glow. Then her head twitched. Once. Twice. And her voice came out—distorted, broken— like several voices layered over one another. “You lied to me, Will!” she screamed. Her body began to convulse violently. “You lied to me, Will!” The words echoed across the cavern, the sound bouncing off the stone walls until it felt as if a hundred Haileys were screaming at once. Then she stopped shaking, her body going still. Slowly, she turned toward us and gave the most uncanny grin I had ever seen—so wide it looked unnatural. Her eyes turned black, and a chilling calm washed over her voice as she said, “Maladrie showed me the truth.” And then it began. Hailey’s skin rippled as though something were crawling beneath it. Her veins pulsed black, spreading like spiderwebs beneath her flesh. In seconds, her skin turned orange, her shoulders cracking as wings erupted from her back in a shower of blood and flame. The ground beneath her burned in circular patterns, ancient demonic runes glowing red-hot. She laughed—a sound that was not her own. Then she manifested a flaming sword, its blade wreathed in molten energy. I tightened my grip on Revenge, my chainsword roaring to life, its serrated teeth spinning in a shrieking hum. Emily ignited her red energy sword beside me, her armor’s lights flaring to full power. The battle began. Hailey lunged with inhuman speed, wings slicing through the air. Sparks flew as her flaming blade clashed against mine, the shockwave cracking the ground beneath our feet. Emily leapt into the fray, striking from the side, her blade cutting across Hailey’s wing. The demonette screamed, retaliating with a fiery arc that nearly cleaved through my chestplate. She laughed again, her voice half Hailey, half Maladrie. “I can’t believe you let my sister die!” Her rage made her faster, more feral—but her movements were wild. I parried a strike, spun under her next swing, and slammed Revenge deep into her chest cavity. The chainsword screamed as it tore through armor, flesh, and bone. The fire around her extinguished in an instant. Hailey’s demonic form shuddered, until a faint purple ball of energy hovering above her corpse. It pulsed like a dying star. Then, without warning, a blinding beam of violet light shot upward, piercing the roof of the underground city and vanishing into the cosmos. And then there was silence. Emily stood beside me, her chest heaving. The rain hissed softly as it fell around the fading embers of the now vanished purple orb. Hailey’s demonic corpse just laid there to rot. We had done it. We’d guarded the portal—stopped whatever Maladrie had sent after us. How could Maladrie turn people into physical demons within the confines of reality itself—just by will alone? That question lingered like smoke in the dark. And somehow, deep down, I knew the answer would be worse than the war we were already fighting. After that battle, Emily and I were somewhere else—still on Skogheim, but far from the burning depths below. The sound of rain and distant thunder replaced the echoes of chains and war cries. We were now above ground, in the quiet heart of the Rus Viking capital. Our quarters were luxurious by their standards: smooth metal walls engraved with Nordic runes, softly pulsing with gold light, and a panoramic window that looked out over the city of Skogheim and the endless wilderness beyond. Far below, faint rivers of molten energy traced through the streets like veins of light. The towers gleamed against the pale sky, and far on the horizon, the silver outline of a mountain fortress rose like a monolith. For the first time in what felt like weeks, the world was still. We had been ordered to rest until Alexandria, Samuel, and Khamzat decided what to do with us next. There were no alarms, no enemies, no screams—just the sound of machinery humming faintly beneath the floor and the steady rhythm of the alien rain outside. I lay back on the bed—its surface strangely warm, as though it were alive, responding to my pulse. My armor was stacked neatly beside the wall, and my sword Revenge rested on the table. Then, the door to the shower chamber slid open with a soft hiss of steam. Emily stepped out, droplets of water still glistening on her skin. She was dressed in a sleek black leather bikini, more sexual than functional—thin lines of circuitry ran across it like glowing tattoos, and her thigh-high boots gleamed beneath the soft light. Her dark hair fell freely across her shoulders, and she’d placed a pair of small horn adornments above her temples—clearly synthetic, part of some personal joke or ritual. She looked at me with that familiar, mischievous glint in her eyes. I frowned slightly, half amused, half confused. “What are you doing, Emily?” I asked. She smiled faintly, her voice low and calm. “I’m trying to fix you.” Her words hung in the air. Before I could respond, she walked closer and pressed her forehead gently to mine. The lights in the room dimmed, and a strange vibration coursed through the air. The world seemed to dissolve into energy. A warmth began to spread between us—something ancient, older than the both of us, neither physical nor purely emotional. It was like a circuit connecting two broken machines. The glow started from the center of our bodies—at the core of our beings—and spread outward. A bright orange light radiated from our midsections, pulsing in rhythm with our hearts. It wasn’t just passion—it was also energy, life-force, a merging of fractured sex chakras trying to become whole again. The glow expanded until it illuminated the entire room, casting amber reflections on the walls and ceiling. It moved upward, through our chests, through our throats as we copulated, until even our eyes began to glow, burning softly like twin suns. I felt my entire body tremble as waves of energy coursed through me, not burning, but purging—washing away layers of old emotion, pain, and desire. In that moment, all the restless hunger I’d carried through battles and nightmares began to fade. The lust for bad women, all of it drained from me as though being pulled out by Emily’s sexual energy. What replaced it wasn’t emptiness, but calm—an unshakable peace I hadn’t known in years. I was finally satisfied with the sexy elven woman I already have. Emily’s hand remained on my chest as she whispered something I couldn’t quite hear—a blessing, a promise, or maybe just a sigh. The glow began to fade, the energy dispersing like dust on a solar wind. The light dimmed until only the faint blue illumination of Skogheim remained beyond the window. When the silence returned, I lay still, breathing slowly, the warmth still lingering in my veins. I felt different—lighter, clear, as if something long corrupted had finally been purified, sexually. Emily laid beside me, her expression soft and knowing. Outside, the wind swept across the alpine forest, the city towers, and somewhere far below, the ancient machines of the Rus Vikings hummed on, unaware that in one quiet room above them, something sacred had just awakened. CHAPTER 26: "CUTTING TIES" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

By William Warner CHAPTER 25: "SEVERANCE" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" Serenity and Beelzebub trudged through the wheat field, the air still thick with the residual haze from the explosion that had consumed Maladrie’s fortress. The orange hue of the sky shimmered faintly above them, filtered through clouds of dust and drifting ash. Between them, Haj Tooth’s weight pressed heavy, her armor slick with dark, coagulated blood that shimmered like oil in the dim light. Each step was labored, her breaths uneven and shallow. Ahead, the Shark People’s Hive Fleet loomed like a wall of metal and bone—hundreds of living ships resting silently above the wheat fields. Their hulls pulsed faintly, as though alive, their bio-mechanical forms breathing in unison. Despite the chaos that had erupted only hours earlier, the fleet stood untouched—guarding the entrance to the cave nestled beneath the largest of the petrified roots. “Let’s get her inside,” said Beelzebub, his tone firm yet tinged with urgency. Together, the two carried Haj Tooth down the slope leading into the cave. As they crossed the threshold, the harsh orange light of the surface gave way to an ethereal glow. Bioluminescent flora clung to the walls like veins of living sapphire, casting the subterranean chamber in a ghostly blue-green light. The air was warm and moist, filled with the hum of life—a stark contrast to the death and ruin outside. The deeper they went, the more vibrant the scene became. The interior of the cavern opened into a subterranean garden that stretched for hundreds of meters. Alien flowers bloomed from stone, their petals shaped like crystalline fans. Water trickled through translucent vines, collecting into clear pools surrounded by smooth stones. Wasp humanoids—Beelzebub’s kin—moved methodically among the flora, tending to the plants with reverence and guarding the chamber’s sacred calm. But that calm fractured as soon as they saw Haj Tooth. The Shark warriors who had accompanied Serenity before—the same ones loyal to Haj Tooth—stood from their stations in alarm. Their eyes, normally glowing with tranquil bio-luminescence, flared bright with concern. One of them let out a guttural growl that echoed softly through the cavern. The hive murmured in anxious tones as Serenity and Beelzebub carried their wounded leader toward the back of the cave. At the heart of the chamber stood a flat stone table—ancient and smoothed by time. Serenity recognized it immediately. It was the same place where Beelzebub had once healed me. The memory felt haunting now. They laid Haj Tooth gently upon the cold surface. Her breathing was faint, her gills fluttering weakly against her neck as blood trickled down into the creases of her armor. Serenity powered down her armor, and decided to power down Haj Tooth’s as well. Obviously it was necessary for this medical procedure. Beelzebub immediately went to work, his many hands moving with frantic precision. He rummaged through rows of glass jars filled with strange glowing liquids and powders—an alien apothecary assembled from the Hive’s centuries of collected medicine. He found a jar filled with shimmering green paste, popped the lid, and began applying it to the open wounds along Haj Tooth’s torso and neck. The substance hissed faintly as it made contact with her skin. Serenity leaned closer, frowning. The blood didn’t stop. It seeped through the paste in small rivers, glistening black under the chamber’s dim light. “I don’t think this is working! We need to stop the bleeding and sew her up!” she said, her voice tight with worry. Beelzebub didn’t hesitate. “The paste is a disinfectant, but I agree!” He tossed her a packet of sterile stitching cords, and together they worked quickly. Serenity pressed a glowing medical clamp to the wound to stem the bleeding while Beelzebub threaded a surgical needle crafted from crystalline resin. Their hands worked in harmony—Serenity cleaning and closing wounds while Beelzebub sealed each stitch with a flash of bioplasmic resin. Minutes passed in tense silence except for Haj Tooth’s weak gasps and the faint hum of the wasp guardians watching nearby. Finally, when the last wound was closed, Serenity brushed a strand of damp hair from Haj Tooth’s face. She noticed then how hot the shark warrior’s skin had become. When she laid her palm against Haj Tooth’s hammerhead crown, it was scorching. “She needs something for her fever—like an antibiotic,” Serenity said, looking up. Beelzebub rummaged through a row of canisters before handing her a small metallic pill. “This should work. It’s synthesized from our Hive nectar—stronger than anything humans make.” Serenity nodded, kneeling beside Haj Tooth. The Shark Queen’s breathing was shallow, her eyelids half open, consciousness flickering like a dying flame. Her anatomy, while alien, mirrored human structure enough that Serenity could understand what to do. She cupped Haj Tooth’s lower jaw, tilting her head slightly back. “Come on, stay with me,” Serenity whispered. She placed the pill into Haj Tooth’s mouth, then lifted a small vial of purified water to her lips. Gently, she helped her swallow. Haj Tooth coughed once, but the pill went down. A few moments later, her breathing began to steady—still weak, but consistent. Serenity let out a slow breath of relief. She reached for a nearby cushion made of woven seaweed fiber and slipped it beneath Haj Tooth’s head, adjusting her so she could rest comfortably. Beelzebub stepped closer, his wings folding against his back as he observed their patient. His compound eyes flickered in shifting colors of concern and thought. “She’ll live,” he said softly, though his tone carried the weight of uncertainty. “But she needs rest. Deep rest.” Serenity nodded, brushing her fingers across Haj Tooth’s scaled hand. “Then we’ll let her rest.” Beelzebub placed a hand on Serenity’s shoulder, his expression grave but steady. “You did well. Both of you did.” Serenity took a deep breath, glancing toward the cave’s entrance where the light of the wheat field glowed faintly beyond the vines. The war still lingered outside, and yet, in this hidden sanctuary, there was an uneasy stillness. “I’m going to go and send a message to William,” she said finally, her voice quiet but resolute. “To fill him in on what’s happening.” Beelzebub nodded once. “I’ll stay here. I’ll watch over her.” Serenity lingered for a moment, her gaze fixed on Haj Tooth’s resting form, the leader who had risked everything to destroy Maladrie’s abominations. Then she turned toward the mouth of the cavern, her armor glinting faintly as she disappeared into the glow beyond—leaving Beelzebub and the quiet hum of the subterranean hive to guard the fallen queen. Outside the cavern, the air shimmered faintly under the artificial orange sky of the Wraith. The massive silhouette of the Shark People’s flagship, the Nautilus Ascended, loomed like a sleeping beast among the windswept fields of golden wheat. Its plated hull still dripped with oceanic condensation, the scent of brine mixing with the Wraith’s metallic air. The fields bowed gently against the distant hum of its engines, which pulsed like the heartbeat of a giant. Serenity ascended the ramp leading into the ship’s main access bay—her boots echoing against the metallic floor as the interior lights flickered to life, responding to her biosignature. Inside, the corridors were sleek and cold, a blend of alien architecture and Biomechanical engineering. Thin veins of green light pulsed through the walls like arteries, carrying energy from the ship’s living core. She moved through the vessel’s labyrinth of metallic passages until she reached the communications bridge, a circular chamber filled with holographic orbs, scanners, and quantum relays. The transparent viewport displayed a haunting panorama of the wheat plains below and the cave entrance in the distance, guarded by faint silhouettes of wasp-like sentinels. Serenity sat before the main communication terminal, a black crystalline surface that awakened at her touch. A dozen holographic runes appeared midair, rotating gently as the system came online. She adjusted a small dial on her gauntlet and initiated the dimensional communication link. Static washed over the interface—lines of interference rippling across the hologram as the connection struggled to bridge realities. She frowned. “Come on…” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. The system beeped in denial, and the link failed to stabilize. She exhaled deeply and switched tactics. Instead of a live transmission, she composed a holographic message, her face shimmering within the translucent sphere. Her tone softened, though the exhaustion in her eyes betrayed her composure. “Hello William,” she began, her voice carrying the low hum of the ship around her. “We’ve reached the Wraith and infiltrated Maladrie’s Dark Castle. I think it’s best to tell Hailey to let go of her sister Page. Sorry... There were also very few Demon Warriors guarding the exterior of the castle. We managed to slip in explosives and escape unseen, but at the cost of getting Haj Tooth injured. Lastly, I’d like to know how long we’re forced to stay here. Nothing else is happening—which is weird. I also found Maladrie’s strange journal and will send digital copies of them. Bye.” Her words lingered in the air for a few seconds before dissolving into streams of light that uploaded themselves into the device. She hesitated before pressing send, her hand hovering as if expecting the hologram to flicker back with a familiar voice—mine. But there was only silence. No pulse of acknowledgment. No echo through the void. Serenity’s expression hardened. She finally pressed the button. The sphere dimmed and folded into the terminal with a soft chime, sending the message across dimensions through layers of subspace. The room fell eerily quiet, save for the soft mechanical rhythm of the ship breathing. She leaned back in the chair, staring at the reflection of her own face in the glass—eyes illuminated by the distant shimmer of the nebula. The faint hum of the ship filled the air, like an echo of something alive, something aware. She knew the message would find me, even if the distance between galaxies and realms made such communication nearly impossible. Once she was certain the data was transmitting, Serenity powered down the terminal. The crystalline panel dimmed, the room returning to its shadowed calm. She stood and activated the wrist gauntlet strapped over her black leather glove. The device emitted a faint turquoise glow, and she retrieved a bundle of parchment-like sheets from her belt pouch—the disturbing pages of Maladrie’s journal. Each page was etched in ink that writhed faintly when exposed to light, as if alive. Serenity scanned each one carefully. Her gauntlet projected shimmering digital copies, translating the runic scrawls into readable code. The air shimmered with holographic text as strange words scrolled upward like whispering smoke. Some pages showed diagrams—half anatomical, half arcane—depictions of experiments that blended flesh and machine, demon and human. Others revealed cryptic entries of Maladrie’s obsession with “the reversal of souls” and “the final ascension of the flesh.” When Serenity finished scanning the last page, her gauntlet emitted a soft tone, confirming that the files had been encrypted and transmitted. She exhaled through her nose, lowering the device and watching the holographic lights fade. “That’s it,” she whispered to herself. “Let’s hope it reaches him.” She glanced once more at the viewport. The wheat fields outside glowed faintly, illuminated by the vessel’s underbelly lights. In the distance, she could just make out the entrance to the cave—a soft orange flicker indicating the torches of Beelzebub’s sentinels. Serenity made her way out of the bridge, the automatic doors hissing open. Her reflection passed through streaks of blue light as she walked down the corridor. The sound of her boots echoed against the metallic floor until the artificial hum of the ship’s systems faded behind her. Outside, Serenity paused for a moment at the base of the ship’s ramp, breathing in the metallic scent of the alien wind. Her white & black leather jumpsuit gleamed softly beneath the sky’s orange color. Then, without hesitation, she began the trek back toward the cavern, her silhouette gliding through the swaying golden grass. The ship’s lights dimmed behind her, and the wheat parted gently as she passed, whispering like ghosts of the past. Ahead, the mouth of the cavern glowed faintly with bioluminescent moss and the movement of insectoid sentinels. When she entered the cavern again, the air grew warmer—filled with the faint hum of the subterranean garden, its vines glowing with their internal light. Serenity’s pace slowed. She looked around, taking in the intricate hive structures that lined the walls and the faint sound of wings deeper within. Somewhere in that labyrinth of tunnels, Beelzebub tended to Haj Tooth’s recovery. Once Serenity returned to the cavern, she was greeted not by calm or rest—but by a wave of chaos that shattered the silence. The once-glowing subterranean garden flickered dimly as the wasp sentinels and Shark warriors gathered in alarm around the stone table. Haj Tooth, who only moments ago had been resting peacefully beneath the bio-lights, suddenly arched her back in violent convulsions. The stone beneath her vibrated under the strength of her spasms. Serenity sprinted across the uneven floor, her boots echoing sharply in the hollowed chamber. “Haj Tooth!” she shouted, her voice trembling as she reached the table. Haj Tooth’s gills flared wide and her sharp teeth clenched tight as blood began to bubble from her mouth, dripping in crimson streaks down her armor. Serenity grabbed her friend’s trembling hand, trying to steady her, the metallic scent of blood filling the humid air. “Beelzebub, help!” she yelled, panic breaking through her normally calm tone. Beelzebub rushed over, his expression shifting from confusion to dread as he saw the blood staining the table. “She may have an infection!” he barked, already tearing open a small canister of nanobot paste. His voice carried across the cavern, silencing the low murmurs of the Shark people who were beginning to gather. But it was too late. Haj Tooth’s eyes rolled back, her breathing grew shallow, and the movement beneath her skin began to slow. Serenity pressed her hand against Haj Tooth’s chest, feeling for a pulse that no longer beat. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “No… no, please.” Beelzebub froze where he stood, the canister slipping from his claws and shattering on the cavern floor, its contents oozing like quicksilver. He stared in disbelief as Haj Tooth’s head fell sideways, her gills going still. Serenity felt the last tension in Haj Tooth’s hand fade—the hand that had once wielded a hammer with unstoppable fury, that had torn through enemy lines, that had held the strength of a leader. Now, it was limp in Serenity’s grasp. A silence spread through the chamber like a suffocating fog. The Shark people, who had watched their leader fight and bleed beside them, lowered their heads in mourning. Even the bioluminescent plants dimmed, their faint glow flickering as if acknowledging the loss. Serenity’s tears fell freely, streaking down her pale cheeks as she leaned over Haj Tooth’s body. “You didn’t deserve this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She brushed the damp medical paste from Haj Tooth’s face, her gloved fingers trembling. Beelzebub took a step back, his head lowering in shame. His mandibles clicked softly in frustration. He had done everything he could—every salve, every mixture, every ancient treatment he knew—and still, his efforts had failed. His claws clenched tight as he muttered to himself, the guilt clear in his tone. Around them, the Shark warriors began to kneel one by one, their heads bowed. Some placed their weapons on the ground as a sign of respect. The sound of dripping water from the cavern roof was the only thing that broke the quiet. Serenity’s sobs echoed softly through the chamber. Beelzebub turned away, hiding his expression, though his trembling shoulders betrayed him. In that dimly lit cavern, among roots turned to stone and gardens that glowed faintly beneath alien soil, a legend had died—and the weight of her passing pressed down on them all. There wasn’t time for sorrow—no time even to breathe. The cavern walls trembled with a deep, booming force that rippled through the ground like a shockwave. Serenity’s tears had barely dried when the stone beneath her boots cracked, sending small fragments tumbling from the ceiling. A low rumble turned into a deafening quake. “What’s happening?!” one of the Shark warriors shouted. Beelzebub’s antennae twitched, his multifaceted eyes widening. “Something’s outside,” he hissed, wings buzzing in agitation. Without hesitation, Serenity grabbed her sword and sprinted toward the exit, her black hair whipping behind her as the other warriors followed. When she burst out into the open wheat field, her heart dropped. The horizon burned red. The once calm amber fields now blazed with flames as a massive demon legion marched forward, the ground shaking beneath their advance. At their front were towering Demon Warriors clad in molten armor, flanked by slithering Demonettes with elongated claws and glowing eyes. But what made Serenity’s blood run cold was who stood among them—Deathskull, the golden terminator droid who had once led the Vikingnar Empire, and beside him, Anubis, his tall jackal form illuminated in the orange light. Behind them, a line of Jackal humanoid warriors in rustic Brass armor advanced in perfect unison. Intermixed with them were legions of Deathskull’s droids, their metallic forms reflecting the hellish glow of the sky. The mechanical precision of the droids and the chaotic fury of the demons made the force look unstoppable. At the center of their formation, a massive laser cannon was being calibrated, its barrel pulsing with crimson energy. The cannon fired again, the sound like thunder ripping through space. The beam struck the ground near the cavern’s entrance, erupting into a geyser of molten earth and smoke. Serenity raised her arm to shield her face from the blast. “Everyone take cover!” she shouted, diving behind a jagged stone outcrop. Beelzebub followed, crouching beside her as the second beam carved a smoking crater nearby. “Alright everyone, get into formation!” Serenity commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos. She turned to Beelzebub, her blue eyes glowing fiercely beneath the reflection of the fires. “Do you have any energy shields?!” Beelzebub nodded sharply. “Yes—get them up! Hurry, and get all of the warriors out as well!” he barked at two of his wasp guards. The guards saluted, wings buzzing as they darted back into the cavern. Within moments, a hum filled the air as a translucent dome began to shimmer to life around the battlefield. The energy shield pulsed with a bright azure glow, forming a barrier between Serenity’s forces and the incoming legion. Serenity activated her armor. Her chest medallion glowed crimson as a surge of nanobots poured across her body, solidifying into silver graphene Viking armor streaked with red energy veins. The plates locked together with metallic precision, forming a sleek yet battle-hardened appearance. She drew her red energy sword, its blade humming as it ignited to life. The ground glowed beneath its heat. Beside her, Beelzebub extended his corbin, its head sparking with blue plasma. Behind them, ranks of Shark warriors emerged from the cavern, their luminescent armor glinting under the fiery skies. Their weapons—tridents, spears, and rifles—charged with electric blue energy. The Wasp humanoids joined them, hovering above with mechanical wings and plasma rifles aimed downward. The energy shield flickered as another laser hit, but it held firm. Beelzebub roared over the noise, “Shields stable!” Then came the sound—a roar that split the heavens. Everyone looked up. Out of the orange mist of the Wraith sky, the Golden Dragon descended. Its scales shimmered like molten gold, and its wings stretched wide enough to blot out the sun. With a deafening screech, it dove down through the clouds, flames rippling from its throat. It unleashed a torrent of fire that swept across the advancing demon horde, incinerating dozens of Demon Warriors in a single blast. The force of the firestorm threw bodies through the air, scattering molten armor and ash across the wheat field. “The River Guardian!” one of the Shark soldiers cried out. The Dragon’s golden eyes gleamed as it circled above, roaring again. But even its fury couldn’t stop what came next—the legion answered back. From within the ranks, Maladrie herself emerged, surrounded by twisted Demonettes that danced around her like living shadows. Her gaze was cold, her armor black as obsidian, etched with pulsating red runes. The moment her hand lifted, the demon army surged forward. The warriors roared in response, their unified shout echoing across the Wraith’s hellish plain. Energy blades clashed, tridents pierced through demon hides, and plasma bolts streaked through the smoke-filled air. The field erupted into chaos—steel and fire, wings and claws, blood and ash. The Golden Dragon swooped again, raking through the air with a sonic boom as it bathed another legion in flames. The Shark people fought fiercely under its shadow, while the Wasp humanoids strafed the enemy from above, leaving trails of blue light in the haze. Serenity and Beelzebub charged side by side into the fray. She struck down a Demon Warrior with a clean slash of her energy sword, the blade cutting through armor like liquid light. Beelzebub impaled another with his corbin, twisting the weapon before discharging a blast of plasma that vaporized the creature entirely. Overhead, Deathskull’s golden frame glinted as he marched through the ranks, leading the droids with mechanical precision. His red optics flared as he raised his plasma rifle and began returning fire at the shielded defenders. And with that, she charged forward through the storm of fire and light as the Battle of the Wraith Plains truly began—an all-out war of gods, machines, demons, and warriors under the burning orange skies of the damned. As the battle raged under the orange skies of the Wraith, fire and blood mingled with the burning sands. Serenity’s blade was a red arc in the chaos—cutting through the smoky haze, slicing down Demonic warriors that lunged toward her. Explosions echoed across the field, and the ground quaked under the weight of fallen beasts and shattered mechs. Through the wall of flame ahead, a dark figure emerged—her presence alone enough to make even the bravest soldiers hesitate. Maladrie. Her obsidian-black hair flowed wildly in the heated wind. Her eyes glowed like twin suns bleeding fury, and her body was draped in skin-tight black leather garments, slick as oil and stitched with glowing crimson veins. The garments provided no armor, but the raw energy pulsing beneath her skin made her almost invincible. “Did you think you could come into my home and defile my father’s corpse?” Maladrie hissed, her voice venomous and echoing through the battlefield like a curse. Serenity froze where she stood, the words slicing through her thoughts like daggers. Her helmet concealed her face, making her unreadable—a faceless knight of vengeance. Then Maladrie lunged. Their swords clashed with a metallic shriek that sent sparks flying. Serenity blocked the first strike, twisted, and retaliated with a horizontal slash that grazed Maladrie’s side. The wound sizzled—but almost instantly healed, the torn flesh sealing shut with a hiss of black smoke. Maladrie smirked. “You think pain can stop a goddess?” Serenity didn’t answer. She stepped forward, thrusting her blade toward Maladrie’s chest. Maladrie parried, their blades locking as they pushed against each other, metal grinding between their armored hands. Serenity kicked Maladrie backward, only for the demoness to flip in midair and land in a crouch, snarling. The two circled each other like predators, fire reflecting off Serenity’s silver graphene armor and Maladrie’s slick black leather. Serenity struck again, fast and precise—her sword slicing through the air with red light. Maladrie ducked, then swung upward, her own demonic blade humming with dark energy. The strike missed Serenity’s throat by inches. They exchanged blows in a dizzying blur—metal clanging, sparks bursting, their footsteps echoing on the cracked ground. Every time Serenity’s sword found flesh, Maladrie’s body regenerated, each wound sealing as if time itself bent to her will. Despite the armor’s durability, Serenity was tiring. Her movements slowed, her breathing heavy beneath the helmet. Maladrie’s laughter echoed—mocking, sharp. “You’re strong, mortal, but strength means nothing against divinity.” Serenity pushed forward one last time, slashing diagonally across Maladrie’s chest. The demon goddess stumbled back—then countered with a vicious leg kick that swept Serenity off her feet. The two fell together, rolling through dirt and ash. Serenity gasped for air, armor plates shifting under her weight. Maladrie sat up first, her eyes narrowing. She raised two fingers to her lips and whistled sharply, the sound slicing through the battlefield. In the distance, Deathskull—the golden terminator droid—paused mid-command. His red optics glowed as Maladrie yelled, her voice echoing across the plain: “Time to get out our experimental weapon!” Deathskull’s voice boomed back, flat and mechanical: “It’s only going to slow her down, not kill her.” “That’s the point, idiot machine! Now go!” Maladrie barked. Within moments, the battlefield shifted. The smoke parted as Deathskull approached, accompanied by two towering Incubi—Hassan and Zach Carpon. Both wore heavy metal backpacks connected to strange, oversized guns with glowing orange coils. Steam hissed from the weapons as they powered up. “Fire,” Deathskull commanded. The weapons roared to life, unleashing streams of orange plasma that tore through the air. Serenity barely managed to raise her sword to block the onslaught, but the plasma wasn’t ordinary—it splashed against her armor like liquid fire, dissolving the graphene plating back into its nanobot form, which retreated in a cloud of molten silver dust. The heat scorched her exposed neck. Serenity screamed as the plasma ate through her suit’s shielding, her energy systems flickering. She stumbled backward, her once-silver armor now reduced to fragments that crawled helplessly across her body. “Keep firing!” Maladrie shouted. Serenity fell to one knee, gasping for air. Around her, the Shark warriors lay in ruin—bodies charred, weapons broken, their glowing blue armor flickering out like dying stars. The battlefield that had once roared with life was now silent, save for the low hum of Deathskull’s weapons and the crackling of fire. Beelzebub, still alive but heavily wounded, called out from the distance: “All units, retreat back to the cavern! Now!” His remaining wasp humanoids obeyed, dragging injured comrades as they disappeared into the wheat field fog. Maladrie smirked, walking toward Serenity, whose sword trembled in her grip. Behind her, Hassan approached—tall, armored, and sneering. He looked down at Serenity’s weakened form and chuckled darkly. “So, when is this hag going to understand that I’m the only one who’s allowed to discipline my dogs?” Maladrie snarled, shoving him hard. “Beat it, jackass! My father’s corpse is more important than your beastly property! I’ll deal with her. And besides—” she leaned closer, her tone dripping with venom, “I castrated you. Remember?” Hassan stiffened, staring at her in fear, but eventually smirked, bowing mockingly. “I suppose you’re right, my lady. It’s your time to shine. I just worry those insects who retreated back into the cave will be an issue.” Maladrie’s red eyes glowed brighter, and she gave a cruel smile. “Don’t worry about them, they’re back to running.” Behind her, the smoke rose higher, swallowing the battlefield in a crimson fog as the last of Serenity’s allies vanished into the burning horizon. And there she lay—broken, weakened, but not defeated. Even as Maladrie’s shadow loomed over her, Serenity’s hand clenched tighter around her sword. A faint spark still glowed beneath the ashes. Beelzebub stood in the trembling orange gloom of the Wraith, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion, his leather armor slick with blood and ash. The cavern walls behind him pulsed faintly from the residual energy of the battle outside — a low hum that seemed to echo from the very bones of the dimension itself. The air was thick with smoke and ozone, the scent of burnt flesh and melted circuitry mingling with the faint, metallic tang of the river that ran beneath the roots of the ancient cavern. He turned, clutching his corbin with both hands, the weapon’s energy core flickering like a dying star. Outside the cavern, the battle was lost. Through the thick haze and drifting ash, he could just barely make out the sight of Serenity — her once-brilliant armor now cracked and flickering — being dragged away across the wheat fields. The orange sky above seemed to ripple like liquid fire, and beneath it, Maladrie’s demonic horde marched triumphantly, their black banners swaying in the sulfuric wind. Beelzebub’s throat tightened. He could still hear Serenity’s last scream echoing through the void, fading as the Demons disappeared into the lightless distance. The Shark People who remained lay in heaps of motionless scales and blood near the shield generator, their once-glistening fins now dulled by death. The wasp warriors, those who hadn’t been vaporized by plasma, twitched weakly where they’d fallen. He stumbled backward into the cavern, gripping his side where a shard of molten glass had embedded itself. His mind raced — grief, confusion, and fury colliding in a chaotic storm within him. The walls seemed to breathe; shadows lengthened unnaturally, curling like smoke. He stopped suddenly. Something was wrong. The stone table — the same cold slab where Haj Tooth’s lifeless body had rested — was empty. No blood. No remains. Not even a mark of where she had been. Beelzebub blinked, trying to steady his mind. Perhaps one of the Shark People moved her before dying? No… that couldn’t be. Every warrior was accounted for. The cavern was a tomb. Then, from the darkness beyond the energy crates and scattered debris, came a faint shimmer. Beelzebub turned sharply, raising his weapon, energy core humming again as he took aim. The shimmer took shape — the faint, translucent outline of a woman with webbed hands, shimmering silver eyes, and gills faintly glowing through her spectral form. Haj Tooth. He froze. His grip loosened on the corbin, his breathing ragged. She stepped forward, her voice soft yet resonant, echoing as though carried by the deep ocean itself. “Don’t worry,” she said calmly, her tone gentle yet commanding. “The Immortals will surely come to rescue their own.” Beelzebub’s mind reeled. Her lips didn’t quite move with her words — they rippled through the air like sonar. She looked peaceful, untouched by the torment of death that had wracked her mere moments ago. “Tell the other Immortals,” she continued, “or Vikings, that Maladrie no longer owns the Shark Hive.” Beelzebub’s eyes widened, confusion flashing across his face. “What—” he started, but the words caught in his throat. Haj Tooth simply gave him a faint smile — a soft, knowing one — and began to fade. Her form flickered like light refracting through water, growing dimmer until she vanished completely, leaving only the faint sound of waves echoing where none should exist. The silence afterward was deafening. Beelzebub stood frozen, staring at the empty space where her apparition had been. His pulse pounded in his ears, and the only sound left in the cavern was the steady drip of water from the stalactites above. The battle outside had gone quiet — too quiet. The demonic legions were gone. The Wraith’s skies had grown darker, pulsing with the energy of the rift that separated this realm from all others. His lips finally parted, his voice hoarse and low. “What the fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head slowly, “did I get myself into?” He ran a clawed hand through his hair, looking toward the distant horizon where Maladrie’s forces had vanished. His thoughts churned: Immortals. Rescue. Shark Hive. It didn’t make sense — none of it did. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he could feel it — a shift in the Wraith’s energy, as though something older and far more powerful than Maladrie was awakening. The air rippled again — a tremor that wasn’t physical, but spiritual. Beelzebub tightened his grip on his corbin, feeling the vibrations of the realm flow through the weapon’s handle. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the fiery wheat fields, the sound of thunder rolled across the sky. It wasn’t natural thunder. It was the sound of something massive breaking through. And though he couldn’t see it, Beelzebub knew — Haj Tooth’s final words weren’t a warning. They were a promise. Something was coming. Maladrie’s throne room glowed like the heart of a dying star—vast, suffocating, and filled with the scent of scorched sulfur. Black marble pillars wrapped in pulsating red veins stretched upward, supporting a ceiling lined with screaming faces fossilized in molten glass. Her new fortress, built upon the remains of the old castle that had been obliterated in Serenity’s assault, was both a palace and a tomb. The structure seemed alive—breathing, whispering, shifting in the flickering crimson light that poured through the stained-glass windows depicting infernal wars of old. At the center sat Maladrie herself, draped in a flowing gown of shadow silk that shifted hues with every movement—black, purple, and crimson bleeding together like oil in water. Her bare feet rested on the skull of a fallen Wraith general, and her left hand idly caressed the armrest of her throne, which was carved from the petrified spine of a dragon. Around her, the air shimmered faintly with residual demonic energy—her power leaking into the room like vapor. Deathskull stood several feet away from her, his towering golden endoskeleton polished but scarred from countless wars. The red glow of his eyes flickered with machine precision, the sound of his internal systems humming low like a mechanical growl. Beside him stood Anubis—tall, black-furred, and clad in ceremonial armor etched with hieroglyphs that pulsed faint blue with spiritual energy. His jackal-like visage betrayed nothing but patience. Behind them, Zach and Hassan—Maladrie’s last surviving Incubi generals—stood rigidly at attention, their demonic wings folded behind their backs, both visibly tense from the last battle’s heavy losses. Kristi, the only human-like figure in the room aside from Nancy, leaned against a pillar, her face half-lit by the room’s burning chandeliers. And finally, Nancy—the pale-skinned Succubus with silver hair and violet eyes—stood near the base of the throne, her tail twitching nervously. Deathskull broke the tense silence first. His voice, metallic and deliberate, reverberated across the chamber like a low, grinding echo: “So how do we fight a two-front war now?” Maladrie slowly tilted her head, her serpentine eyes narrowing as she studied him. The room seemed to grow darker as she replied, her voice a cold hiss beneath a velvet tone: “We don’t have to fight a two-way anything. They’re all scattered.” She rose from her throne, each motion calculated, deliberate, her black hair flowing like smoke. Her expression hardened, and her tone shifted from calm command to venomous intent. “And while you’re working on our little simulation, consider making a weapon to kill the bitch chained up in the dungeon.” Deathskull’s metal jaw clicked as he processed her command. His golden hands flexed, and the sound of hydraulics filled the chamber. “You mean Serenity?” he asked, his red optics narrowing slightly. Maladrie nodded once, her lips curling into a grin that didn’t reach her eyes. Nancy, who had been quiet until now, frowned and folded her arms. “Is it really necessary to perform side tasks?” she asked sharply, her tone carrying the kind of insolence that could get someone killed in a place like this. Maladrie froze. The entire chamber went deathly still. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, she turned toward Nancy. “She desecrated my father’s carcass,” she hissed, her voice now trembling with rage. “Our previous engineer—Zuccubus—died in the explosion at the old castle.” Her eyes flashed crimson as she turned sharply toward Deathskull. “You’re my best shot now, Deathskull.” Then she pivoted back to Nancy, her tone softening—but it was the softness of a blade just before it cuts. “And her friend took William away from me.” Nancy scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Jesus Christ was just your adopted father, and William was never meant to be yours.” The insult struck like lightning. Before anyone could react, Maladrie blurred into motion—her form dissolving into smoke and reappearing directly in front of Nancy. Her black-clawed hand snapped forward, twisting violently. A sharp crack echoed through the throne room. Nancy’s eyes went wide. Her mouth opened soundlessly as her neck bent at an unnatural angle. She crumpled to the obsidian floor with a soft thud. For a moment, no one moved. The air grew heavy, filled with static and the faint scent of ozone. Maladrie turned, eyes blazing like twin furnaces. Her voice came out as a roar that rattled the chamber walls. “Does anyone else have a problem?” Silence. Then, from the far right, an Incubi soldier—young and foolish—raised his hand nervously. “I-Ivan,” he stammered, “just wanted to ask if—” He never finished his sentence. Maladrie’s eyes flared with dark energy, and a crack of shadow lightning burst from her fingertips, striking Ivan square in the forehead. His skull exploded like glass, coating the floor and nearest wall with blood and fragments of horn. “Fuck you, Ivan!” Maladrie snarled, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Chunks of molten flesh sizzled as they hit the burning braziers that lined the room. Kristi took a step back, eyes wide, while Zach and Hassan both averted their gazes, knowing better than to speak. Maladrie turned to face the survivors, her expression hardening again into cold authority. “Zach. Hassan. You’re my last two Incubi,” she said sharply, her tone now eerily composed after her outburst. “You will keep an eye on our galactic borders.” She pointed at them with a clawed finger, then gestured toward Deathskull and Kristi. “Kristi and Deathskull will hold your hand if needed.” The four nodded wordlessly. The order was not one to be questioned. They turned and began to exit, the heavy iron doors groaning open as they passed through, leaving Maladrie alone. As the doors closed, sealing her in, Maladrie sank slowly back onto her throne. Her breathing steadied, and she stared ahead at the burning sigil above the main gate — the mark of her father, still faintly glowing in defiance of death. The shadows crept up around her like old friends. Her hands clenched into fists. Beneath her breath, she whispered to herself, the words barely audible — a promise born of fury and obsession. “William was meant to be mine. Meow.” Maladrie purred while rubbing her black leather bikini & thigh boots. And somewhere deep below the castle, chained in darkness, Serenity stirred as the faint echo of that voice reached her through the stone. She is tied up wearing her black & white leather jumpsuit, now weathered from the previous battle. CHAPTER 25: "SEVERANCE" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 17: "RISING RISK" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" Stepping back through the gate felt like piercing the surface after drowning too long in the shadows. The heavy static charge of the Labyrinth evaporated behind us, replaced by the steady pulse of a temple alive with sunlight and water. The transition was jarring—the hush of endless tunnels and humming data towers giving way to open air, sound, and warmth. We emerged into the lower halls of the temple, its architecture vast and ancient. Smooth stone walls bore engravings of constellations, and luminous moss threaded veins of green light through the cracks. Sunlight poured down from tall, arched windows, gilding the chamber in gold. At the center, a wide pond rippled with the gentle overflow of a marble fountain. Its cool spray carried across the chamber like the whisper of rainfall, a sound far removed from the mechanized threats we had just faced. Valrra, Deathskull, and Droid L-84 were already there, standing at the fountain’s edge as though they had known the exact moment we would return. Deathskull’s armor gleamed beneath the fractured light, his red servo-eyes narrowing as he turned toward us. Valrra stood at his side, a picture of poise in her green leather jumpsuit and black thigh boots, her long black hair falling over crimson skin that almost seemed to shimmer beneath the sunlight. Droid L-84, ever silent, adjusted his stance with machine-like precision, as though calibrating to our presence. The moment was still—like a breath drawn before a storm—until Deathskull spoke. His voice was low, metallic, and final. “We’ll need to take this to Cybrawl,” he said, his servo-eyes tilting toward Valrra. The gemstone—pure and radiant—rested within his armored grip, pulsing faintly as though alive. “It’s the only place equipped to build the locator.” I raised a hand to halt Valrra before she could step forward. My chest still heaved from the battle in the Labyrinth, but the weight in my mind pressed heavier than fatigue. “Wait,” I said, the words echoing against the chamber’s high dome. “What was the Labyrinth exactly? And why did it feel so… whimsical, so unreal? You never explained. And—” I paused, eyes narrowing on her, “you still haven’t told me how I time-traveled here in the first place.” Valrra turned slowly, her expression unreadable. The fountain’s mist clung to her hair, dampening the black strands so they shimmered like silk. When she finally spoke, her voice was even—too even, like she had practiced this explanation before. “The Labyrinth,” she said, “is not of this world. It is a pocket dimension. A vault of knowledge created by those who once walked the threshold of divinity. All of the information the universe has ever held—every star, every particle, every thought—is preserved within its corridors. It is whimsical because it is meant to be—an endless mirror to the mind itself. What you saw was only a fragment of its design.” I clenched my jaw, but pressed further. “And my time travel?” Valrra’s crimson eyes flicked toward Deathskull, then back to me. For the first time since I’d met her, hesitation cracked her tone. “The Immortal inside of you most likely caused your time jump,” she said. “That much I can tell you. Its influence is unpredictable, pulling you through folds in reality that mortals were never meant to cross.” She glanced toward the others, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor as she stepped closer to the fountain. “That’s all I know. We should get moving now, Will. Time is not our ally.” Her answer rang hollow in my ears. Too smooth, too rehearsed. Something in her words—perhaps the way she glanced at Deathskull—spoke of omissions. Pieces of truth held back like cards close to her chest. Emily’s hand slid into mine, grounding me. She was still streaked with mud from the Labyrinth, her black & white leather jumpsuit stained but unbroken, her green eyes steady. “She’s right, Willy,” Emily said softly, her voice brushing past the mistrust that swirled in my mind. “Let’s go.” I exhaled, but in my thoughts, doubt curled like smoke. Valrra was still hiding something. The Labyrinth had felt too deliberate, too alive. And my sudden displacement in time—pulled from one reality into another—was not something I could just accept as an accident. Answers lingered out there, beyond her practiced words, but for now my quest for truth had to wait. The six of us stood at the fountain’s edge as though the temple itself had been waiting for our decision. Water trickled, sunlight burned, and somewhere far above, the world beyond the temple spun in silence. For the moment, survival demanded we follow the path Valrra laid before us. But deep inside, a seed of suspicion had already taken root. Deathskull’s gauntleted hands moved with a calculated urgency, each strike against the control panel echoing in the vastness of the lobby. The dormant arch responded like some ancient creature roused from slumber. Its frame quivered, faint vibrations running through the stone and metal as red circuitry flared to life, lines of molten light crawling across its surface. At first, it was only a faint shimmer, a thin veil barely visible against the air. Then, with a violent shudder, the entire structure ignited—swirling crimson energy expanding within the archway, twisting and folding in on itself like molten glass being pulled by unseen hands. The glow was not constant, but alive, pulsing in rhythm with the beating of a colossal heart. The sound filled the chamber, low and resonant, a hum that pressed against our chests and rattled the fountain behind us. Shadows stretched and contorted across the walls, turning the temple’s pillars into looming silhouettes. The heat from the portal rolled outward in slow, suffocating waves, licking across our armor and clothing as if testing us, daring us to step forward. Deathskull moved first. Without hesitation, his armored figure was swallowed whole by the swirling red vortex, his form blurring and dissolving into strands of light. One by one, we followed—Emily’s boots catching the glow, Serenity’s silhouette briefly outlined in fire, Haj Tooth’s towering frame consumed, Valrra’s crimson figure vanishing into the current, Droid L-84 flickering as his mechanical body fragmented into code-like streaks. Crossing through was not like walking. It was falling—forward, sideways, and inward all at once. The body unraveled, every nerve screaming as heat surged through veins like liquid plasma. Vision fractured into jagged shards of light, pieces of memory and sensation bleeding together, weight suspended in a storm of rushing wind and fire. The mind screamed at the body to breathe, but there was no air, only the suffocating density of energy pressing tighter and tighter until it threatened to crush everything. Then, suddenly, release. The pressure broke, the current spit us out, and boots struck solid ground again. The metallic causeway stretched onward like the spine of some colossal beast, its segmented plates trembling faintly with every step we took. Energy lines ran beneath the surface, pulsing in steady rhythms that guided the eye toward the city’s heart. Around us, Cybrawl breathed. The skies above rippled with color—clouds thick as armor, yet pierced with threads of neon green and blue, shifting patterns that pulsed as if the atmosphere itself were alive. From within the haze, the outlines of aircraft passed—sleek, darting vessels that left trails of light lingering in their wake. Their engines hummed in harmony with the deep thrumming of the world below, a symphony of machine and nature locked in perfect cadence. The city unfolded in layers. To one side, towers of polished alloy reached skyward, their faces reflective like obsidian mirrors broken with streaks of green ivy. Blossoms in shades of violet and gold clung to the vines, releasing faint bursts of pollen that caught the neon air, glowing faintly as if charged by the city itself. At the base of these towers, streams of water flowed along carved channels, their surfaces so clear that the fish within looked suspended in midair. The streets were alive with the movement of small creatures—furred and feathered alike—darting between roots and conduits, utterly unbothered by the passing of machines that towered ten times their height. Massive mech foundries rose in the distance, but they did not choke the air with smoke. Instead, their stacks released faint veils of silver mist that curled skyward and dispersed into rain-like droplets. Where they fell, plants seemed to thrive—roots thickening, branches stretching higher, blossoms bursting into sudden bloom. Gardens sprawled across rooftops, threaded through steel beams, even draped across antenna arrays, their leaves trembling with the hum of hidden power. Bridges of glass and alloy arched overhead, connecting tier after tier of the sprawling city. Some shimmered faintly with protective shields, others wide open, lined with railings where vines had been allowed to coil. From those bridges, streams of citizens could be glimpsed—silhouettes of humanoid forms, both synthetic and organic, moving as one. The air itself seemed alive with whispers, faint electronic pulses mixing with the rustle of leaves. We advanced in formation. Deathskull led, his golden armor drinking in the light, making him stand out even against the sprawling brilliance of Cybrawl. His pace was steady, boots striking the alloy path with the weight of certainty. The rest of us followed closely, our shadows cast long by the neon glow that filtered through the clouds above. At last, the skyline broke open, and there it was—the pyramid. It dwarfed everything around it, a titan anchored in the city’s core. Matte black, it absorbed light like a void, yet from its faces came the glow of blue circuitry panels, running in deliberate patterns down its sides. They traced the steps of the ancient-like structure, converging at glowing nodes that pulsed like beating hearts. Water cascaded along hidden channels, spilling from one tier to another, forming waterfalls that caught the neon air and split it into shimmering rainbows. The sound carried across the distance, a low, eternal roar that seemed to resonate within the chest. Its sheer scale was overwhelming. Entire districts could have fit within its base, yet its apex cut cleanly into the cloud cover, vanishing into the glowing sky. The closer we drew, the more detail emerged—giant statues carved into the pyramid’s lower walls, depicting warriors of old, both human and machine, locked in eternal struggle. Between them were carved runes, some glowing faintly, others dormant, suggesting layers of history hidden in the architecture. The breeze shifted as we neared. It carried the mingled scents of rain-soaked earth and hot alloy, a perfume unique to Cybrawl. The metallic tang was softened by the sweetness of blossoms drifting down from the gardens above, settling on the water that flowed toward the pyramid’s moat-like base. The pyramid was more than a factory, more than a citadel. It was a statement carved into the planet’s flesh—a convergence of power, technology, and reverence for the old world. It towered as a monument to survival, a hub for creation, and a fortress for those who commanded it. Deathskull’s pace did not falter as we approached the massive gates at its base, their surfaces engraved with more of those glowing runes. The closer we came, the more the hum of the city seemed to funnel toward this single place. Every energy line we had passed, every pulse in the ground beneath our boots, every light across the skyline—everything led here, as if the pyramid itself were the beating heart of Cybrawl. The pyramid’s massive entrance drew us into its depths like the throat of a colossal beast. As soon as the heavy shadow consumed us, light bloomed from hidden seams in the walls, spilling across the chamber in precise, geometric waves. The illumination revealed a hall of staggering proportions—vaulted ceilings supported by black alloy pillars that stretched upward like the trunks of titanic trees. The surfaces gleamed faintly, polished to a mirror sheen yet etched with faint inscriptions that seemed to ripple whenever the light touched them. The air was alive with industry. Faint vibrations hummed beneath our boots, resonating from the colossal machinery embedded within the pyramid’s frame. Overhead, tracks lined with suspended drones stretched in endless grids, their dormant eyes glowing faintly as if they were always aware, waiting for the call to descend. The air carried a blend of sharp metallic tang and the faint sweetness of oils used to polish the conduits. More subtle, beneath it all, was the static-laden scent of energy fields at work, leaving a faint tickle against the skin. At the center of the great hall rose a platform ringed by concentric layers of holo-screens. Suspended from above, mechanical arms hung like a tangle of metallic serpents poised to strike. Each one bore unique tools—fusion welders, precision claws, spools of cabling—that gleamed beneath the ambient light. The platform’s surface was marked with deep grooves, glowing faintly with energy, forming a circuit pattern that seemed older than the machinery surrounding it, as though the pyramid itself had been built upon ancient foundations. Deathskull climbed the platform with a stride heavy but sure, the gold of his armor reflecting in the dim light. The suspended arms stirred at his arrival, adjusting their positions as though recognizing their master. Valrra followed closely, her crimson skin catching the glow of the runes etched into the floor. From a compartment on her belt, she unfurled a stack of holo-schematics, spreading them wide across the central table. The black glass hummed at her touch, and ghostly projections burst upward—gears, circuit nodes, rune-sealed cores, and the skeletal framework of the locator itself. The White Gemstone was placed at the heart of it all. Deathskull set it down upon a padded cradle, and at once the gemstone’s faint inner glow brightened, casting pale light across their work. Its surface appeared alive, veins of luminous white swirling slowly as though stirred by some invisible current. Every flicker of its light was mirrored in the polished walls around us, scattering refracted patterns that danced across the ceiling like constellations. Valrra moved with practiced efficiency, selecting alloy plates etched with microscopic runes and setting them carefully in order. Coils of wire, polished to a silver sheen, were laid out beside her like strands of hair, each one humming faintly with residual energy. Deathskull worked in tandem, his armored fingers manipulating the pieces with surprising precision, locking each fragment into place with the measured rhythm of someone who had repeated this process countless times. The locator took form quickly. Circular in shape, it resembled a great shield laid flat, its frame thick and solid, layered with metallic alloys interlaced with strands of living circuitry. The runes engraved along its inner ring shifted with a strange fluidity, melting from one shape into another as though struggling to decide which form they preferred. The gemstone was fitted not at its core, but within a secondary housing on the inner rim, where its glow pulsed steadily in synchrony with the shifting symbols. It was clear the stone was not the heart of the device, but its stabilizer, a steady hand guiding the chaotic flux of Immortal energy into usable patterns. Above, the drone arms descended, moving with mechanical grace. Sparks flared briefly as welders sealed seams, the smell of heated alloys filling the air before being whisked away by invisible vents. Coils tightened into place, plates sealed with soft magnetic clicks, and filaments lit with slender trails of electricity. The locator seemed to breathe as each layer was added, expanding its glow in waves that rippled outward across the floor. Around the platform, the rest of us stood in silent observation. The hall echoed faintly with the sound of cascading water running through the pyramid’s internal channels. It blended with the low thrum of power lines, the hiss of welding arcs, and the steady pulse of the gemstone at the heart of the machine. The moment was heavy with significance—this was no simple creation, but the forging of something meant to pierce the veil of the cosmos itself. Piece by piece, the device grew closer to completion. Energy ran across its surface in bright veins, mapping unseen pathways into existence. The runes along the inner ring stilled for the first time, locking into a pattern that glowed white-hot before cooling to a soft silver. The gemstone pulsed once, brighter than before, and the shadows in the hall bent slightly toward it as if the stone’s gravity extended beyond the physical. The locator was nearly ready, its presence a silent promise of discovery. Around it, the pyramid seemed to hold its breath, the drone arms retreating upward, the hum of machinery falling quiet, until only the glow of the gemstone and the faint resonance of the runes remained. The terrace opened wide before us, a suspended garden hung above the vast sprawl of Cybrawl. Beneath our boots, channels of clear water curved across the floor, spilling over the edge in narrow waterfalls that plummeted into the gardens far below. The sound of rushing streams mingled with the deeper hum of the pyramid itself, a constant reminder that this place was alive with both nature and machine. A cluster of crimson flowers grew against the wall, vines winding upward toward a stone spout where a waterfall poured in a glittering sheet. The falling water caught the light in a shifting prism, scattering fractured colors across the alloy railing. I leaned against it, the cool metal thrumming faintly under my hand, and stared out at the horizon where towers and trees rose in equal measure. Emily joined me, her arms folded, her gaze fixed more on me than on the city. Her green eyes, lit with reflected colors from the waterfall, seemed sharper than usual, cutting through the noise of the place. “So,” she said, her tone carrying both curiosity and challenge, “what’s your deal?” I drew in a slow breath, the scent of wet stone and flowering vines filling my lungs. “Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel about the idea of living forever.” The admission left me heavier than I expected, as if the words had been pressing against my chest for too long. To my surprise, Emily didn’t argue. Instead, she gave a single, measured nod. “Most people don’t think about it that way. Sure, aging doesn’t kill us anymore, but people still die. In combat, by choice, in accidents. And when they go… there’s no guarantee we’ll see them again. Even the ones we care about most.” Her voice softened at the end, but her eyes stayed steady, watching me closely. I turned my attention back to the horizon, to the neon clouds veined with light and the living city beneath them. For a long moment, I let her words sink in. “Then maybe it’s best,” I said slowly, “to start detaching ourselves from mortals. They’re nothing like us anymore. Their lives are brief sparks. Ours are… something else entirely.” Emily’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a grimace. She reached out, brushing her fingers against one of the crimson blossoms before letting it go. “Detachment,” she murmured. “Maybe that’s the only way. But I don’t think anyone ever lets go completely. Every bond leaves a trace. Every memory becomes another weight you carry.” The prism-waterfall spilled light across her face, illuminating both the hardness and the fragility in her expression. I saw not just the warrior she had become, but the echoes of who she once was—someone who had lost, endured, and kept walking forward anyway. We moved on, following the mist-slick path as it curved around the terrace. Fish darted in the shallow channels of water at our feet, scales flashing silver-blue whenever the light struck them. Strange birds swooped above, their wings glimmering as though woven from strands of light. The air was alive with both movement and stillness, the balance of two worlds fused into one. Emily slowed as we walked, her boots ringing softly against the alloy tiles. “You’re right about one thing,” she said after a long pause. “Mortals will never understand us. They’ll live their short lives, fight their wars, and fade. We’ll remain. Watching. Carrying all of it.” Her words struck like a weight settling across my shoulders, heavy but familiar. I studied her in the shifting glow of the sky, the reflection of neon light turning her eyes into molten emeralds. There was strength in her voice, but beneath it, a thread of exhaustion that matched my own. “Maybe detachment doesn’t mean we stop caring,” I said. “Maybe it just means we learn to live with the distance. To exist where they can’t follow, without letting it break us.” Emily didn’t answer, but her silence felt less like resistance and more like agreement. We walked on in quiet understanding, letting the sound of waterfalls and machinery fill the spaces where words no longer reached. And at that moment, the pyramid didn’t feel like just a fortress or a factory. It felt like a mirror of ourselves—an impossible fusion of the eternal and the fragile, caught between creation and decay. A place, like us, struggling to endure. The prism-light still shimmered across the terrace as the waterfalls whispered their constant song, the hum of the pyramid carrying through the stone and alloy beneath our feet. Emily leaned back against the railing, her green eyes narrowing slightly as I studied her in the glow. The thought had been nagging at me since Valrra had so quickly brushed aside my earlier questions. “Why do you think Valrra brought us together?” I asked, my voice low but steady. “And what do you think she’s hiding?” Emily tilted her head, the lines of her jaw hardening. For a moment she said nothing, her gaze shifting past me toward the neon clouds rolling across the Cybrawl sky. Finally, she exhaled and shook her head. “I have no clue. She’s calculated, that much is obvious. Always giving just enough information to keep us moving but never the whole picture.” She pressed her lips together, the frustration evident. “If she’s hiding something, it’s big. And it’s probably tied to you.” Her words hung between us, heavy as the mist from the nearest waterfall. I could feel the truth in them, even if the shape of it remained just out of reach. Before I could respond, footsteps sounded lightly behind us—quick, almost eager—and Serenity stepped into the terrace’s glow. Her white leather jumpsuit clung to her like the reflection of starlight, the black thigh boots glinting with moisture from the mist. She smiled faintly, though her eyes were bright with something far less casual. She looked between Emily and me, then straightened her shoulders with uncharacteristic boldness. “I’ve been thinking,” Serenity said, her tone strangely deliberate. “Maybe it would be a good idea if… if Emily and I shared you. As a romantic partner.” The words struck like a sharp crack against the tranquil backdrop of falling water. Emily’s head snapped toward her, green eyes flashing wide with disbelief. “Excuse me?” Emily’s voice cut like glass. “Share? Get your own man!” Serenity flinched, but she pressed forward, her voice quickening with desperation. “But… we’re best friends. Practically sisters. And we’re Immortals. This—this isn’t the same as mortals and their fleeting attachments. We could make this work. We—” Emily straightened, stepping toward her, her boots ringing firmly against the alloy tiles. “Just because we’re Immortal doesn’t change the romantic dynamic!” Her tone dripped with disbelief and rising anger. “You think because we can’t die of old age that suddenly everything is negotiable? That love becomes communal property?” Serenity’s face wavered, eyes glassy under the prism light. “But—” Emily cut her off with biting sarcasm. “Maybe once Valrra, Deathskull, and Droid L-84 are done making their locator device, we can find you a boyfriend! Geeze, Serenity!” She threw up her hands, as if the absurdity of the request was too much to even argue further. The words landed like a slap. I could see Serenity’s composure unravel, the way her jaw trembled slightly as she bit back whatever remained unsaid. The confidence she had entered folded inward, leaving her smaller, fragile in a way that felt almost alien against the strength of this place. I stood there, caught in the fracture of it, but Emily’s stance made it clear—there was no room for compromise. She had drawn a hard boundary, and she wasn’t about to yield. Serenity’s lip trembled. She tried to hide it, turning her face away, but the prism light betrayed her as it caught the sheen in her eyes. She whispered something I couldn’t quite catch, and for a fleeting moment, I almost thought she would collapse right there. Emily’s arms crossed again, her stance protective, unyielding. I could tell she didn’t care for Serenity’s tears, not here, not in this moment. If anything, her disgust only deepened. And I… I couldn’t ignore the shift in the air. The terrace, so serene a moment ago, now felt cramped, charged with unease. The prism-waterfall continued to spill its fractured colors across us all, indifferent to the tension between flesh, steel, and eternity. If anything, Serenity’s vulnerability made it worse. The weight of it pressed on us, leaving only discomfort in its wake. We didn’t move. We didn’t comfort her. For all the strange, unreal beauty around us, the moment was a raw reminder that even Immortals weren’t beyond pettiness, longing, and rejection. And so the silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of the waterfalls and the faint hum of the living pyramid around us. The plaza outside the pyramid thrummed with quiet energy. The locator pulsed in Deathskull’s armored hands, its ring glowing faintly as runes chased one another around its surface like a living script. The hum was constant, low, almost like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to anyone present but to something vast and distant. Valrra stood beside him, her posture poised, crimson skin lit by the faint reflection of the device’s glow. She was calm, as though already weighing ten different outcomes in her mind, each more calculated than the last. Serenity adjusted the straps of her small supply pack. Her eyes were downcast, rimmed faintly red, though she tried to mask it behind a mask of composure. Haj Tooth, meanwhile, hoisted her own pack over one shoulder, feminine & firm. Droid L-84 stood motionless nearby, its chassis gleaming under the Cybrawl sun, optical sensors glowing a cool white as it scanned the plaza for threats or flaws in the portal mechanism. I broke the silence, my voice steady as I watched the runes shift across the locator’s face. “The reading points to Draca. Strong, steady… if we go there, we might find Immortal-bound individuals. Ones who could be persuaded to join us.” Deathskull tilted his head, servo-joints clicking faintly in the quiet. He regarded me for a moment before nodding once, decisive and absolute. The movement alone was confirmation enough. He turned toward the massive portal arch standing like a monument at the edge of the plaza. Its obsidian frame was carved with the same flowing runes as the locator, though dormant now, waiting for activation. “Then Draca it is,” Deathskull said at last, his voice metallic yet carrying the weight of command. Valrra glanced toward me, green eyes piercing as always. “Recruitment is dangerous,” she remarked, not in objection but in warning. “Immortal-bound are unpredictable. But if we don’t take the risk, we’ll remain too few.” Her crimson hand brushed over the rail of the plaza as though she could already feel the distance stretching between here and the next world. Emily shifted closer to me, her black leather boots striking softly against the smooth stone. “You’re right,” she said, her voice calm but edged with thought. “If Draca holds others like us, better we reach them before anyone else does.” Her green eyes met mine briefly, and I felt a silent agreement pass between us. Deathskull reached the control panel at the portal’s base, his gauntleted hands moving with mechanical precision. Symbols flared to life as his fingers struck the keys. Each input triggered a deeper hum, the arch vibrating faintly under the weight of energies building inside it. The air thickened, warmer, until a sharp crack echoed outward and the portal flared into existence. The glow was red—deep, molten, and alive. It curled inward like liquid fire, swirling and folding over itself in endless motion. Sparks of energy shot off the frame, crackling before dissipating into the open air. The resonance vibrated through the ground beneath our boots, through the air in our lungs, until it was impossible to tell where our bodies ended and the portal’s pull began. The crimson light reflected across the polished stones of the plaza, bathing us all in its eerie glow. Our armor, our clothing, even our skin carried its tint, as though the portal had already claimed us before we ever crossed the threshold. Deathskull turned, the locator still pulsing in his hand. His eyes swept across us—the seven who would follow him into the unknown once more. No words were needed. His nod was command enough. One by one, we stepped forward. The air grew taut as I approached the portal, my breath shallow against the hum of its energy. The glow brightened, expanding outward, until stepping closer felt like leaning into the mouth of a storm. I glanced back once—at Emily, at Serenity, at Valrra and Haj Tooth, at Droid L-84’s steady white glow—before pushing forward. Crossing through was like falling into liquid heat. The red glow pressed in from all sides, fire and weight and rushing wind in a single endless instant. My chest constricted, my vision shattered into streaks of color, and then— The ground shifted beneath my boots. The air broke open, cool and heavy with the scent of iron and ash. The light dimmed, replaced by the glow of a blood-red sky streaked with dark clouds. We had stepped into Draca. The world greeted us not with stillness but with sound: the distant roar of waves crashing against cliffs, the guttural call of creatures unseen across the horizon, and somewhere far away, the deep thrum of something ancient and alive. The seven of us stood together on black stone, the portal crackling faintly behind us as though reluctant to let us go. Ahead stretched a world untouched by mercy—towering obsidian cliffs, jagged spires that tore into the red sky, and forests of gnarled trees that seemed more bone than wood. The locator pulsed brighter now in Deathskull’s hand, its hum deeper, as though the very soil of Draca vibrated in resonance. Whatever lay here, it was close. And we had come to claim it. The air was alive in ways that startled the senses, each breath heavy with pine resin and the sweetness of rain lingering on leaves. Beneath my boots, the earth gave slightly, softened by thick mats of moss that glowed faintly in the red light of Draca’s sky. For a moment, the transition from Cybrawl’s metallic causeways to this living world was jarring—yet beautiful. Draca was not the world I remembered. The scars of its past seemed buried under a mantle of renewal. The forges and smoke-belching stacks were gone. Where once the air had carried the stench of ash and molten ore, it now bore the fragrance of woodsmoke from distant hearths, intermingled with the crisp scent of rain-soaked forests. The horizon was dotted with villages unlike anything I had seen here before—sweeping Nordic-inspired homes, their triangular roofs rising like peaks themselves, clad in alloy-wood composites that gleamed under the dim light. Their shapes stretched from sharp tips down to sturdy bases, practical yet elegant, as though grown from the soil rather than built upon it. These high-tech Nordic houses rested on meadows of tall grass, where wildflowers bloomed in vibrant shades of violet, gold, and blood-red, their petals dancing with the breeze that rolled in from the hills. They did not disrupt the land but embraced it, spaced in patterns that followed the gentle curves of the terrain. From a distance, the settlements looked as though they had been rooted there for centuries, nurtured by both earth and hand. Between the homes, stone walkways wound in graceful arcs, lined with moss and etched faintly with glowing symbols that pulsed at night to guide travelers. Towering oaks rose between the paths, their trunks thick and gnarled, their canopies broad enough to shade entire communities beneath. Some trees had been partially hollowed and adapted into living structures, their interiors shaped into gathering halls and markets. Others bore platforms and woven bridges that stretched between branches, creating multi-level spaces where life moved vertically as much as horizontally. Water was everywhere, flowing in delicate channels carved with purpose and precision. Canals ran through communal gardens, their banks brimming with edible herbs and luminous flowers cultivated for both beauty and sustenance. The water sparkled as though infused with microscopic machines, self-cleaning, ever pure, catching the dim scarlet light of the sky in shimmering prisms. Fountains rose at intersections, shaped like runic wolves and dragons, their mouths spilling water into wide basins where children splashed and elders sat in quiet reflection. The air itself seemed charged, not with the choking fumes of industry but with something older—an atmosphere of reverence, as though the very soil of Draca had rejected its scars and embraced rebirth. Birds with metallic plumage darted through the canopy, their wings flashing iridescent blue and silver. In the undergrowth, small creatures scurried, their eyes glowing faintly in ways that spoke of engineered adaptation. Nature and technology coexisted seamlessly here, woven together in a tapestry where neither dominated but both thrived. Meanwhile, the wild lands of Draca breathed with an ancient unease. Mist clung to the trees like tattered veils, their towering trunks pressing together into dark corridors where even the moonlight struggled to break through. The grasses whispered against one another, tall as a man’s chest, carrying the scent of damp earth and rain. Every step was muted, every sound stretched thin, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. Through that vast silence, two figures moved with the precision of predators. Anubis glided low, his staff poised like a spear, golden eyes glowing faintly in the shadows. Maladrie trailed beside him, her silhouette more apparition than flesh, black silks flowing as if stirred by a wind that did not touch the world around her. They spoke no words, no signal passing between them. None were needed. Their quarry was close. A distant rumble broke the hush. The ground trembled, and the trees ahead shuddered as something massive shifted its weight. The air thickened with the musk of sweat, stone, and steam. Then came the roar. It was a sound so primal it seemed to claw through the marrow of the forest, tearing silence apart and sending flocks of birds shrieking skyward. The creature came into view. Once Edward, now a troll—his body a hulking mountain of orange-brown muscle, veins of sickly light glowing beneath the surface. His claws sank into the earth as though it were clay, and steam vented from his skin in furious bursts. His eyes, fiery furnaces, swept the clearing with wild, animal rage. The hunt was over. The strike began. Maladrie’s hands lifted, shadows unraveling from her form in thick coils. They snaked forward like living chains, wrapping the troll’s arms and throat. He bellowed, straining against the bonds, tearing up chunks of earth as his feet gouged furrows in the moss. Anubis sprang into motion, staff spinning, crescent blade flashing in and out of phase with reality. Each strike cracked against the troll’s limbs and chest, sparks of displaced energy bursting outward with every blow. The beast fought with raw fury. One massive swing shattered a tree into splinters, another tore boulders free from the ground and hurled them blindly into the shadows. But every thrash only tangled him further in Maladrie’s bindings. Each time the troll lurched forward, Anubis was there, staff striking, blade searing through the mist. The struggle dragged on, brutal and unrelenting. The clearing became a ruin of uprooted trees and craters gouged deep into the soil. But slowly the monster’s strength waned. Its roars faltered into ragged growls, its movements slowed beneath the relentless choke of shadows and steel. Finally, with one last convulsive lurch, it collapsed to its knees and then forward, bound completely, its heavy breaths rattling the ground. Only then did silence return to the forest. Anubis stood over the subdued troll, his staff angled at its throat, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths. Maladrie’s shadows cinched tight, holding the beast in place, her eyes glimmering faintly in the dim light. The silence lingered until Anubis finally lifted his gaze to the horizon. A faint shimmer still danced where the portal had closed minutes before. “They’re here,” he said, his voice a low growl carrying through the mist. “William and his pack. The scent of their passage lingers.” Maladrie’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, her expression unreadable. “Good,” she whispered, her voice smooth and cold. “Let them come. Their arrival will be… useful.” The troll snarled weakly, struggling against its bonds, but Maladrie’s shadows only tightened, and the forest once more sank into uneasy stillness—waiting for what would follow. The three of them disappear into a portal in which they came from. The seven of us pressed forward through Draca’s winding dirt roads, our footsteps blending with the gentle rustle of the wind through pine and oak. The air was crisp, carrying the faint aroma of woodsmoke from hearths and cooking fires in the town ahead. Then, the stillness was shattered—an alarm began to wail. It wasn’t a typical siren; its drawn-out, rising howl bore an unsettling resemblance to old-Earth tornado warnings, a sound that somehow reached into the primitive parts of our minds and gripped our instincts in ice-cold fingers. My eyes snapped upward. Above us, high in the upper atmosphere, the Wraith Pillars—those towering, unnatural spires that could tear holes into other realms—were active again. Black shapes like floating monoliths pulsed faintly, their crystalline tips glowing in a sickly red hue. From their apexes, they poured streams of glittering black shungite dust, a fine particulate haze that shimmered like powdered obsidian as it drifted downward. The dust swirled with unnatural patterns, refusing to be carried off by the wind, as though guided by an invisible hand toward the ground below. That was all the confirmation we needed—the Wraith was preparing to breach Draca again. The demons were coming. I exchanged a sharp nod with Serenity, Valrra, and Emily. No words were needed. We powered up our armor, the hum and clack of locking plates and energizing servos echoing in the tense air. Crimson and silver lights flared across our suits, the faint heat of plasma capacitors warming the air around us. Each of us reached for our swords—steel edges bonded with shungite, their surfaces etched with glowing runes designed to channel energy directly into a demon’s body. My own chainsword, Revenge, purred hungrily, its teeth spinning slowly like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. The first tremors of shadow whispered across the soft moss and stone of Draca’s streets, a warning of the approaching Wraith. From every corner of the town, from narrow alleys and open fields beyond the high walls, the Viking and Anglo-Saxon warriors emerged, their armor catching the faint sunlight, polished graphene plates gleaming like black glass with silver knotwork etched into every curve. Animal pelts draped their shoulders, trophies of hunts past, contrasting against the futuristic energy swords in their hands. Heavy axes radiated heat along their edges, shields embossed with spirals and beast motifs braced for impact. The sky above darkened as the Wraith began to materialize. First, faint rips in reality shimmered ahead, quivering like heatwaves. From these rifts, the demons emerged—grotesque, bat-faced warriors with jagged horns curling from their skulls, their exoskeletons orange-red and glinting with molten veins. Flaming swords sparked as they swung, arcs of energy lancing into the air. Slender Demonettes followed, moving with predatory grace, their clawed hands ready to rend flesh and metal alike. I moved forward, chainsword Revenge whirring to life, its shungite runes glowing with a pulsing light. Emily was beside me, her green eyes sharp, her blade tracing arcs of silver crystal in preparation for the onslaught. Serenity adjusted her stance, sword ready, while Haj Tooth crouched low, aiming her energy axe at the advancing Demonettes. Valrra and Deathskull stood back, observing, waiting for the precise moment to intervene. Droid L-84 moved systematically, calculating trajectories, issuing silent commands to the allied warriors. The Demons charged. Their feet struck the ground with the force of small earthquakes, the sound of claws against stone and the hiss of flaming blades filling the air. The Viking and Anglo-Saxon warriors responded immediately, forming disciplined lines. Shields collided, axes swung, and energy swords met their fiery counterparts with sparks and ringing echoes. Every strike carried the weight of desperation and skill. My chainsword shredded through demonic flesh, the runes channeling energy that disrupted their unnatural forms. Emily’s silver arcs erupted from the ground, capturing the smaller Demonettes and holding them long enough to fall beneath our blades. Serenity’s sword sang as she sliced through the air, kinetic trails scattering enemies off balance. Haj Tooth’s red energy axe streaked through the chaos, precision strikes that felled foes before they could reach the walls. The battlefield became a blur of motion and color. Sparks, fire, and shungite energy lit up the dim alleys and open fields, reflections dancing in the clear canals that wound through the town. The Wraith tore at the environment itself, clawing at the streets and buildings as though reality could be bent to their will. Yet the defenders held. The human warriors braced, their shields absorbing the brunt of the attacks, axes and swords striking with disciplined ferocity. The air was thick with the scent of ozone, singed metal, and scorched earth. The sound of running water from the town’s canals mixed with the roar of engines and the clash of steel. Every movement, every swing, every pulse of energy from our weapons pushed back the tide of darkness, even as more demons poured through the shimmering rifts. Emily and I moved together, cutting through the densest clusters, our motions in sync as if instinctively connected. Serenity moved fluidly around Haj Tooth, protecting her from flanking Demonettes. Droid L-84 slashed with precise efficiency, calculating angles faster than any mortal could. Valrra and Deathskull coordinated the strategy from the rear, their presence a stabilizing force amid the chaos. Though the Demons were relentless, our line did not falter. The combined might of Immortals and mortal warriors created a bulwark of steel, shungite, and magic. Every advance by the demons was met with resistance, every attempt to breach the town walls answered with discipline and fury. The first contact of battle had begun in earnest, and Draca’s defenders were determined to stand, no matter the cost. In the chaos, Emily and I fought like cornered beasts. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only movement, reaction, and the pure animal drive to annihilate what was in front of us. Emily’s blade arced through the air in sweeping, efficient cuts, cleaving through demon torsos as though she were harvesting wheat. Her movement burned with a fierce determination that made even the larger demons hesitate for a fraction of a second—and in battle, a fraction was all it took to die. I was less precise and more brutal, letting Revenge’s motorized teeth bite deep into flesh and armor alike, sending showers of red ichor and sparks in every direction. I didn’t bother with defensive maneuvers; these things had declared war on my people, and I meant to erase every last one in front of me. The shungite dispensers above did their work well—the black dust fell over the battlefield like a cursed snow, eating away at the demons’ unnatural vitality. Their movements grew sluggish, their regeneration slowed to a crawl. It made killing them easier, though no less exhausting. The ground beneath us became slick with the remains of the fallen, each corpse dissolving into ash-like residue once the shungite had fully done its work. Through the chaos of the battlefield, my attention locked on two figures whose presence seemed almost otherworldly. The first, a Viking warrior, moved with a predator’s grace, his dark armor etched with silver filigree and a striking owl motif painted across the visor. Every inch of his body exuded controlled ferocity—the way he lunged through the demon ranks, twisting and spinning mid-air, made it clear that he was no ordinary soldier. His shoulders rolled with each strike, his gauntlets slamming into foes with the precision of a master craftsman, each blow devastating, each recovery flawless. The wounds he took seemed to vanish almost as quickly as they appeared; a slash across his chest healed under a faint veil of shungite dust, the torn flesh knitting itself with a subtle glow that left a faint trail of shimmering particles in the air. Beside him moved a woman clad in dark auburn armor that gleamed like molten copper in the harsh battlefield light. Her visor mirrored his, the same stylized owl insignia marking her as an equal. She wielded a double-headed red energy axe, its blades humming with contained plasma, arcs of faint red lightning crackling along the edges. Each swing was effortless yet lethal, slicing through demon after demon, the kinetic energy sending bodies flying like rag dolls. A spear slammed into her shoulder, embedding itself deep, but she extracted it with one smooth motion, returning the blow with a spinning arc that cleaved a demon in two, sending sparks and ichor into the air. Even her stance carried weight—feet planted with perfect balance, torso twisting just enough to maximize force while minimizing exposure, the flowing rhythm of attack and defense marking her as an Immortal, someone born for battle yet honed through centuries of practice. Cole’s movements were precise yet wildly fluid, almost chaotic to any observer not attuned to his timing. He leapt from debris to debris, spinning in mid-air to land perfectly on an overturned cart, using it as a platform to drive a gauntleted fist into a demon’s jaw, shattering bone. Hanna mirrored his fluidity, their fighting styles perfectly complementary. She advanced like a whirlwind, each swing of her axe releasing bursts of energy that set the ground alight, cutting pathways through the demon hordes while Cole’s strikes anchored the momentum. I watched as Hanna pivoted on one boot, her armor creaking softly under the strain, and then swung her axe with a vertical arc that decapitated two demons at once, the red plasma trailing behind in a glowing smear before snapping back to her grip as if alive. They weren’t merely fighting—they were rewriting the rules of the battlefield. Ordinary laws of physics seemed to bend around their movements. A demon’s claw caught Cole across the shoulder, and yet he spun, flipping backward over its head, landing with knees bent, sword slicing in a clean horizontal line that severed the creature’s arm before it could react. Hanna moved beside him like a shadow twin, her axe carving glowing arcs that left long trails of heat and light in the air, each impact resonating in a way that seemed almost musical. The two of them were a storm, impossible to predict yet mesmerizing in its lethal beauty. Around them, demons fell in droves, but still the battle raged. The air vibrated with the roar of plasma, the clash of energy blades, and the sickly shriek of alien metal tearing. Cole leapt again, landing on the back of a massive horned demon, planting both hands on its shoulders, and drove it into the ground, crushing it with unstoppable force. Hanna followed, spinning her axe through the beast’s chest as she landed gracefully on the rubble-strewn street. The synchronization of their assault was uncanny, as if they could read each other’s thoughts, each strike and counter anticipating the other’s movement by the blink of an eye. I realized then, without any doubt, that these were Immortals, warriors whose skill and power were on a scale beyond anything I had seen. They were the very beings we had come to Draca to find, and yet the battle offered no pause, no opportunity for recognition or greeting. I returned my attention to the horde pressing against us, the chainsword teeth of my Revenge spinning. The demon warrior, massive and jagged-limbed, lunged with a force that nearly sent me skidding across the cobblestones. Its jagged, blackened blade slammed against my helmet with a deafening clang, reverberating up my spine. For a heartbeat, the world spun in chaotic arcs of crimson and shadow, but training and instinct immediately took over. I caught the demon’s weapon mid-swing, feeling the alien vibration pulse up my arm as it struggled against my grip. The weight of its strength was nothing compared to the precision of the Immortal reflexes honed over centuries. With a sharp, brutal twist of my gauntlet, I wrenched the blade from its grasp. The alien metal shrieked as it tore free, and the sound cut through the din of battle like a warning. My fist crushed the demon’s clawed, misshapen fingers, bones snapping like dry branches beneath the reinforced plating. The creature howled in disbelief and rage, a sound warped and inhuman, before I activated Revenge. The chainsword roared to life, the motorized teeth spinning with an almost hungry fury. I swung it in a horizontal arc, the chain biting deep. Red ichor erupted in a molten spray, streaking across the cracked streets as the demon’s head separated cleanly from its shoulders. Its body hit the cobblestones with a wet, final thud, and the vibration ran up my boots, anchoring me in the reality of the fight. For a moment, silence spread across the streets, heavy and complete. The last of the Wraith forces, their forms flickering between corporeal and vapor, disintegrated into fine dust. The shimmering breach seals flickered once and then snapped shut, leaving the streets of Draca eerily still beneath the unbroken, pale sky. Relief began to ripple outward, subtle at first, as the defenders realized the threat had passed. Across Vikingnar, planetary comms confirmed the news: other towns and cities had repelled their attackers, the planetary defenses holding firm against the Wraith incursion. The warriors around us exhaled, lowering their weapons, some in disbelief, others in raw, exhausted triumph. Our planetary defenses worked, and everyone cheered. Emily slammed her armored chest into mine in a triumphant chest bump, the force nearly knocking her back. The red glow from her visor caught mine, the intensity in her eyes magnified by the eerie illumination of her display. I laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that had been absent for far too long. The sound carried across the battered plaza, mixing with the distant cheers of warriors and the soft hiss of dissipating energy. CHAPTER 17: "RISING RISK" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 10: "HEROES RETURN" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" Back at Money Creek, the once-mighty mech stood like a fallen titan, its joints hissing with escaping steam and its outer plating scorched from the battle in the skies. Deep gashes tore through its armor, exposing shattered servos and fried neural wiring. When we tried to activate the auto-repair sequence, the system sputtered and died, its core reactor emitting a faint, irregular pulse—like the last heartbeat of a dying beast. We knew then it wouldn’t walk again. There was no time for salvage. No parts to spare. We left the mech behind, half-submerged in the creek's muddy banks, a broken monument to a battle won by inches. Money Creek was quiet again, as we emerged from the cockpit, and began our descent to the ground. The cicadas hummed, filling the forested riverbank with their steady metallic rhythm. The water murmured along the rocks, oblivious to the battle-worn mech crouched like a titan at the tree line. Its armor panels steamed from residual heat, blackened in some places, scorched in others. A silent giant among suburban serenity. I sat on a moss-covered boulder, my left arm wrapped in a cooling nanogel sleeve. The skin-tissue beneath still throbbed from the overload of the neural feedback system, but it was healing—slowly. The sun filtered through the trees overhead, casting flickering gold over Deathskull as he worked beside the river, his slender fingers manipulating a holotablet that glowed with streams of crimson and green data. “We really left a crater in the Wraith,” I muttered. Deathskull said nothing. He was focused. Eyes behind his bone-gold mask, scanning the probes he’d launched into the atmosphere just minutes ago. Three of them zipped past the clouds in silent arcs, spraying Earth’s surface with scanning pulses. He didn’t look up when the beeping started. I did. The display on his holotablet spiked violently. Red bars rose like towers. Circular glyphs formed at the edges of the screen and began to rotate—counterclockwise. The data streaming across the screen was jagged, inconsistent. Something below the planet’s crust had disrupted the scan. “What the hell is that?” I asked, rising slowly, my boots crunching twigs. “An anomaly,” Deathskull said. His voice was low, more curious than afraid. “A power source. Deep underground. It’s unstable, old, and somehow... waking up.” I leaned over his shoulder. The scan image was fuzzy, distorted by strange feedback loops. The coordinates blinked just west of our location—somewhere beneath the central plains. “You think the Greys had Wraith-related tech?” He hesitated. “Maybe. Or worse.” The air around us seemed to change slightly. Charged. As if the very soil below knew we’d glimpsed something that had remained hidden for eons. But there was no time to investigate. Not now. “We need to return to Vikingnar,” I said. “We’ve got to warn the others.” Deathskull nodded. “The portal we used on the mech is closed. But the drop ship still has enough charge to breach orbit.” We turned toward the clearing, where the drop ship sat like a sleeping hawk—sleek, gunmetal gray, and humming softly in the afternoon light. Its triangular wings caught the sun as we approached. The loading ramp hissed open at our presence, the engines already cycling into pre-launch mode. Honey barked softly from within the ship, poking her head out. The proboscis monkey chattered nervously, still shaken from the recent battle. I climbed the ramp and strapped into the command chair, rotating my injured arm carefully. The ship’s controls recognized my biometrics and began aligning our flight path back to orbit. Deathskull sat beside me, already patching in coordinates for the return to Vikingnar—our fortress star system, our last stand against the tide of corruption flooding the galaxy. The ship’s engines rumbled beneath us. Through the viewport, I watched Earth shrink away as we lifted off. The trees fell below the clouds. The rivers became silver lines across the green. And the anomaly beneath the surface—whatever it was—remained buried in silence. But I had a feeling we hadn’t seen the last of it. We broke through the atmosphere and entered the stars. Back to war. Back to Vikingnar. And whatever waited for us in the cold between worlds. The stars shimmered across the ship’s viewing canopy—slivers of frozen light against the abyss. Inside the cockpit, everything hummed with life. The red instrument lights danced across the metal panels, casting a dim glow on our tired faces. The engines whispered low as they cruised on auto, gliding silently through the folds of space. I sat beside Deathskull, staring out into the void but not really seeing it. My mind wasn’t here. It was somewhere else. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere simpler. A house in the hills. A girl in the morning light. Green eyes. “Was it a mistake?” I asked, my voice low, barely louder than the ambient thrum of the ship. Deathskull turned slightly, the gold bone of his helmet catching the red light. “Was that a mistake?” “Kissing Serenity,” I said. “Back in the Wraith.” There was a long pause. Then Deathskull let out a low sigh—mechanical and dry. “Yeah,” he said. “It was.” I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, rubbing my temples with one good hand. “She kissed me first,” I muttered, defensive even now. “She did,” Deathskull said with no sympathy. “And you let her.” I bit my tongue. My chest tightened. “Emily wouldn’t be pleased,” he added, “assuming she’s still waiting for you.” That hit me harder than it should have. I stared at the floor of the cockpit, letting the silence wrap around my bones like ice. “What’s wrong with me?” I finally asked. Deathskull didn’t respond right away. He adjusted a control, muting the engine drone in the cabin, then turned to me fully. “She’s gotten into your head,” he said. “Maladrie. The Goddess of Excess. She doesn’t need to conquer you in battle. She only needs you to drown in every craving, every impulse.” I frowned. “So how do I fight that?” Deathskull folded his arms. “You don’t fight it with guilt. That only feeds her. You fight it with purpose.” I stared at him. “How do I stay loyal to Emily... when I’m filled with lust?” “That’s not a question for me,” Deathskull said. “That’s a question for her.” “What do you mean?” He looked at the monitors. They reflected in his golden visor like ghostly glass. “We’ve been gone longer than you think.” My stomach dropped. “How long?” There was another long pause. “Seven years,” he said quietly. The air left my lungs. “No,” I breathed. “No way. We didn’t time-jump that far. We were—Deathskull, we were only gone a few days.” “Time is irrelevant in the Wraith. The deeper we traveled into the hell realm, the more distorted our perception became. On Vikingnar, and Earth... seven full years passed.” I couldn’t speak. The silence pressed down on me. I could feel the blood draining from my face. Emily... waiting, hurting, giving up. Or worse—moving on. Marrying someone else. Raising children I’d never know. I clenched my fists. My injured arm flared with pain, the pilot neural link still healing in ragged pulses beneath the skin. “She’s all I have,” I said through my teeth. I sat back and stared at the void. “Then we go home,” Deathskull said with a nod. He leaned over the console, entering a new sequence. The ship responded with a hum of power, rerouting toward Vikingnar. The star map folded inward as the drive wound up to lightspeed. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said. “You’ll get your answers then.” I didn’t move. Outside the ship, the stars stretched thin, then vanished into streaks as the drop ship ripped through space, chasing a world and a woman I wasn’t sure still remembered who I was. But I had to find my Emily so she could save me from myself. Emily is the only woman I trust, love, and like. The stars outside shimmered like broken glass scattered across a void. Vikingnar was still far ahead, hidden behind a curtain of interstellar gas and fractured light, but my thoughts were lodged firmly in the past—in Earth’s soil, in ancient ruins, in gods that once ruled and fell. I leaned back in my seat, the ship humming as it coasted through warp. “Deathskull,” I said, my voice low, nearly drowned by the engine’s subtle vibrations. “What do you know about Grey's technology? And why the hell was some of it buried on Earth?” Deathskull tilted his masked head slightly, eyeing me from across the glowing interface. His fingers tapped through a few layers of telemetry, then paused. “Not much,” he admitted. “There are fragments of old archives—banned texts, celestial manuscripts. I've seen illustrations. Diagrams. Tools beyond comprehension. Their language was clean, geometric... almost like music carved into glass.” I could see the flicker of concern beneath his hollow eyes. Deathskull wasn’t one to admit uncertainty, but the Grey’s—those ancient architects—were a mystery even to him. “They had a god,” I said slowly. “Or something like it. I saw him. Caged. Weak. Dying… trapped beneath the Hag’s palace. Maladrie—she killed him. Not with brute force. She consumed his meaning. She devoured belief.” Deathskull went still, his posture suddenly rigid. “If the goddess of excess is strong enough to unmake a god of the Greys… then she’s metastasizing. A corruption on the latticework of reality itself. And if the Greys fell under her shadow, there’s no telling what else has.” My breath caught in my throat. “She’s spreading, Deathskull. She’s not just influencing hearts or minds—she’s fracturing civilizations. This isn’t just about Earth, or Vikingnar, or even the Red Dragon Empire.” He nodded grimly. “It’s a cosmic plague. Gluttony in spiritual form. We’ve seen her minions— Wraith-demons, but she’s using them to test the hull of our dimension. Every breach weakens the veil.” I clenched my jaw. “Then tell me. How do we fight Her & The Shark People, all at once?” The air felt heavier. The ship’s lights dimmed slightly as Deathskull tapped into the command terminal. A schematic bloomed across the display—a massive coil-shaped engine once designed as a Wraith filter. We had used a smaller prototype of it before to stabilize portals and keep rogue entities from breaching. But this… this was different. “We supersize it,” Deathskull said quietly. “Convert the Wraith device into black hole. Feed it dark energy. Instead of keeping things out, we turn it into a gateway. A one-way hole. Anything corrupted, infected, or interdimensional gets sucked in. Hive fleets. Shark aberrations. Wraith demons. All of them get sucked into the hell dimension.” He looked up at me. “We bait them. Let them think Earth is still vulnerable. When they descend, we open the maw.” I stared at the schematic. The device’s radius would devour half the planet. Earth’s crust would collapse into its own imploding metaphysical event. Nothing would survive. “It’ll destroy the Earth,” I said flatly. Deathskull didn’t blink. “Yes. But it might save the galaxy.” I leaned forward, gazing into the schematic as if it held my soul. Earth—home, battleground, grave—was a small price to pay for the salvation of trillions. “I’m in,” I said. “But we need to meet with Emily.” I closed my eyes for a moment. I could still feel her presence like a ghost at my side—fierce, calculating, stubborn to the end. She might be the final piece to this puzzle, the variable Maladrie hadn’t accounted for. We had no time to waste. Deathskull was already keying in the coordinates. Signals reached out across quantum currents, searching for Emily’s last known signature. Somewhere out there—maybe in Vikingnar’s dark cities or drifting among Red Dragon satellites—Emily was waiting. Or fighting. Or hiding. The planet of Skaalandr stretched wide beneath a pale blue sky, its jagged cliffs and crystalline trees catching the late morning light. Wind coiled around the mountaintop like a silent sentinel, brushing against Emily’s skin as she climbed higher, carrying a bundle of white-bloomed veyla flowers in her arms—flowers that only grow once a year on the edge of winter. Each step up the stone path was slow, deliberate, as if her soul weighed more than her body. The silence of the ascent mirrored the quiet ache within her, a pain that had no outlet, no clear name. Grief had matured into a hollow calm, but it still clung to her like frost. She reached the summit, a narrow bluff lined with obsidian stones, where Serenity’s grave stood—carved from luminous onyx and inscribed in the ancient tongue of Skaalandr. Emily knelt beside it, placing the veyla flowers at the base, letting her fingers linger against the cold polished surface. Her breath trembled. “I miss you,” she whispered to the stone, voice breaking under the weight of suppressed emotion. “I miss both of you. Every day.” Her eyes fluttered shut as if seeking Serenity’s spirit somewhere in the back of her mind. “Why does everyone I care about vanish, or die, or... change?” Her voice dropped to a murmur, tears lining the corners of her eyes. “Please. Please... just bring him back. Bring William back.” Emily collapsed into a quiet sob, arms folded atop the grave marker, her shoulders shaking in the mounting wind. She hadn’t cried in weeks, holding herself together with sheer resolve, but the emptiness now breached the dam of her strength. She stayed there, motionless, eyes shut. Then a tremor beneath her palms made her flinch. A subtle vibration thrummed through the earth. Emily looked up. The tombstone pulsed with an unnatural glow—silver at first, then a violent burst of iridescent holy light. A shockwave radiated outward, hurling petals and leaves in every direction. The stone cracked down the middle, not with violence but with divine force, the kind that made the air feel heavy and clean. Light spilled from the rupture. Then—emerging as though born from the sun—came Serenity. Her form shimmered like glass catching moonlight, armor plated in gold and white, her eyes glowing with Wraithfire. She hovered inches off the ground as the light slowly ebbed, and Emily backed away in breathless awe. Serenity’s voice was soft but radiant, echoing with subtle power. “Emily... don’t be afraid.” Emily stared, paralyzed. “H-How? You were dead. I buried you myself—how are you—?” Serenity descended, feet gently touching earth. “William and Deathskull brought me back. They gave me a gemstone —made by the Lord of the Wasps—that was capable of restoring souls from Wraith-bondage. It called me back.” Emily looked down, overwhelmed. “So... he’s alive?” “Yes. But not safe.” Serenity walked forward, her boots crunching the stone. “There’s a growing evil in the Wraith. Maladrie’s.” Emily blinked, her face tightening. “I’ve heard of her. I read about her perverted behavior in manuscripts.” “She doesn’t just seek pleasure,” Serenity said gravely. “She thrives on excess—on the surrender of identity through pleasure and indulgence. It’s how she converts people. She can corrupt a man’s loyalty without a sword, make him betray the one he loves without even knowing he’s been unfaithful.” There was a long pause. Serenity looked down. “I kissed him. In the Wraith. Not out of desire... but to test him.” Emily’s heart slowed. Her stomach churned. “What... Did he do it?” “He hesitated,” Serenity admitted, her voice growing quiet. “He didn’t pull away. His memories of you—of Earth—are being unraveled slowly. Maladrie is trying to make him forget why he fights. He’s slipping away from you.” Emily stepped back, her mind spinning. She wanted to scream, to cry, to punch the air. Instead, she whispered, “Why are you telling me this?” “Because it’s not too late,” Serenity replied, placing a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “He’s still himself... but for how long? If we don’t act soon, he’ll be lost forever. You’re the one tether he has left.” Emily turned away, clenching her fists. The wind picked up again, as if the mountain itself was listening. “What do we do?” she asked, voice sharper now. “We prepare,” Serenity said. “They’re coming soon. And we have to be ready... not just for a reunion—but for war.” Back on the drop-ship… Madeline stood before me in the dream, her presence familiar—too familiar. She wore a sleek black dress that shimmered like oil beneath moonlight, its fabric hugging her curves with a confidence that once made her magnetic. Her dark hair framed her face in soft waves, her tan skin glowing gently, and her eyes—deep, dark, bottomless—fixed on me with a gaze that stirred old feelings I didn’t want to admit were still buried in me. Her black leather thigh boots clicked softly on the dream’s unseen floor as she stepped toward me, lips curling into a smirk. Everything about her felt too perfect. Too rehearsed. Too calculated. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing—not with affection, but hunger. The dream shifted around her. The space dimmed. A pressure filled the air, and the soft warmth of the forest glade evaporated into a dry, sulfuric heat. Her body shuddered, and I stepped back. The transformation began slowly. The soft tan of her skin deepened, rippling as if something beneath the surface clawed to be let out. Her once-caucasian complexion flushed into a deep, molten orange, like sun-baked rock. Dark veins surfaced across her shoulders and thighs, pulsing with unholy rhythm. Her eyes—once dark and soulful—became pits of black glass, empty and bottomless. Two thick horns erupted from her forehead, curling back along her skull like a ram’s, ridged and bone-white at the tips. Her smile widened unnaturally, revealing a forked, writhing tongue that flicked at the air like a serpent tasting blood. Then her jaw unhinged. Mandibles slid outward from the sides of her face, spidery and sharp, twitching slightly. Her mouth was now a chasm of jagged, obsidian teeth layered behind the fangs—inhuman, glistening, carnivorous. Her dress dissolved away like ash caught in the wind. Now she stood in a black leather bikini—sinister in design, as if made from the flayed hide of something ancient. It clung to her like armor meant for seduction and slaughter. Her boots remained—black, tall, and gleaming—unchanged, still part of the cruel iconography she now embodied. The glossy leather hugged her muscular legs, every inch of her exuding dominance and decay. She was still humanoid… but only barely. She advanced again, and the world twisted with every step she took—colors bleeding into each other, the sky above darkening with each exhale she made. I tried to move. I couldn’t. I was frozen—caught between who she was and what she had become. My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. Madeline was gone. What stood before me now was Maladrie—the Demonette of Excess, the goddess of lust warped into horror. And she had come to haunt me. I tried to step back. I couldn’t move. My heart pounded. My breath was shallow. The air tasted like rust and perfume. The dream turned into a nightmare I couldn't escape. Then—light flashed. Emily appeared from the dark. Her armor glinted like starlight, hair whipping in phantom winds, her expression fierce. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, sword drawn. The blade plunged into Maladrie’s throat, and black ichor sprayed across the scorched glade. The demon shrieked, writhing. Emily ripped the sword free and slashed downward, cleaving open Maladrie’s back, sending tendrils scattering like torn curtains. A final flash of silver, and the demoness dissolved into ash and smoke. The dream faded with her death. The glade melted into darkness. I felt peace return. A quiet hope. Maybe—just maybe—Emily was my anchor. Maybe she always had been. “Wake up.” Deathskull’s voice cut through the haze of sleep like a blade. My eyes shot open. He leaned over me, his skeletal mask lit by the blue glow of the ship’s overhead lights. “You were shaking,” he said plainly. “You okay?” I wiped sweat from my brow and sat upright. “Yeah,” I muttered, voice groggy. “Just a dream... a bad one.” Deathskull didn’t press. He nodded and turned back toward the front of the ship. “We’ve arrived.” The cockpit windows displayed the curvature of Skaalandr below—a tapestry of forests, deserts, and jagged red mountain chains. Twin suns hung on opposite ends of the sky, bathing the planet in dual shadows and shifting light. The clouds shimmered with golden edges, and the winds danced like living currents across the treetops. I stared in silence, heart slowly settling. Despite everything—despite war, Wraiths, demons, and dreams—it was still beautiful. Skaalandr hadn’t changed. We pierced the upper atmosphere, the drop ship rattling slightly as energy shields flared against atmospheric friction. Below, I could see spires of viking cities rising from the cliffs and waterfalls, long bridges of obsidian threading across the landscape like veins of black lightning. Everything was as I remembered—and more. There was something sacred about this world, as if the land itself remembered the blood spilled on its soil, and the legends written across its sky. Deathskull adjusted the console, and our descent became smoother. “We’ll be landing near the hangar,” he said. My stomach knotted. Not from fear—but from something deeper. I hadn’t seen her in what felt like ages. What would she think of me now, after all I’d been through? After what Serenity told her? I looked out the viewport again, trying to calm the whirlwind in my chest. The drop ship soared over rivers and vibrant groves, its shadow a fleeting blur across the peaks. We were almost there. And for the first time in a long time... I didn’t know what kind of reunion awaited me. Thunder grumbled in the distance, low and continuous, like the growl of something ancient disturbed in its sleep. The sky had dimmed unnaturally, shifting from sapphire blue to a moody charcoal, and then—without warning—the rain began. It came hard and fast, sheeting down against the drop ship’s hull, blurring the viewports. Lightning danced between the hills as the vessel touched down near the outskirts of the forested ridge that overlooked one of the river valleys. The place had once been familiar. A serene world under the banners of the Vikingnar civilization. Now, it seemed altered—shrouded in something quiet and ominous. No welcoming party. No patrols. Just the storm. And that’s fine with me. The landing ramp creaked open, hissing as the cool air swept inside. I stepped into the rain, my boots sinking slightly into the saturated soil. The storm hit me like a baptism—cold, cleansing, and merciless. And there she was. Emily stood in the rain, just past the clearing—alone. Motionless. The wind tossed strands of her soaked hair across her face, her dark leather suit clinging to her frame beneath the downpour. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her boots planted firmly in the mud, as if she’d been standing there for hours. I froze. Our eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, everything else—storms, wars, gods, and demons—faded into a low hum behind the sound of rain. Emily didn’t speak. She simply walked forward. No hesitation. No questions. The moment she reached me, she threw her arms around my shoulders and buried her face into the side of my neck. Her body was shaking, but not from the cold. “I knew you’d come back,” she murmured, her voice cracked with emotion. “Nobody believed me.” I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the smell of rain in her black hair and the warmth in her embrace. The weight of every brutal moment I’d endured in the Wraith, every hallucination and false promise, seemed to dissolve in her presence. “I’m here,” I whispered back, my voice raw and tired. “I made it back.” Emily pulled away only enough to look into my face. Her expression was unreadable—part relief, part lingering doubt, but there was no anger. No judgment. Just a hundred unspoken thoughts behind green eyes. “You look like hell,” she said softly. I gave the faintest hint of a smirk. “You should see the other guys.” Her lips tightened into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Come on,” she said, reaching for my hand. “You and your... friends can come to the house. You need to rest. And we need to talk—somewhere dry.” Deathskull stood still at the top of the ramp, silent and unreadable behind his skeletal helm. He didn’t argue, didn’t object. He simply followed as well as Honey & the Monkey. We turned toward the winding trail through the rain-slick forest path that led to Emily’s homestead. The trees swayed violently in the wind as if whispering warnings in a language older than the soil itself. Even through the dense curtain of water, I could see the glow of her home—faint golden light from the windows, flickering like the last embers of a fire waiting to be stoked again. As we reached the front porch, Emily unlocked the heavy metal door and led us inside. The warmth hit me instantly. The hearth was lit, casting flickering shadows across wood-paneled walls and woven rugs. A pot of something herbal simmered on the stove. Shelves were lined with relics and books, dried flowers, old weaponry, and framed photos that time hadn't managed to erase. The storm outside raged on, but here—it was quiet. Trailing behind us was Honey, the loyal old dog with her shaggy, golden-brown coat, tongue lolling as she panted through the doorway. Right behind her was the Proboscis monkey we’d picked up along the way—a lanky, curious creature with wide amber eyes and a nose too large for its own good. It darted inside with zero hesitation, scampering across the floor, chittering like it owned the place. Emily’s expression was flat the moment the monkey hopped onto the back of the couch and began knocking over a bowl of fruit. “Oh no,” she muttered, crossing her arms. “Absolutely not.” Without needing further explanation, Deathskull, ever the efficient one, casually opened the side door that led straight to the jungle canopy. The monkey gave one last bark-like hoot, leapt off the couch, and disappeared into the green wild with zero regret or hesitation. “I already have enough pets,” Emily said dryly as she shut the door. “The dog. And you.” Her words caught me off guard for a moment, but I couldn’t help the small smirk tugging at my lips. Deathskull didn’t react to the joke—he simply knelt beside Honey, methodically stroking her side with a kind of mechanical gentleness that somehow looked perfectly natural. Honey flopped onto her back with a happy grunt, her tail thumping against the hardwood floor. Emily turned toward me as I peeled off my soaked cloak, her expression shifting again. Not softer, but steadier—more resolute. “We’re not out of this yet,” she said, voice low. “You might be back, but whatever’s coming... it’s not done with us.” “I know,” I said, meeting her gaze. “That’s why I came back.” She nodded once, then turned away to prepare the fire for a long night. I looked out the window as lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the dark clouds above Skaalandr. Something was coming. But now… I wasn’t facing it alone. Still in Emily’s house, the gentle hum of the rain outside created a calming rhythm against the windows. The storm hadn’t let up, but inside her home, there was warmth and stillness. Emily led me down the hall into her room. It was neat but lived-in—books stacked beside the bed, a holographic display still paused on some star chart she had been studying. She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes watching me carefully. I took a breath, steeling myself before speaking. "What's wrong Willy?" Emily said, as a sweet caring mother. She knew what to expect. About Maladrie. About the Wraith. "That twisted dimension tried to warp me—body and mind. I fear falling in love with you again because I didn’t want to lose control, to become something I hate. I don’t want to betray someone who saw the good in me," I said. Emily didn’t flinch. She listened, her fingers gripping the leather of her jumpsuit tightly. When I finished, she stood and took a step toward me. "Just tell me, you love me," she whispered. At that moment, something shifted. Her presence wasn’t just comforting—it was magnetic. All the feelings I thought had been broken or buried began to rise again, not tainted by the Wraith’s illusions, but fueled by something real. I started to feel desire—not warped or manipulated, but focused, genuine, and grounded in the connection we shared. Emily, dressed in her sleek black-and-white leather jumpsuit and thigh boots, looked sexy. My sexual appetite for Emily's body had risen. My feelings towards her were stronger than I remembered. Her dark hair shimmered under the room’s soft lights, and her green eyes locked with mine, unblinking, unwavering. She moved closer and placed a hand gently on my chest. Her warmth, her presence—it cut through all the noise that Maladrie had forced into my mind. The hunger that witch tried to infect me with faded like fog in sunlight. What I felt now was satisfaction. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, burying my face in her shoulder as I whispered, "I loved you. I always had." Her breath hitched, and she pressed her forehead against mine, whispering something that made me smile. "Finally." We kissed—slow, deep, real. Emily then whispers into my ear, "I can make sure you'll always stay true to me, silly Willy." Emily still looked stunning in her black & white leather Jumpsuit, and black leather thigh boots. I reached down to grab Emily's butt. Her butt which felt nice in my grasp. I playfully lifted her up and laid her onto the bed. It wasn’t frenzied or reckless. Emily tried to crawl away upon landing, but I grabbed her leg, and pulled it back. I started caressing her black leather thigh boots. Emily stuck her butt out, and said, "I guess my leather is sexier than Maladrie's". "You're sexier than that hag, or any other witch that tries to seduce me" I said with urgency, as I undid my pants. I then find a zipper at the back of Emily's butt, unzipped that area of her suit to reveal bare cheeks. I immediately grasped her cheeks which were soft, pliable, and strong. I then got a whiff of her butt, and licked her porcelain skin. I kneel up, I put my cock into Emily's butt, and I humped her for hours. I could hump her for days, years, or forever. Outside, the storm continued to pour, lightning dancing in the distance. But in that moment, inside her room, the war, the gods, the Wraith—it all disappeared. Only we remained. The next day on Skaalandr, the clouds still lingered like a heavy shroud, draping the sky in smothering gray light. The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, but a cold mist clung to the air, brushing against my skin like static from an old machine. I could still smell the remnants of ozone and scorched metal from the freak storm that had appeared and vanished without warning. This world didn’t follow the natural rules—it had its own rhythm, strange and unpredictable. Emily walked beside me, her stride strong, shoulders back, head held high. She looked like someone who had survived the collapse of ten worlds and was ready to face ten more. Her black and white leather jumpsuit gleamed in the damp light, the form-fitted armor catching on the filtered sun that broke through the cloud cover. Every time I glanced at her, I felt a strange mixture of comfort and tension—comfort because she was here and real, and tension because I knew how close I’d come to never seeing her again. Deathskull walked just behind us, silent as ever, his movements precise, calculated. The slight hum of his power core was the only sound he made as we moved. He didn’t talk, didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to keep curious onlookers at a distance. As we passed through the streets, I could feel eyes tracking us from every angle. Windows fogged with breath as people watched from inside, some faces wide-eyed with disbelief, others narrowed in fear or awe. No one spoke directly to me, but I caught fragments of whispers, half-hidden in the shifting wind. One voice stood out, a hoarse murmur from a woman clutching a bundle of synth-cloth close to her chest: “He came back from the Wraith.” I kept walking, ignoring the chill that crept up my spine. They didn’t understand. No one did. Coming back from the Wraith wasn’t just about surviving. It had changed me—fundamentally. I wasn’t the same man I’d been when I left. My senses felt sharper. My instincts moved faster than my thoughts. There was something in me now, something that didn’t belong, something I was still trying to define. We approached the capital building, Emily didn’t slow down. Her focus was like a laser—straight toward the mission, straight toward the answers. As we climbed the wide staircase to the main entrance, I noticed a flicker of movement from above—watch drones hovering in near silence, scanning us with red pulses. None of them moved to intercept. They knew who we were. Or maybe they were just waiting to see what would happen next. The grand entrance parted with a low hiss, revealing a corridor bathed in pale red light. The air inside was charged, dense with energy. I could feel it thrumming through the soles of my boots, a deep pulse like the heartbeat of the planet itself. Inside the central chamber, a massive holographic map hovered in the air. Stars spun in measured arcs, systems blinked with coded markers, and thin threads of red drew lines between known conflict zones. But in the middle—there it was. The rift. The place I’d been taken. It had grown. Its edges were fractal now, like a wound tearing deeper with every passing second. Emily moved to the central console, downloading mission briefings, sifting through encrypted communiqués. I could tell by the way her jaw clenched that something was wrong—something worse than before. She didn’t need to say it. I could feel the tension building inside her like pressure in a sealed chamber. Skaalandr wasn’t safe. And the enemy we thought we understood was evolving. Deathskull stood at the far end of the chamber, unmoving, his optical sensors flickering in a slow, rhythmic pattern as he scanned for threats. He was reliable, a fortress of steel and logic. No emotion, no hesitation. I walked toward a wide observation window that overlooked the city. The view was surreal—streets gleaming in the wet light, the buildings shimmering with semi-organic panels that flickered like the skin of a creature dreaming. From this vantage point, everything looked peaceful. But I knew better. Beneath that surface, something was stirring. The Wraith hadn’t just taken me. It had left something behind. A trace. A hum. A frequency that I could feel vibrating just beneath my consciousness. I wasn’t entirely human anymore. Whatever I’d touched, whatever had reached out and reshaped me, it had rewired part of my soul. And I didn’t know if I could ever go back. Then I heard it—a low rumble in the distance, faint but distinct. I looked up and saw the sky fracture into black. A ship descended slowly through the mist, sleek and jagged like a blade, its surface absorbing light instead of reflecting it. No markings. No signal broadcast. It didn’t belong to any faction I knew. The silence stretched until Deathskull noticed it. “That’s one of Cybrawl’s ships,” he said. I turn to Emily in confusion. “Why is there a Cybrawl vessel stationed outside?” “Your Droid L-84 will be joining us for the briefing,” Emily said, as she turned towards the door. She gestured for us to follow, so we did. We continued to walk through the balcony/walkway, and I noticed the skeleton of a dragon was still present, soaring above the lobby floor. I will never view dragons the same way. I got to witness a real flesh & blood dragon in the Wraith. I paused my stride, and I just gazed at the beast's skeleton. Lost in thought. I guess I have been looking too hard. I had no recollection of my surroundings until Emily crept up behind me to hold my hand. “What’s wrong?” “You know, a dragon helped us escape the Wraith,” I said. Not knowing what to speak of next. I could tell there was a sense of urgency in Emily’s eyes. Although, she was still understanding, “Come, we can share stories later.” With that, we walked into the briefing chamber, which was the same briefing room as we left it. There were a few minor adjustments though. A lot of the lights in the room were a warm hue, and holographic screens were once fluorescent ultramarine, now give a crimson glow. In fact, a lot of the lighting in the Capital glows crimson. Same goes for street lights on Skaalandr. I didn’t mind the changes, since I found red to be a pretty color. Although, I had to ask? “What’s with all of the red hun. Seems very festive?” “A lot can change in seven years.” Emily said, as Serenity appeared with Droid L-84 at the door way. She turned her attention towards them. “Good you’re here, please take a seat.” Emily then struts to the panel to activate the holoscreen. While clicking a button, the briefing chambers doors automatically close. I was a bit confused. “Is anyone else coming?” I asked laced with concern. I began to wonder why the love of my life was taking a lead in mission control rather than Joseph. “Where’s Joseph?” “Joseph is dead, Will.” She said, in a calm tone. I was shocked and I didn’t even know what to say. How can a grizzled warrior like Joseph die? I guess I didn’t have a damn clue on how rocky things have gotten during my tribulations in the Wraith! Emily could visibly see the confusion, fear, and shock across my face. “Yep.” Emily continued to speak in a neutral relaxing tone. Although, she escalates the volume of her voice. “He died a few days later after you two left. Joseph was tasked with securing a peace treaty with the Red Dragon Empire. Only to be imprisoned and flayed to death.” Emily was already sitting next to me, although she leaned in to say something valuable. Everyone else was silent. “I was left to continue a war against the Knights. Even after trying to be more open to the Red Dragon’s culture. After re-branding our crest, our banners, our style. Being more welcoming to their citizens meant nothing to their imperial rule. I was left to rule Vikingnar, and lead its people into battle myself. Since I didn’t have a general to lead armies.” The shock went away, I was frustrated. Not with Emily, this whole situation. I was really adamant on making Vikingnar a galactic republic. Although, with a twist of events, my woman was left to her own vices, and thought she could run a galactic civilization on her own. Why? I have no idea. I looked at Emily, and she had that sweet look in her eyes. I just knew that this mess wasn’t on her. Was it on me? Partially maybe. Something happened while I was away. “What happened?” I asked with confusion laced with frustration. “I thought you were going to establish the first galactic constitutional republic. Instead of doing it the outdated way?” Emily sighed, and began to scratch her head. I still pressed her for answers. “Like what happened? And wasn’t Valrra supposed to help you?” I continued, and soon realized Valrra had something to do with my poor Emily being left to handle everything on her own. Emily looked down when I asked, “Where’s Valrra? Deathskull assigned her to help you?” Emily sighed. And with her head down she says, “Valrra is in jail Will.” She looked up at me with innocent eyes. “She’s imprisoned on Cybrawl.” I turned towards the glass table, leaned over to rest my arms, and could feel a migraine rising. I just took a deep breath to ease my anxiety. “Why is she in jail Emily?” Emily points assertively at Droid L-84. Almost aggressively, she says, “Ask him.” If robots had emotions, I would say that Droid L-84 had the posture of a stiff, frightened child. The droid still managed to speak. “I was investigating how I time traveled to Earth through a regular Wraith portal. How we time traveled. All of my leads came back to Valrra, since she’s in charge of containing & maintaining the Immortals in the Vault.” I was struck back by this information, as well as relieved. Since I don’t have to obliterate my favorite droid. Although, I was still apprehensive. Is Droid L-84 explaining what I suspect? “Are you saying she kidnapped me?” “Not only that, she may have been the individual responsible for placing a gift for Emily. The same gift that was in your bag, the first night you stayed at Skaalandr.” Droid L-84 seemed to be confident in his statement. With a look of caution I ask, “So you’re saying Valrra helped the Immortals escape. Staging it as accidents you were blamed for?” Droid L-84 answered right away, “Yes.” I sighed in disgust, anger, and confusion. “Ok?” I said not knowing what to expect. “That would make Valrra a pathological liar. We were all in agreement that Subi placed the extra canister in my suitcase.” I said, as I rested my face on my left hand, leaning over on the table. At that moment I just stared off into space. “Is there anything else I should know about Valrra or the immortals?” I asked as Emily placed her hand on my shoulder. “Yes. From my observations I’ve noticed that every Immortal chooses its host, and will reject anyone who isn’t viable enough to merge with.” Droid L-84 faintly looked at Serenity, everyone did. “That’s probably why the attempt to merge Serenity with an Immortal, failed the first time.” I sighed and I realized we’re going to have to put the mystery of Immortals aside. “Ok, we will deal with this matter later. We still have enemies to face.” The lights inside the conference chamber were dim, casting long shadows across the high-tech glass table that dominated the center of the room. Its surface pulsed faintly with red lines of energy, feeding into a slowly rotating projection of Vikingnar’s star systems, each flicker of light denoting a planet on the brink. The air was heavy, tense—thick with the unspoken weight of recent events and what was still to come. I sat at the head of the table, Emily on one side of me, Serenity on the other. Deathskull and Droid L-84 stood near the entrance, both silent and motionless, their glowing optics scanning the edges of the room. None of us had said anything for a while. We didn’t need to. The silence spoke for us—grief, fatigue, and the pressure of responsibility pressing down like a vice. Emily broke the silence first, her voice quiet but resolute. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers tracing a line on the glowing table. “You asked me how I handled the Shark People and the Knights,” she said, her green eyes distant. “I remembered something you told me… about how sharks respond to sound more than anything else. So I sent out the probes. Lured their fleet away from Vikingnar. Straight toward Red Dragon’s territory.” Her confession settled in the air like dust. I stared at her, reading the quiet guilt in her posture. She wasn’t proud of it—it had been a brutal, calculated act. But it has saved lives. And she’d done it because I wasn’t there. Serenity looked down, her fingers laced tightly in her lap. She was still adjusting to being alive again, and the darkness in her eyes hinted that she remembered far too much from the other side. “They’ll retaliate,” she murmured. “Red Dragon won’t forget this.” “I know,” I said, finally breaking my silence. My voice was low, grounded in something deeper than anger. “That’s why we can’t just sit here and wait.” I reached into my coat and pulled out the chunk of Shungite, setting it on the table. The smooth black stone seemed to drink in the light around it, humming faintly with a hidden energy. “This,” I said, “is going to be the key. Deathskull, I want you and L-84 to head back to Cybrawl. Start replicating this in bulk. We need it to finish the Wraith Device. If we can stabilize it… maybe we can stop the demons from bleeding into our world.” Deathskull gave a subtle nod, and Droid L-84 responded with a soft, electronic chime. They both understood the gravity of what I was asking. I looked at Emily and Serenity, my jaw tight. “While they’re handling that… we’re going to York.” Emily’s brow lifted slightly. Serenity’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t need a war,” I continued, “but we need a presence. York is close to Red Dragon’s sector, and it’s an important trade hub. If we can get a foothold there—if we can show strength without declaring open war—they’ll hesitate before trying anything again.” Emily didn’t speak right away. She stared into the holographic stars above the table, her expression unreadable. I could see the weight of the last few months in her eyes. The fear. The waiting. The hope. Finally, she nodded. None of us smiled. There was nothing to celebrate yet. We were all worn down—me from the Wraith, Serenity from death, and Emily from carrying everything alone. But I was back. We were together. And we weren’t going to lose again. The meeting had come to a close, but the energy it left behind buzzed through the corridors like static in the air. Outside the capitol building, the shipyard pulsed with activity. Viking warriors, both human and hybrid, were assembling in the rain-slicked plaza, their boots echoing against the stone as they lined up in precise formations. The storm had passed, leaving the air dense and humid, the sky still bruised with shifting clouds. The scent of ozone lingered. As the warriors prepared for deployment, Emily and I made our way through the long corridors beneath the capital—hallways lined with glowing sigils, steel supports, and traces of ancient Vikingnar craftsmanship embedded into the walls. We slipped into the armory room—a chamber that smelled of steel, gunpowder, and synthetic leather. The lights were low, flickering slightly above racks of advanced weapons and body armor. A long table stretched across the center of the room, cluttered with gear and data tablets. Emily leaned against the edge, pulling back her dark hair into a tie and adjusting the belt above her thighs. Her black and red jumpsuit creaked slightly as she shifted her weight. "I know we’re ready," she said, glancing toward the wall-mounted screen displaying deployment schedules. "But I just wish I didn’t have to leave Honey behind." I nodded, kneeling beside a weapons locker, locking a new plasma cartridge into my sidearm. “Same here. She’s been through a lot too.” Emily looked at me with a hint of concern. “Don’t worry,” she said, slipping a small comm disk into her belt. “I hired a dog sitter I trust. A local from the Skaalandr pet store. She’s trained with wildlife and handled dogs before, back when I was gone for long Raids. She’ll be okay.” I paused, standing up and looking at her—really looking at her. There was a calm steadiness in her that hadn’t been there before. The kind that comes from walking through fire and coming out stronger. “Well, in that case,” I said, reaching into my utility belt, fingers brushing against the pouch I’d kept hidden until now. I pulled it out slowly—a small cloth satchel, slightly burnt around the edges from the Wraith’s touch. “I brought you something. From the other side.” Emily raised an eyebrow, curious. I opened the pouch and poured the gemstones into my gloved palm. The stones were jagged, rough-hewn like volcanic glass, with veins of strange color running through them. Most looked like they belonged in a cave beneath some distant moon. All except one. The pink heart-shaped gemstone seemed... alive. Its soft glow pulsed faintly like a heartbeat, its surface smooth and polished, as if untouched by the chaos of the Wraith. Emily stepped closer, her expression softening. Her breath caught just slightly when she saw it. She reached out and touched the gemstone, and in that moment, something subtle shifted in the air around us. Like a string between two people being pulled taut—and then released. “Beelzebub gave them to me,” I said quietly. “Said to give them to you. I think this one was meant for your heart.” Emily smiled—not the kind of forced smile worn during hard days, but something deeper. Warmer. She pulled me into a sudden, tight bear hug. I felt her breath against my neck, the tension in her shoulders finally giving way, even if just for a moment. “You melted me,” she whispered, half-teasing, half-serious. She slipped the heart gem into her utility belt beside her blade, as if it belonged there all along. The overhead alarm sounded—low and steady. It was time. Emily gave me one last look, nodded, and we both turned to head out. The corridors now swelled with marching feet and flashing indicator lights. Through the arched exit, we could already see our long ship—sleek, dark silver, its hull shaped with runic curves and solar wings folded at its sides. Blue flames pulsed at the engine vents, waiting. The boarding ramp hissed open. I followed Emily across the tarmac, boots striking wet steel, rain still dripping from the overhead rails. She walked with certainty, shoulders back, hair whipping in the wind. I trailed beside her, my mind focused, my hand occasionally brushing the shard of ethereal glass still in my belt. Honey would be safe. The demons will be halted soon. The Red Dragon would soon know we were still here. And this time, we were fighting back. We left Skaalandr to make a statement to the Imperialists. We arrived at York fairly quickly, and everyone was scrambling to the drop pods. The drop pod’s interior was tighter than I remembered. A narrow metal coffin built for atmosphere reentry—cramped, dimly lit, and rumbling beneath our feet as we sealed inside. The walls pulsed with faint blue light from the onboard systems. There were seats, and metallic grips lining the sides. A curved ceiling overhead that made it impossible to stand upright. Emily slid in between Serenity and I as the hatch closed behind us. She didn’t say anything at first, but the tension was obvious. Her hand reached out and steadied herself beside me as the pod began to tremble with the countdown ignition. Then, casually but with steel in her voice, she turned to Serenity. “I don’t want you to kiss my man again.” Serenity didn’t reply. She looked down, her long hair partially covering her face. There was something complex behind her silence—not guilt exactly, but an understanding. A recognition that this wasn’t the time or place to challenge Emily’s claim. I nodded in quiet agreement, not to shame Serenity, but to show Emily she was right to protect what we had. We were already dealing with war, loss, and the encroaching edge of darkness. The last thing we needed was uncertainty between us. The pod jolted violently. Outside, the great doors of the long ship peeled open to the stars. The sky was filled with descending streaks of light—dozens of drop pods launching in perfect formation. We were just another ember falling toward the surface of York. The sound was deafening as we breached the planet’s atmosphere. The outer hull glowed orange from the friction, the pod shuddering and moaning under the pressure. Emily closed her eyes and braced herself. Serenity gripped the side rail tighter, her breath slow and controlled. I just watched the heat ripple across the forward display, already visualizing the terrain below. A flashing red alert indicated our target site was locked in. Ten seconds to impact. The pod leveled out, streaking low over grasslands and thick patches of forest. Through the small viewport, I could see the capital in the distance—a walled city of towering gothic spires and shimmering banners fluttering in the wind. Despite their militaristic legacy, the Red Dragon’s architecture was strangely reverent. Their buildings didn’t crush the landscape—they embraced it. Nature and structure interwoven, as if the city had grown from the soil itself. There was something beautiful about it. And yet, I knew better. Beauty often masked brutality. These were the same people who had torched Vikingnar’s far colonies, who spread imperial doctrine across the stars like wildfire. The pod thudded hard as we hit the ground. Doors hissed open, ramps extended. We stepped out onto a vast field of golden grass, still wet with morning dew. Dozens of other pods landed in staggered patterns around us, hissing steam as warriors emerged—armor glinting, banners raised high, hover cannons already being assembled by our tech crews. The city loomed ahead. Its walls were thick, constructed from blackened concrete and metal alloy. Watchtowers rose along the perimeter, their figures cloaked in red and silver, weapons at the ready—but they did not fire their laser rifles. Designed to penetrate our armor's energy shields. Not yet. There was no open hostility. No attack orders. Only the heavy weight of observation. Emily, her voice crisp through the comm-link. “We hold the field. No moves until the scouts finish the sweep. We’re not here to start a war—we’re here to make them think twice before they try another one.” “Copy that,” I said, tightening the strap on my shoulder guard. “Hover cannon’s coming online.” Serenity remained quiet as she helped unload gear from one of the support pods. Her movements were sharp, methodical. She hadn’t spoken since the drop, but her focus was admirable. We had a history—yes—but right now, there was only the mission. Our warriors began forming a perimeter. Drones zipped overhead, scanning the field and the nearby tree lines. Engineers rolled out the first hover cannon—an angular, hovering platform with a thick energy core in its center. It whirred to life, red pulses lighting up along its targeting array. I looked back at the city, its walls silent, its towers unmoving. There wasn’t much difference between our civilization and theirs. We both lived by strength. We both revered legacy, power, and the dead who brought us this far. The only things that separated us were our beliefs—how we saw the stars, and what we were willing to do to claim them. I felt Emily’s hand brush against mine briefly, a silent reassurance that no matter what came next, we’d face it together. Then I stepped forward, past the hover cannon, toward the high field ridge overlooking the city. They could see us. I watched the Knights emerge from the capital’s walls—row after row of crimson-plated figures, their helmets horned, visors glowing like lit coals. Their formation was slow and deliberate, spreading across the outer corridor like a plague. Emily stood next to me, eyes narrowed, jaw set. “Another peace treaty won’t work,” I told her. “They’ve already made up their minds.” She just exhaled, the sound sharp through her nostrils, and secured the armored disc onto her chest. It magnetized with a metallic click. Thin red lines crawled outward from the center like veins, activating the upgraded nano armor that rapidly expanded across her limbs and torso like a living second skin. The technology was seamless. Familiar. Her silhouette became angular, almost predatory—shoulders reinforced, joints plated, helm wrapping around her face like a silver skull. The visor snapped into place, casting an ominous crimson glow from the slanted eyes. Her entire ensemble—jet black and blood red—merged perfectly with the leather jumpsuit she wore beneath. She looked like a storm given form. We didn’t hesitate. Beyond the lush fields and defensive line, the city gates had opened just wide enough to allow a battalion of Knights to march forward, their forms gleaming beneath the rising light. Their armor was heavier than ours, plated and baroque—draped in red tabards and insignias from a thousand battles past. Energy spears glowed at their sides, and their helmets bore vertical slits like the teeth of some great beast. They charged. They advanced with discipline, knowing their numbers gave them confidence. But numbers wouldn’t be enough. Not today. Emily and I surged forward alongside the first wave of our warriors. The field that once shimmered peacefully in the morning haze now trembled with thunderous footfalls. The air thickened with kinetic pulses, the screech of laser rifles and the charged hum of hover blades clashing against powered shields. The horizon fractured into chaos. I didn’t wait for the enemy to come to us. I plunged into the tide of armored bodies with controlled brutality. My blade, forged from celestial alloy and tuned to my genetic imprint, cracked through even the thickest plating. And pierced chainmail with ease. I was faster than them. Smarter. I didn’t just fight—I hunted. I broke formations, slipped past shields, left confusion and torn metal in my wake. My strikes were precise, my motion constant, and every time their lines tried to reform. I was already within them, turning in order to panic with my chainsword. Emily fought close to me—not behind, but just off my shoulder. Her movements were more fluid than mine. Elegant, even. Her strikes didn’t rely on brute force but perfect timing. Where I shattered skulls and armor, she slipped her blade into joints and neck seams with ruthless efficiency. Her combat style was a dance, beautiful and terrible. Anyone who tried to flank her didn’t last more than a few seconds. No one touched her. I made sure of that. Our target was the plasma shield—an enormous, humming wall of red light that sealed the inner gate to the capital. It shimmered like a liquid forcefield stretched thin across a steel skeleton. At its base, the hover cannon hovered inches above the ground, escorted by a dozen of our warriors in a circular phalanx formation. They formed an unbreakable ring around the machine, shielded by overlapping hard-light barriers and sharpened polearms that rotated in shifting patterns. We stayed close to that formation, anchoring its forward drive. Knights tried to breach the circle, but the moment they crossed the invisible threshold, Emily and I were there—swords meeting them with vicious finality. Blood and circuitry burst into the air. Limbs dropped. Armor folded under kinetic shock. And still the cannon advanced. The field around us turned to a war zone of heat and fury. Explosions dotted the hills behind, where drop pods continued to offload supplies and reinforcements. Overhead, small fighters screamed past, exchanging laser fire with Red Dragon drones. The sky pulsed with burn lines and smoke trails, yet through it all, we kept our pace forward. We reached the shield. The hover cannon activated, its base unfolding like a blooming mechanical flower. Long plasma coils emerged, rotating and locking into place with deep, vibrating tones that shook the air. The weapon charged. Energy collected in the forward lens—a deep orange light that began to distort the atmosphere with its growing heat signature. Enemy troops threw themselves at us in a desperate last stand. They knew what was about to happen. But their desperation only made them reckless. I broke two helmets in quick succession with my chainsword, then rolled beneath a halberd swipe to drive my blade into the gut of another. Emily twisted between two incoming soldiers, leaving trails of black smoke as her magic cleaved open their reinforced chests. Then, the cannon fired. A colossal red beam erupted from the weapon’s core—an uninterrupted stream of incandescent fury. It struck the plasma shield with a sound like ripping thunder, and the barrier screamed in protest. It convulsed, pulsed, then finally cracked—spiderwebs of dying energy crawling across its surface before the whole thing collapsed in on itself with a whiplash of red lightning. The gate was open. Emily and I didn’t wait. We stormed inside with a dozen warriors at our backs. The first line of defense—the outer courtyard—was already being evacuated by civilians. They screamed and scattered at the sight of us, their cloaks and clothes flapping behind them as they fled deeper into the city. The architecture up close was breathtaking: gothic spires of iron and obsidian, lined with living ivy and glowing sigils. Massive statues loomed above us, their eyes lit with energy, their spears pointed skyward. But this wasn’t a sightseeing tour. We pushed through the inner gate into the residential quarter, and that’s when the heavy response came. Dozens of Red Dragon Knights awaited us—this time in elite formation. They were taller, thicker, wearing ceremonial armor plated in black steel with crimson trim. Their weapons crackled with energy—war hammers. These weren’t foot soldiers. These were their best. The moment our boots touched the marble of the inner yard, they attacked without warning. They didn’t shout. They didn’t posture. They moved like ghosts wrapped in thunder, crashing into us with the force of titans. The battle shifted instantly. What had been chaos in the fields became something more savage, more personal, in the narrow confines of the inner city. Every step forward was earned in blood. Every swing of my sword deflected another death. I could barely track Emily in the flurry of violence, but I knew she was near. Her nano-visor pulsed red every time her blades made contact. Her armor was scratched, scorched—but never broken. I fought through the storm with fury in my heart. Fury for the lives we’d lost. Fury for the lies we’d been fed. Fury for the endless push and pull of peace that never came. We weren’t here to conquer. We were here to make sure they never underestimated us again. And the walls of York would remember it. Meanwhile, lightyears away from the blood-soaked plains of York, a different kind of storm brewed in the mechanical heart of Cybrawl. The golden sheen of Deathskull and Droid L-84’s skeletal frames shimmered under the crimson light as they passed through the docking corridor of the main pyramidal structure—an enormous obsidian-black fortress veined with shimmering gold alloys and glowing red seams that pulsed like a mechanical heartbeat. The entranceway opened wide like the maw of some ancient machine god, carved with glyphs of forgotten wars and lit by flickering, vertical lights that descended the walls like blood. Inside, the air hummed with power—raw, technological, ancient. Droids of every class marched in rigid formations across polished floors of dark metal, their footsteps synchronized in a metallic cadence that echoed endlessly. Above them, aerial drones hovered through vertical shafts, and mechanical sentries rotated on rails embedded in the high walls, scanning the halls with red optic sensors. Deathskull paused as he entered the central hall, gaze rising toward the towering atrium ahead. “I see the lights match our new style,” he said dryly, eye sockets glowing brighter. “Nice.” L-84, trailing just behind, chuckled in his own synthetic way—a glitchy, stuttering reverberation of sound that mimicked laughter. “Dramatic, yes. Intimidating? Absolutely.” Droids of various types turned their heads and waved or saluted as they passed. “Welcome home, Commander Deathskull,” several said in unison, their voices modulated and hollow. Others stood at rigid attention, reverent in posture, like mechanical monks awaiting holy guidance. But the momentary serenity was shattered when a frantic, limping droid—clearly battered and scorched—came sprinting from a side corridor, limbs twitching as sparks trailed behind its damaged servos. “Master Deathskull! L-84!” it gasped in panic. “Come quickly! Valrra has escaped and left the vault in ruins!” Deathskull’s eye sockets flared. Without hesitation, he and L-84 pivoted and followed the panicked droid down the winding corridor at high speed. Their feet clicked sharply against the metal floor, heels clanging like war drums. As they descended into the lower levels of the pyramid, the red lighting deepened into a harsher, more alarmed hue—an emergency pulse that bathed everything in a warning glow. The jail area was a twisted mess. The reinforced security doors to Valrra’s holding cell had been torn apart—blasted outward with internal force. The walls were scorched with a strange black residue that pulsed ever so faintly, like some kind of ethereal contamination. Shards of high-density alloy and broken restraint coils littered the floor. The cell, once the most secure within Cybrawl, was completely hollow. “She’s gone,” L-84 stated, scanning the residual energy signature. “Residual radiation is non-elemental. This was an ethereal phase shift—not a mechanical breach.” Deathskull didn’t answer. He only turned and stormed toward the vault chambers deeper in the substructure. As they approached, warning klaxons pulsed across the ceiling. Laser grids flickered uselessly across broken doorways. Two patrol drones lay smoking in the hallway, their chassis warped and sparking, still twitching from the attack. Then they entered the Vault. It had once been a sacred room—protected by dimensional locks, frequency-tuned energy fields, and arcane containment rings powered by the highest concentration of dark matter in the system. Now, it looked like the aftermath of a localized apocalypse. The chamber was massive, circular, and hollow in its center, its obsidian walls etched with containment glyphs and neural interlace panels. But now, all of it lay in ruin. The once-pristine containment canisters, each suspended in anti-grav fields and sealed with quantum keys, were shattered—glass and alloy scattered across the floor like the bones of fallen titans. Some floated, suspended in erratic gravity pulses. Others flickered in and out of phase, torn between physical and ethereal states. And the worst of it—every canister was empty. All of the Immortals were gone. Vapor trails of energy hung in the air, like afterimages of the creatures who once dwelled inside. These were not physical entities—they were ancient ethereal beings, older than the stars, beings of raw time, space, and entropy. Some were barely comprehensible, their forms barely seen by organic eyes. Now… they were free. Deathskull stepped forward slowly, the red glow of his eyes intensifying as he surveyed the devastation. L-84’s voice, usually steady, now quivered with dissonant modulation. “This… is a catastrophic breach. The Vault was never supposed to fail.” Deathskull’s fists clenched. “I guess you had every right to be suspicious of Valrra.” He said coldly. Back on the planet York, within the twisted, labyrinthine streets of the capital city, chaos reigned under a sky bathed in smoke and plasma fire. The brutal clang of metal against metal echoed between towering gothic structures—stone spires interlaced with synth-metal architecture that jutted into the crimson sky like blades. Red banners of the Red Dragon Empire were torn and flapping violently in the wind as flames licked the sides of the walls and fallen hovercrafts lay overturned in the bloodstained streets. The scent of scorched ozone and burning flesh saturated the air. Beneath the thundering clouds, I was a blur of movement, my chainsword roaring like an enraged beast with every sweep. Its vibrating teeth chewed through Death Hammer knight armor with vicious efficiency, sending up showers of sparks and arterial spray. I weaved through the front lines like a storm of steel, flanked tightly by Emily whose acrobatics and ruthless precision mirrored mine. Her blade shimmered with nano-reactive light as she danced through the chaos, black and red armor burning with kinetic energy, visor glowing menacingly over her focused eyes. But the knights were unrelenting. These were not conscripts or rookies—these were the elite. Death hammer. Each Death Hammer knight stood nearly seven feet tall in reinforced armor laced with biomech enhancements. Their halberds were integrated with pulse cores, delivering deadly bursts of energy with each strike. Their shields emitted shockwaves on impact, knocking back even the strongest of our Vikingnar warriors. The battle was evenly matched, even with our technology. The cobblestone plaza near the capitol-building became a blood arena. Laser bolts arced between shattered columns, and the ground trembled with each artillery blast from distant skirmishes. Our warriors pressed forward, forming defensive perimeters behind fallen hover-wagons and crumbled statues. Emily and I surged through the vanguard, our objective clear—get to the capital doors and break the resistance. Then came the traps. Small metal spheres dropped from the balconies above—compact, high-frequency EMP shock grenades. They detonated with invisible force, releasing rippling pulses of kinetic energy and electromagnetic shock. Several of our warriors were hurled into the air like ragdolls, slamming against walls and debris, armor cracking upon impact. The noise was blinding—soundwaves distorted as the energy tore through the ground like invisible tsunamis. Serenity, trying to take cover behind a broken pillar, was caught directly in the blast radius. The explosion knocked her off her feet, and she crashed into a broken metallic column. Her armor cracked, steam hissing from its joints. She lay motionless, her chestplate scorched and sparking. For a moment, the battle seemed to pause around her fallen body. A sudden quietness in the noise. That’s when the storm began. Reality bent. A humming, almost organic vibration flooded the air. The sky twisted, folding into itself like a wounded dream. A rift tore through the dimension above the battlefield—a jagged slit glowing with an impossible blue, lined with chaotic fractals and flowing ether. From within it, a formless shape descended—an Immortal, raw and unshaped by time, composed of layered energy and thought. Its mass swirled like a storm of soul-light, shifting constantly, taking on brief, abstract impressions of limbs and wings before collapsing back into flowing radiance. It descended upon Serenity. The ethereal entity hovered above her broken form for only a heartbeat—and then it plunged into her body like liquid lightning. A shockwave exploded from the fusion, rippling across the field. Blue fire erupted from her chest as the being merged with her soul and spine. Her body arched violently, suspended in air by invisible forces. The cracks in her armor widened as arcs of light surged through every plate. Serenity manages to deactivate her armor completely. Glowing sigils, alien in language, formed across her arms and collarbones as her jumpsuit shimmered into prominence—white leather now glowing with a celestial blue hue, as if lit from within by stars. Her hair flowed upward as if underwater, black strands suspended in glowing gravity. Her eyes blazed like twin supernovae, pure blue and depthless. Heat emanated from her like solar radiation, burning the edges of nearby stone. Her breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling with the strain of containing what was now inside her. Her arms lifted. Then the storm unleashed. Wind descended from above—massive and divine—summoned from the fractured skies. It wasn’t natural. It carried the voice of the Immortal inside her. The heavens darkened with spiraling cloud formations, concentric vortexes lit by pulses of blue-white lightning. Within seconds, a violent tornado formed directly over Serenity, tendrils of wind swirling around her body like a vortex crown. The enemy knights hesitated. Then they screamed. The vortex dropped down like a judgment. Enemy forces were lifted into the air by an unseen, divine force—their bodies spinning rapidly, torn from the ground. Some slammed into buildings. Others collided mid-air, their limbs dislocating as the wind fractured bones and twisted joints. Armor plates ripped free like leaves. Helmets were peeled off by centrifugal force. Some knights were thrown hundreds of feet into the sky only to fall like shattered statues. Blood rained. Red mist cascaded down like paint spilled from the stars, painting the capital’s ruins in crimson. Limbs, weapons, and fragments of armor clattered down among the debris. The sky was chaos incarnate—no longer a battleground, but a god’s fury unleashed. We watched, stunned and still, as the storm consumed our enemies. And then, silence. The wind collapsed in on itself. The vortex disintegrated into streams of fading energy that fell like glitter through the air. Serenity’s body slowly descended to the ground, weightless at first, then heavy. Her knees buckled. Her arms trembled. Her face was slack from exhaustion, and the glow in her eyes dimmed. She fell. Emily ran toward her. I followed. But Serenity was still breathing—barely. Her body trembled as the last of the Immortal energy faded into her bloodstream, now dormant. The celestial glow on her jumpsuit flickered, stabilizing into soft pulses. She had survived. But she was spent. And now… forever changed. Around us, the city was still. The capital gates were breached. The defenders were gone—torn by the divine winds. Fires crackled in silence. Smoke drifted lazily in the now-calm air. Distant sounds of battle still echoed from other sectors, but here, at the heart of the city, the war had ended in blood and wonder. Above, the rift in the sky sealed itself, the last trace of the Immortal’s arrival disappearing like a fading scar in the atmosphere. We stood victorious. But what came next… no one could have predicted. Because when an Immortal chooses a host… the universe always takes notice. CHAPTER 10: "HEROES RETURN" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER "Vikings War In valhalla" Chapter 3: "The Coming War" The sound came first—a sharp crack that echoed off the cold metal walls of the pyramid. Then came the blood. Ragnar staggered. A fine mist burst from his throat, catching the artificial sunlight like crimson vapor. His crown slipped from his head, clattered down the steps, and spun to a stop. He collapsed in my arms before I could fully process what had happened. “Get a sealant!” Emily yelled, already dropping to her knees beside us. Serenity was faster, slapping a glowing patch against his neck with a hiss of energy. Ragnar’s breath rattled through the broken edges of his windpipe. Still alive. But only barely. My heart was pounding, every instinct screaming for retaliation. I scanned the high ridgelines of Cybrawl’s jungle-tech skyline—there was no sign of a shooter, no shimmer of movement, nothing but the eerie silence that followed violence. Joseph’s voice broke it. He stepped away from the group, answering a call on his comm with clipped urgency. When he returned, his expression had turned to stone. “It’s confirmed,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Red Dragon Empire. They were behind it. They’ve been probing Cybrawl’s borders for weeks… waiting. This was a warning shot.” I looked down at the blood soaking into Ragnar’s ceremonial armor. A warning shot? No. This was war. The pyramid loomed behind us, black and monolithic, the ancient temple of the Demon Droids—normally a place of diplomacy and forbidden technology. Now it was stained with the blood of a king. I turned to face Deathskull. The warlord stood at the temple’s summit, silent, unreadable behind his titanium skull mask. The green glow from his optic lenses pulsed slowly, watching, calculating. He didn’t move, not even as Ragnar bled at his doorstep. “You know what this means,” I said quietly, voice sharp with restrained fury. “They didn’t just come for Ragnar. They came for your legacy. Your tech. Your world.” Deathskull descended the stairs with deliberate weight, each footstep striking like a drumbeat against the hollow structure. He came to a stop before Ragnar’s body and knelt—not out of reverence, but recognition. His eyes flicked to the blood still pooling on the stone. “This is sacrilege,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone. Valrra stepped forward from the shadows of the archway. Her crimson skin glistened in the sun, a Crimseed woman marked by centuries of quiet wisdom. She said nothing at first—only looked at Deathskull with calm certainty. “You always knew this day would come,” she said. “You just didn’t want to believe it.” For a long moment, the only sounds were Ragnar’s ragged breathing and the distant thrum of Cybrawl’s automated defenses kicking into high alert. Then Deathskull rose. “They want the portal,” he said. “Then they will have to walk through it… in chains.” The sky above began to shift. Tower-sized defense towers emerged from hidden panels in the landscape. Blue flame flared beneath the jungle canopies as Cybrawl’s warships ignited, rising like awakened beasts from slumber. Deathskull turned toward me. “I will summon the Demon Droids,” he said, voice hollow and thunderous. “And we will show the Red Dragon Empire what death really looks like.” Emily glanced at me, her green eyes filled not with fear—but with knowing. I nodded once. “Then it’s decided.” Behind us, Ragnar was lifted onto a medical gurney, drifting toward the pyramid, barely clinging to life. Serenity followed close, her eyes locked on the horizon. Joseph already had a hand on his comm, issuing orders to Vikingnar’s fleet. The lines had been drawn. Cybrawl was no longer a neutral world. The Red Dragon Empire had broken the code. And now, from the steps of a bloodied pyramid, a war was beginning that would burn across the stars. Valrra's hands moved with quiet precision, her crimson fingers slick with nanogel as she sealed the final tear in Ragnar’s throat. Subi, a veteran field medic from Cybrawl's central ward, monitored his vitals with a fixed stare. The king still breathed—barely—but every breath was borrowed time. “Go,” Valrra said without looking up. “We’ll keep him alive. If the Red Dragons want this world, they’ll have to claw through us first.” I nodded once and turned to follow Deathskull. He moved like a monolith, his long cloak trailing behind him, black and frayed at the edges from centuries of war. The closer we came to the capital, the louder the world became. Defense turrets rotated into position, vehicles rumbled beneath the jungle floor, and above us, the fleet began its descent—a formation of longships casting shadows like metal angels over Cybrawl’s fractured skyline. It should have been a moment of strength. Instead, the sky exploded. One of our ships— our  ship, the one Ragnar’s family had boarded for extraction—burst apart mid-air in a chain of violent shockwaves. The fire bloomed outwards like a dying sun, sending debris spiraling through the clouds. Emily screamed. Joseph’s eyes widened in disbelief. I couldn’t move. “No... no...” I whispered. “That was his—” “Family,” Serenity muttered. “They’re gone.” The force of the blast punched through the clouds and sent a ripple through the air. Our comms lit up with static and shouting. Joseph grabbed my shoulder, his jaw clenched. “That wasn’t the Red Dragons. They don’t fire on ships at that range. That… that was from inside.” A coup. A betrayal. Someone had sabotaged the longship before it ever left orbit. I stared at the fading trails of smoke overhead, the shock cutting deeper than fear. Someone among us had flipped. Someone had sold us out. But I didn’t have time to think about who. Not yet. “We protect the wormhole tech,” I said firmly. “Everything else can wait.” Deathskull didn’t need the reminder. He already had his orders in motion. “Hide the source. Deep under the capital,” he barked into a command channel. “Send it below the lowest level. Into the vault. The Immortals stay under triple-lock. No one accesses them. Not even Valrra.” His Demon Droids obeyed without a word—golden, skeletal machines that glinted like polished death in the rising sun. They moved in silence, carrying the portal core in segments, their steps perfectly in sync like a hive mind cast in alloy. Doors opened beneath the temple itself, revealing a descending shaft choked in blue vapor. The tech vanished below the surface. I watched as the vault sealed shut with a deep, seismic thud. It felt final—like we were locking away not just a weapon, but a secret too volatile for any of us to hold. “Joseph,” I said, pulling him close. “Get Serenity on the sniper. I want the shooter found before sunset.” Joseph didn’t hesitate. “Serenity,” he barked through his comm. “Track the trajectory. Filter for electromagnetic discharge. Cross-reference with our own sniper positions. I want the shooter’s spine in a jar.” “Already on it,” Serenity replied from a nearby hilltop, her visor glowing green. “I’m picking up residual heat patterns on the south rim. Too steady to be local fauna. Could be our guy.” “Do not  engage until I say so,” I warned. “Copy.” Emily stood beside me, her face pale, eyes fixed on the smoke curling across the horizon. “They weren’t supposed to die,” she whispered. “They were innocent.” “No one’s innocent anymore,” I muttered. Joseph looked at me. “We’re not ready for this war. Not yet. And if there’s a traitor...” “There is  a traitor,” I said coldly. “I just don’t know who yet.” As the wind rolled in from the edge of the jungle and the embers from the burning sky continued to fall like rain, I turned back to the pyramid—now more fortress than relic. We were standing on a powder keg. And someone had already lit the fuse. The sky above Cybrawl had turned the color of flame-kissed iron. Fleets of dark Red Dragon Empire vessels breached the upper atmosphere like spears hurled from the heavens, their engines screaming like ancient warhorns. Lightning crackled along their hulls as they broke the sky open—fire trailing behind them as they thundered toward the surface. We stood at the edge of Cybrawl’s capital: an alloy-wrapped citadel encased in reinforced obsidian walls, ringed with plasma-tipped battlements and drone silos. The air shimmered with the heat of activity—our ships landing in synchronized arcs while sleek hover-tanks deployed from underground lifts. And standing among us, towering and silent, were the Demon Droids—Deathskull’s warriors. They looked like golden skeletons forged in a furnace of war, every inch of them carved with burn marks and ancient battle etchings. As our Vikingnar soldiers—men and women clad in kinetic furs and smart-metal armor—marched into formation, the Demon Droids completed the last of their barricades, sealing off factories, data vaults, and wormhole labs with monolithic slabs of steel. Deathskull stood motionless in the center of it all, like a storm waiting for a direction. His eye-lenses burned red, scanning the skies. “They’re coming,” he said, voice deep and serrated. “And they’ll want blood first, diplomacy second.” He was right. The Red Dragon fleet descended with thunder and hate. As they touched down on the outer ridges of the capital, you could see them—troops disembarking in symmetrical waves, each battalion led by knights in crimson and onyx armor. Their aesthetic was medieval, like warlords pulled from an alternate past and encased in high-tech plating: broad pauldrons, energy swords strapped to their backs, and magnetic shields glowing in rune-like patterns. Then silence. A brief moment before the clash. One of their lead generals emerged from the center line. His armor gleamed blood-red and polished like a gemstone, crowned by a jagged black helm that left only his golden, arrogant eyes visible. He approached alone, walking forward with the ease of someone who thought the entire planet already belonged to him. He raised a gauntleted hand. “I am General Kael of the Red Dragon Vanguard. You know why we’ve come.” I stepped forward, with Emily and Joseph flanking me. Deathskull stood a few paces behind, silent as a reaper. “You want the wormhole tech,” I said. Kael nodded. “Hand it over. No blood needs to be spilled. In return…” —he turned his gaze toward me with a cruel smile— “I will tell you the name of the traitor within your ranks. And I assure you… it’s someone close. Someone who’s already handed over more than you realize.” There was a beat of stillness. Soldiers on both sides held their breath. Emily tensed beside me, her fingers inching toward her plasma sidearm. Joseph narrowed his eyes. “I don’t make deals with tyrants,” I said, my voice cold. “Especially not ones who lie to stall for time.” Kael’s smile faltered. “So be it.” He turned his back and walked away, unhurried. I waited until he was out of range, then leaned toward Joseph. “I already know who the traitor is,” I said. Joseph’s eyes flicked toward me. “Subi,” I whispered. “The bastard. He’s the only one who wasn’t at the capital when the sabotage happened. He stayed behind with Valrra. Said he was tending Ragnar’s wounds.” Joseph's face went still, hardening like iron. “It fits. He always had a hand in diagnostics and ship access codes. He could’ve tampered with Ragnar’s family's vessel without raising suspicion.” “I need you to find him. Now. If he hands anything over to the Red Dragons, this war’s already lost.” Joseph nodded grimly. “You stay here. Lead our people. Hold the line.” He turned without another word and vanished into the commotion, blending into the streaming ranks of Vikingnar and droids preparing for battle. I stood in the silence that followed—watching the horizon split open with flashes of cannon fire and the growing hum of a thousand armored enemies forming in unison. Beside me, Emily spoke low. “If he is  the traitor, and Joseph doesn’t make it back—what then?” I stared at the rising smoke. “Then I burn everything between us and the truth.” The air grew heavy. The distant wail of sirens echoed off the metal buildings. The war for Cybrawl was about to begin. And somewhere beneath all the fire and steel… was a traitor running out of time. The moment General Kael returned to his formation, the skies lit up like the breath of gods. A shriek of incoming plasma shells rained across the barricades, exploding into molten fire just meters from where we stood. The first shot was theirs—but the last would be ours. I reached behind my back and drew Revenge —my chain sword, humming with a low, hungry growl as the blade's internal links sparked to life with red electricity. The moment my grip tightened, the weapon responded like an extension of my own wrath. The ground under me cracked from the force of the activation. Beside me, Emily stepped forward. Her armor hissed and locked into place—black & white leather shifting into a tactical shell of glowing plates and kinetic weaves, hugging her figure with both elegance and lethal precision. She unsheathed her own blade, its edge lined with a white-hot pulse. Her eyes burned like emerald fire beneath her silver helmet. The first wave of Red Dragon Knights surged over the barricades, energy lances raised, shields braced. They screamed a war cry that sounded like ancient Latin twisted through a mechanical filter. “Valkyrie!” Emily shouted as she launched forward, her armor absorbing the impact of an incoming bolt. She met the first knight head-on, their blades clashing with a blast of pressure that sent dust into the air. Sparks flew as her blade sliced through a knight’s cauldron and sent him crashing to the ground. I didn’t hesitate. With a roar, I charged straight into their line, Justice  revving in my grip like a saw from hell. I cleaved through the first knight—his armor cracking open like a tin can. The chain links bit deep, red energy crackling from the blade as it tore through steel and circuitry alike. His scream was brief. More came. They swarmed like hornets, each knight uniquely shaped, their weapons glowing with plasma edges and ancient glyphs. Some wielded twin axes, others long spears with electrified tips. All of them moved with eerie precision, a unity that spoke of brutal training or something worse—mind control. Behind me, our Vikingnar forces crashed into their ranks like a tidal wave. You could hear the thrum of tech-infused battle axes, the snap of railguns, and the sharp hiss of frost-forged blades cutting through plated joints. Our warriors wore helms and cloaks that shimmered with tactical shielding, making them look like something straight out of a forgotten myth reprogrammed for war. The Demon Droids joined Deathskull's elite. Golden skeletons, fast and surgical—moving with terrifying grace. They struck down knights with cold efficiency, targeting weak points and disarming enemy tech with stunning bursts of energy from their palms. One droid even activated a pulse from its chest, frying the circuits of five knights in a single blinding flash. Overhead, the sky turned to chaos. Cybrawl’s defense cannons launched plasma bolts into the enemy dropships. Two exploded mid-air—black blossoms of fire raining debris onto the battlefield. A Vikingnar hover-craft, powered by a living AI, tackled a Red Dragon tank off a cliffside, sending both machines into the abyss below. I fought through the chaos, never losing sight of Emily beside me. Every time one of us fell back, the other surged forward. We were a rhythm—like thunder followed by lightning. At one point, a knight nearly impaled me. His plasma spear grazed my ribs—but before he could finish the thrust, Emily drove her sword through his back, lifting him off his feet. She didn’t say anything. Just nodded. More knights poured in from the eastern corridor, but Deathskull cut them off with a squad of drones rigged with cluster mines. The resulting explosion tore open a crater in the ground, sending a shockwave rippling through the ranks. The battlefield trembled beneath our boots. We were holding. Barely. But this wasn’t just about survival anymore. Somewhere out there—Doctor Subi was moving through the shadows, and Joseph was hunting him alone. The wormhole tech was still buried beneath the pyramid vault. And Valrra, unaware of Subi’s betrayal, was still inside with Ragnar. The Red Dragons didn’t care who got caught in the fire. And as more ships darkened the sky, I realized we were far from winning. This was just the beginning. And I was done holding back. Back at the pyramid, a deep silence hovered inside the medical chamber, broken only by the soft beeping of monitors and the strained, rasping breath of King Ragnar. Valrra stood over him, her four-fingered hand hovering above his chest, channeling what little regenerative serum she had into the King's bloodstream. Her luminescent Crimseed skin flickered with pale blue veins, a sign she was using her own bio-energy to stabilize him. Sweat streaked her forehead, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Beside her, Doctor Subi moved with cold efficiency, checking readings, injecting stabilizers, adjusting IV lines—but there was no empathy in his eyes. Just calculation. Ragnar's breathing slowed. His pale hand weakly reached up, fingers curling around Valrra’s wrist. He turned his head slightly, eyes locking with hers. “Tell William... he must lead now.” Valrra froze, her throat tightening. “I’ve seen enough war... enough blood. This fight... it needs a new kind of king.” Subi stepped back, blinking once—slow, measured. Valrra knelt closer. “I’ll tell him. I swear it.” Ragnar managed a faint, broken smile—then his body gave one last breath and fell still. The silence that followed was heavier than steel. Valrra lowered her head, brushing her forehead against Ragnar’s cold fingers, whispering a Crimseed blessing for the dead. “May your stars burn forever.” Then she stood up—and only then did she notice Subi hadn’t moved. His face was blank. Almost too blank. “Doctor?” she asked. He blinked again. Without a word, Subi turned, picked up a metallic injector from the tray—and swung it hard against the back of Valrra’s skull. CRACK. Her body dropped instantly to the ground, unconscious. No cry, no resistance. Just silence. Subi straightened, tossing the injector aside like garbage. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and then reached into his coat, pulling out a small obsidian device. Its surface rippled with purple light. A hidden control unit. He activated it with a single press. A sharp, high-frequency pulse echoed through the vault walls, inaudible to humans—but deadly to Cybrawl’s droids. The golden Demon Droids outside the chamber stiffened, their optics flickering. One by one, they collapsed like broken statues, deactivated. The path was open. Subi stepped into the corridor beyond the medical wing and descended the black stone staircase toward the Vault. Each step echoed like a death knell through the hollow pyramid. Red emergency lights blinked above as if the structure itself knew what was happening but could do nothing to stop it. He approached the Vault's towering doors—adamantine slabs laced with protective runes, coded DNA locks, and Immortal containment fields. And just as Subi raised his hand to activate the override— A voice rang out like a blade unsheathing in the dark. “Don’t move.” Doctor Subi turned slowly. Joseph stood at the top of the stairs, blaster drawn and pointed directly at him. His eyes, usually calm and calculating, now burned with quiet fury. “You’re behind this,” Joseph said. “Ragnar, the sniper, the ship explosion. All of it.” Subi’s shoulders tensed. Then… he smiled. His face twisted slowly into something inhuman. “You always were the clever one,” he said softly, letting the words linger. “But too late.” His eyes shifted. The whites turned black. Entirely black—like oil swallowing his soul. Joseph’s breath caught. “You’re not just a traitor... what are  you?” Subi exhaled slowly, voice layered with something ancient. “Something you couldn’t possibly understand.” With that, he lunged. Joseph fired. Subi moved faster than any human should. The blaster bolt clipped his shoulder but didn’t even faze him. They collided at the foot of the stairs, fists slamming into ribs, arms grappling for control. Subi swung with the strength of a beast, slamming Joseph against the wall, cracking the stone. Joseph retaliated with a knee to the gut and a follow-up elbow that broke Subi’s nose—but there was no blood. Only black fluid oozed out. Subi grabbed Joseph’s throat with both hands, lifting him off the ground. “I’ve been patient long enough,” Subi snarled. “The Immortals were meant for us . Not him. Not William.” Joseph choked, eyes bulging—but he wasn’t done yet. With one last effort, Joseph kicked upward, a hidden blade ejecting from his boot and driving deep into Subi’s side. Subi screamed, staggering back, the wound hissing with smoke. Joseph collapsed, coughing, then rolled to his knees and pulled a backup pistol. He aimed. “I don't care what you are. You're not getting into that Vault.” Subi's smile faded. He looked at the massive doors—so close. Then back at Joseph. The black in his eyes began to recede. But the malice never left his voice. “This isn’t over.” The battlefield roared with chaos. Blasts of plasma fire lit the sky like meteor storms while the clash of swords and screams echoed through the scorched streets of Cybrawl’s capital. Buildings cracked, flames danced on metallic rooftops, and the bodies of fallen soldiers—both ours and theirs—were strewn across the war-torn city like shattered relics. I was in the thick of it, hacking through another Red Dragon Knight with my chainsword, Justice . The weapon's rune-etched links hummed with blue energy as I dragged it through the knight's golden helm, sparks and blood arcing into the air. These bastards were strong—futuristic warriors in crimson-plated exosuits that looked like medieval knights with an alien twist. But I was stronger. And I wasn’t alone. Emily fought beside me, her blade slashing through the armored enemy ranks like lightning through steel. Her movements were precise, brutal, elegant. Every swing held a surgeon’s skill and a warrior’s fury. Then— CRACK! A blunt strike from a Red Dragon halberd slammed into her side. She screamed, her armor sparking violently before collapsing into shards of red light. The impact flung her across the plaza, crashing through a pile of debris and steel. “EMILY!” I ran through the storm of bullets and blades, carving a path with Justice  until I skidded to her side. She clutched her ribs, blood leaking between her fingers. Her sword lay nearby, broken—snapped at the halfway point, its tip missing. “I’ve got you,” I whispered, sliding next to her. I reached into my satchel and slammed a stim-shot into her thigh. Her breath hitched. Her muscles tensed. Then something... changed . A strange pulse rippled through her. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her broken blade. Suddenly, the shattered metal began to glow—a vivid, pulsing red—like it had been ignited from within. The broken tip reformed, not in metal, but in crackling crimson energy. The sword had transformed, half-forged of steel, half-bound in raw force. The glow spread to her suit. Where her armor had failed, the bodysuit beneath darkened—blackening from its original color, becoming sleek, shadow-like, almost symbiotic in how it adhered to her form. Steam hissed off her body like fire and ice colliding. She rose—slowly, powerfully. “I don’t know what this is,” she said, her voice hoarse. “But I’m not done.” I nodded. “Good. Because we’re setting a trap.” She narrowed her glowing eyes at me. “Let’s make them pay.” We regrouped behind a toppled dreadnought tank, used its remains as cover, and set the trap. We broadcast a false retreat signal through Joseph’s hacked comms, pulling the Red Dragon troops forward. They took the bait. When the Knights surged into the blast corridor we’d planned, I activated the mines. BOOM! A wave of fire and concussive force swallowed the front ranks of their formation. Emily leapt from the smoke like a specter of war, her crimson blade cleaving two knights in half before landing at my side. The enemy hesitated. That’s when he  stepped forward—The General. The same bastard from earlier who had offered us the name of the traitor in exchange for our surrender. His armor was darker than the others, trimmed with blackened gold. His helmet bore the crest of a dragon with glowing red eyes. He said nothing. Just pointed his blade at me. A challenge. I stepped forward. “You want the wormhole tech? Come take it.” We charged. His sword met mine in a violent clash of sparks. The ground shook beneath our strikes. He fought like a machine, every movement calculated, cruel, and relentless. But I fought with something more—rage, purpose... clarity. Our blades locked. He leaned in. “You have no idea what you're protecting. That tech will end all of you.” I growled through clenched teeth. “Then it dies with us.” I shoved him back, spun, and struck low. He dodged—but not fast enough. My chainblade tore through his thigh. He screamed, stumbled—and I didn’t hesitate. I rammed Justice  through his chest. The chains ground into his armor, shredding it like paper. He collapsed with a metallic groan and a dying gasp. His troops faltered. Some dropped their weapons. Others froze in fear. The tide had turned. Deathskull’s Demon Droids stormed through the breach at our signal, golden skeletons unleashing a storm of plasma fire. The Red Dragon Knights finally surrendered—falling to their knees, casting swords aside, the battle over at last. But we didn’t cheer. Emily dropped beside me, her glowing blade humming as it cooled. Her breaths were shallow but steady. Her blackened suit flickered, still bonded to her like a second skin. Deathskull emerged from the smoke, his molten-red eyes scanning the battlefield. “We won,” he said in his deep, mechanical rasp. “No,” I replied. “Not yet.” There was no time to celebrate. No time to count the dead. I looked at Emily. She gave a silent nod. Deathskull turned back toward the horizon. We all knew what had to happen. The Pyramid. The Vault. The traitor. We ran. The walls of the Pyramid trembled from the aftermath of battle outside, but deep within its cold, metallic corridors, a different war was taking place. Joseph stumbled back, blood trailing from a cut on his lip. Doctor Subi advanced without hesitation, his hands balled into fists, his eyes wild. Their fight had spilled through several chambers by now—knocking over lab tables, shattering consoles, scattering vials of glowing blue fluid across the floor. Joseph had never seen Subi fight like this. The man moved with inhuman strength—fluid and ruthless, like something that had been trained for one purpose: destruction. “You were a doctor,” Joseph growled, ducking a strike that cratered the wall beside him. “A scientist , not a soldier!” Subi didn’t answer. His breathing had turned ragged, almost beast-like. As Joseph lunged forward with a powered elbow strike, Subi caught him mid-air and hurled him across the lab. Joseph hit the ground hard, metal scraping his back as he skidded against the floor. He groaned, trying to get to his feet. Subi stood over him, trembling—not from exhaustion, but from something else. A change. His expression began to twist, almost as if his skin didn’t fit anymore. Then Joseph saw it. Blood leaked from Subi’s mouth as his front teeth clattered to the floor. But what replaced them was not human. They were rows  of serrated, bone-white fangs—jagged like broken glass. His gums split open, jaw elongating. His skin began to gray, stretch, and harden. Gills slit open across the sides of his neck. Veins blackened. The whites of his eyes faded to pitch, his pupils narrowing into dark pinpoints. Subi wasn’t just a traitor. He wasn’t even fully human. Joseph stared in horror as the man he once called colleague morphed into something ancient, something wrong. His arms cracked, growing longer. His nails twisted into claws. His torso bulked with unnatural muscle, bones shifting under skin like a creature trying to crawl its way out from inside him. A monster was being born . Suddenly— CRACK! The door slammed open. I stood there, sword in hand, breath still heavy from the battlefield, Emily not far behind me. My boots skidded across the floor as I took in the scene: Joseph bloodied, Subi mid-transformation. My heart stopped. “What the hell…” I whispered. Subi turned his head toward me—his jaw now split wider than any human’s should, filled with those nightmare teeth. His voice, though still faintly his, came out distorted—wet, layered, alien. “You weren’t… supposed to… see this yet.” Emily stepped beside me, blade glowing faintly red. “What is  he?” “A Shark Hybrid,” Joseph choked. “Some kind of… experiment.” I stepped forward. “Why, Subi? Why betray us? You were with us from the beginning.” Subi grinned with that mangled jaw, voice growing darker, deeper. “Because I was  there at the beginning. Long before you ever woke up in that village. Before the Wulvers. Before Deathskull’s first forge. I’ve watched this galaxy rise and fall… over and over again. But this time, we  are going to reshape it.” “Who’s ‘we’?” I asked, tightening my grip. “The Immortals,” he whispered, and his eyes pulsed with unnatural light. “They’re not just creatures… they’re gods in gestation . And I can't let you have that power.” Before I could strike, Subi reached behind him and slammed a button on the panel. The nearby wall split open, revealing the swirling surface of the wormhole portal . The air distorted around it—blinking in and out of existence like a heartbeat of reality itself. “No!” I shouted. But it was too late. Subi sprinted forward, now fully in his monstrous form—half-man, half-shark, his claws trailing sparks against the metal floor. He turned to glance back at me just before leaping into the portal. “See you in the beginning… King William ,” he snarled. And then he was gone. The portal slammed shut behind him, leaving only silence and the stench of blood and ozone. I stood frozen, my sword humming, my heart pounding. Joseph finally sat up, clutching his side. “He got away…” Emily helped him to his feet. “What did he mean by the beginning?” “I don’t know,” I muttered. “But I don’t think this war is just about wormholes anymore.” Joseph looked at me grimly. “No. It’s about the survival of the universe.” We all turned to the Vault door. The droids inside had been deactivated—but by some miracle, Subi hadn’t gotten in. But now we knew something far worse: He would be back. The sun over Cybrawl’s scarred skyline barely pierced through the thick clouds of smoke from the recent battle. Ash floated through the air like black snow as the battered remnants of our combined army—Vikingnar warriors, Deathskull’s golden Demon Droids, and our core companions—regrouped amidst the smoldering remains of the battlefield. But there was no time for grief or triumph. Too many questions remained. Too many threats still loomed. Back at the pyramid, Valrra finally stirred from her unconscious state. I knelt beside her, helping her sit up. Her expression was dazed, her long tendrils twitching slightly as she winced at the pain in her head. “What happened?” she groaned. “Subi,” I muttered. “He’s not who we thought he was.” Joseph, standing nearby with his armor scratched and his blade still wet with battle, crossed his arms. “He’s not even human anymore. The bastard transformed into some kind of shark hybrid.” Valrra’s expression darkened. “The Immortals…” “No,” I cut in. “This wasn't an Immortal influence. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve suspected Subi was hiding something deep. Something old. Something primal.” Valrra narrowed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “You believe he’s connected to the Shark Hive?” “I don’t just believe it,” I said. “I’m damn sure of it. The assassin that killed Ragnar, the coup, the corrupted knights… I think the Hive has infiltrated multiple factions by posing as people. They can disguise themselves. I need you to run diagnostics, genetic scans—whatever you can manage. We need biological proof they’re not human. Or Demon. Or anything we know.” Valrra nodded, already processing, her mind clicking into scientific precision. Just then, Deathskull’s sharp mechanical voice buzzed through the open comms. “All available units—return to the battlefield immediately. Droid L-84 has found something.” Without hesitation, we boarded the nearest skimmer and returned to the place where we had crushed the Knights of the Red Dragon Empire. Now, the bodies were being collected, stripped of weapons and armor for analysis. Droid L-84 stood over one of the fallen generals—the same man I’d killed in a brutal duel. His golden skeletal frame loomed over the corpse, arms folded. “You may want to see this, William,” L-84 said, his voice calm but grave. I knelt and removed the general’s helmet. At first, nothing. Just a bloodied man’s face. Then, I opened his eyes. They were pitch black. Not bruised. Not dilated. Solid black—like a great white’s. I pried open his mouth, and the teeth sent a chill down my spine: jagged, triangular, serrated. Shark teeth. “Damn it,” I muttered. “They’re in the Empire, too.” Emily stepped beside me. “He was wearing human armor. Fighting like a knight. And the King had no idea.” Deathskull’s optic sensors zoomed in on the general’s face. “This was not a Knight loyal to the Red Dragon Empire’s true King. This was a Hive agent.” Joseph clenched his jaw. “Then it's a bigger problem than we thought.” We sent word to the Red Dragon King. Not long after, he arrived personally—cautious, flanked by his elite guard in dragon-emblazoned black and crimson armor. We met in a temporary command tent erected just outside the ruins of Cybrawl’s capital. “We discovered this after the battle,” I explained, showing him the general’s corpse. “This man was not human. His DNA might match, but biologically he was something else. You can run your own tests.” The King’s sharp gaze never wavered. “And you say this Subi—he transformed before your eyes?” Joseph confirmed it. “His mouth broke apart. His bones shifted. Shark teeth, black eyes. He’s not with us anymore. If he ever was.” The King crossed his arms. “My general acted without orders. A coup, clearly. But I’ll need more than one corpse to act against my own inner circle. I want proof. You will find the sniper who killed Ragnar. You will bring Subi back alive. And, as agreed, you will share the wormhole technology. In return, I offer full support in rooting out the Hive and cleansing this infection.” We all nodded. It was the only path forward. After the King left, I requested a private word with him. Once alone, I looked him in the eye. “Do you know a woman named Madeline Scoggin? She would’ve claimed to be a princess. Maybe visited your Empire years ago?” He frowned. “No such name has ever crossed my court.” My stomach turned. “Then Subi was lying… about everything.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps. But you’ve proven yourself. Lead your people well, and everything will fall into place.” With that, he departed. Later, beneath the shadow of the pyramid where Ragnar once stood tall, I gathered Emily, Joseph, Deathskull, Valrra, and Droid L-84. “We need a plan,” I said. “Subi could be anywhere.” “I want to check Earth,” I added. “If these Hive creatures found a way to infiltrate us, it could’ve started there.” Emily’s face twisted with conflict. “What about Serenity? She’s still missing. She’s my friend, and I’m not leaving her behind.” Valrra stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “Ragnar made his final wish clear. He named you King, William. His vision depended on unity. We must finish what he started.” I sighed, torn between duty and instinct. “Then we split our efforts. We’ll stay. We’ll find Serenity. We’ll track Subi. We’ll destroy the Hive.” I looked to the stars, knowing somewhere in the shadows, Subi was watching. This war wasn’t over. It had just begun. "Vikings War In valhalla" Chapter 3: "The Coming War"

BY WILLIAM WARNER "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" CHAPTER 1: "RAPTURE" Droid L-84 was not designed for stealth. His frame was forged from reinforced gold-plated alloy, designed to intimidate and endure—not to sneak through tightly packed suburban neighborhoods under the scorching Arizona sun. Yet here he was, trudging through the edge of Gilbert, invisible to the naked eye but far from undetectable. The Immortals had escaped. His fault, and he intended on fixing his mistake. He hadn’t expected them to override the Wraith containment array so fast—hadn’t anticipated their hive-like coordination or how quickly they learned. Now they were on Earth, seeping into its fabric like rot through wood. They had crossed through Cybrawl’s tear in the dimensional shell and landed here, of all places—on the outer edge of a town filled with quiet houses, trimmed lawns, and too many Ring doorbells. Droid L-84 activated his cloak the moment he saw the freeway signs for Gilbert. The invisibility matrix shimmered across his frame, distorting light in a near-perfect bend. But it didn’t silence his steps. Each movement of his broad mechanical feet against gravel was a muted crunch, and worse, his servo-motors gave off a faint whirring hum with every shift of weight. He moved slowly now—deliberately. One step at a time. Even cloaked, he stuck out. Houses here were crammed together, divided only by gravel paths, stucco walls, and the occasional dying citrus tree. Families were inside, sealed behind air-conditioned walls, drawn blinds, and smart devices listening for sound. Even the birds had taken shelter from the brutal summer blaze. But they were outside. The Immortals. He had tracked them to a desert wash—a dry spillway lined with thin brush and concrete drainage. He crouched by a crumbling cinder block wall, sensors dialed to full, invisible in the shade of a withered palo verde tree. They were clustered together like smoke—faint, formless, each one pulsing with a hunger that twisted the air around them. And then, like vapor through cracks, the Immortals slithered into the nearby house. His optics zoomed in. He locked onto the address. My House. He recognized the layout from municipal archives—single story, sand-colored tile roof, desert landscaping, a faded basketball hoop on the garage. It wasn’t random. The Immortals weren’t just hiding. They were drawn to something. Or someone. He shifted to move closer— Bark. It was sharp and sudden, and far too close. Droid L-84 froze. A golden retriever stood just feet from him, nose twitching wildly, head tilted with a puzzled but excited look. Its ears perked. It had caught the scent. The Droid’s oils, even with his nanofilter running at full purge, were distinct—synthetic, acrid, out of place in a world of grass clippings and sunscreen. The dog took a cautious step forward and sniffed again. Then it let out another bark—softer this time. Not alarm. Curiosity. Droid L-84 considered his options. Plasma was out of the question—too loud. Sonic dampener? Risky. So instead, he did the only thing that made sense. He picked up a stick. With a soft whir of gears, he turned slightly and tossed it far left, down the street and into the gravel behind a neighbor’s trash bins. The dog’s ears twitched. A pause. Then, with a happy huff, it turned and bounded after the stick, tail wagging in earnest. Droid L-84 exhaled a soundless breath and returned his attention to the house. The Immortals had fully entered it now. He could no longer see them from his vantage point—but he could still sense them. Their energy signatures pulsed faintly, now tangled in the circuitry and shadows of the structure. Nightfall crept over the rooftops, long shadows stretching across driveways as porch lights flicked on, one by one. It was almost time. He had to get inside. Before the Immortals find their next host. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall like it owed me something. The blinds were half-closed, casting slashes of dim light across the floor. My phone was silent, face down. I hadn’t touched it for hours. The quiet was pressing in harder now—not just from the heat, or the shimmer I saw out the window, but from down the hall. They were arguing again. Mom’s voice was sharp and fast, switching between English and Spanish. Dad’s voice? Slower. Louder. Not because he was trying to make a point, but because he always had to be the one in control. Always had to win. Even when he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. It wasn’t new. But this time, I was the reason. They were arguing about me. I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, heart still pumping from the weird shimmer I saw earlier—but also from the sick, cold pit in my stomach. I’d gone too far this time. I knew it. I don’t even know what made me do it, really. Maybe it was just years of holding it in—watching him walk around like some golden-haired god of authority, dismissing everything I said, twisting my words, laughing when I stood up for myself. Narcissists don’t just talk over you—they erase you. So yeah. I snapped. I knew his allergies were serious. I knew exactly which one of those sugary soda bottles he’d drink first. I had the timing, the plan, the rage. I thought: Maybe this’ll finally shake him. Maybe he’ll finally get it. Maybe he’ll feel powerless for once. But I didn’t even make it an hour before Mom found the wrapper from the allergen packet in the trash. Rookie mistake. Like I wanted to get caught. Now here I was—confined to my room like a prisoner, while my parents debated whether I needed therapy, punishment, or a boot camp in the desert. Boot camp probably would’ve been the best outcome for me. But knowing my father, he always wanted to have bigger balls than me, and wouldn’t want to be weapon X. He wants me to be treated as a slave, a prisoner with no purpose. I pressed my head back against the drywall, jaw clenched. “You don’t listen to him, that’s the problem!” I heard Mom shout. “You always talk like he’s some damn inconvenience!” “I’m the one paying the bills,” Dad fired back. “And if he’s going to act like a lunatic, then he’s going to get treated like one! He should be in jail!” “You pushed him to do this Billy! He’s been trying to talk to you for months and you just keep shutting him down!” “He tried to poison me, Maria!” Their voices went quiet after that. Like the whole house paused to see what would happen next. I blinked slowly, staring up at the ceiling fan. It wasn’t spinning. The heat pressed against my skin like a wet blanket. My throat felt dry. Not from thirst—just from pressure. Like the whole day was one long held breath. I sank back onto my bed, arms behind my head, staring up at the cracked ceiling like it might cave in and take me with it. The argument in the hallway had faded into silence—or maybe I just stopped caring. My ears buzzed with the kind of pressure that only builds when your body’s trying not to fall apart from the inside out. It wasn’t just about my crazy blond haired dad. It never was. I’ve been disrespected since day one. Arizona may be hot, lonely, and dry as a dead bone, but it still beats the festering dump that was Bloomington, Illinois. A Midwestern town where people smile to your face and cut you down behind your back. I grew up there. I got my first real taste of betrayal there too. It was in high school. Kid named Taps—loud, annoying, always shoving people like he had something to prove. One day, he shoved me for the last time. I snapped. We threw fists right there on the gym floor. I held my own. Hell, I did more than that. The substitute coach broke it up before it got bloody, but I remember clearly—Taps was the one breathing heavily, trying to hide the pain. I stood up straight. And what did Zach say? Zach—my supposed best friend—watched the whole thing and still thought Taps won. “You lost, man,” he told me. “He didn’t look scared of you.” Like that’s what mattered. Like loyalty didn’t. Taps started it, and I finished it. But no—I was the problem. I was always the problem at that school. Once my dad said we were moving to Arizona for his job, I started cutting people off. Zach had the nerve to get upset when I didn’t help him with some group project. I didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t there when I needed backup—so why should I show up for him? He can go and fuck himself. I’ve never forgotten that moment. That was when I started to realize that being alone might not be a curse—it might be the only time I could breathe. But it didn’t start in high school. No, this pattern ran deeper. Elementary school. I was the “quiet one,” the kid teachers assumed would fold under pressure. People saw me as soft, submissive. Some kid—Brandon—called me a “pussy”, threw around insults like it was his right. I snapped back with the harshest word I knew, something I should’ve never said, but I wanted to hurt him the way people kept hurting me. And you know what? He didn’t even swing. Just looked at me and walked away. Like he didn’t have to fight me to win. But it was never just about one race or one kind of person. Most of the ones who got physical with me? White kids. Like Max. Kid was a year behind me, and still had the guts to hit me just because he could. I kept letting it go until the day I didn’t. I grabbed him and slammed him against the brick wall behind the school. He never touched me again. Every fight, every shove, every damn whisper in the hallway—every time someone looked at me and saw a joke instead of a person—it chipped away at whatever I thought I had left. And not a single adult gave a damn. Not a teacher, not a counselor, not even my own father. There was one teacher—Mrs. Zuvonner. Called me “irresponsible.” Laughed at my short stories. Told other kids I was “scary” because I liked science fiction that wasn’t sugarcoated Disney garbage. Said I was obsessed with darkness. She never stopped to ask why. She never thought that maybe my stories—those warped, dystopian nightmares—were the only place I felt like I mattered. Where I wasn’t invisible. Where I could actually fight back. Where someone like me could burn down a broken world and build a better one from the ashes. Sure, there were moments people liked me. Compliments, high-fives, even girls who said I was “cool” when I cracked a joke. But none of that stuck. It all felt fake. What I really wanted wasn’t love. I wanted respect. Hell, I wanted people to fear me. Because if they fear you, at least they don't fuck with you. And right now, in this house, in this bedroom, in this heat-choked silence—I could still feel something watching. Waiting. I didn't know it yet, but I wasn't the only thing in Arizona sick of being disrespected, or ignored… And then, outside the window, I heard it again. That clunk. Metal on rock. I stood and moved to the blinds, slowly pushing one slat aside. The shimmer was gone now, but something in the air still felt… off. Heavy. Charged. Like the world was trying to whisper something through static. I didn’t know what that invisible thing was out there. I didn’t know where those shadow creatures had gone. But somehow, deep down, I felt like whatever was happening outside… and whatever was falling apart inside… It was all connected. And maybe—just maybe—I was at the center of it. I just wanted out. Not out of the house… out of this life. And maybe that’s why I followed the light. I crept past their door, careful to avoid the squeaky part of the floorboard I knew too well. My dad’s voice was harsh, slicing through the air like a dull knife. My mom’s voice cracked, but firm. Still, I kept my focus forward. One hand on the wall for balance, the other steadying my breathing. The red glow was coming from downstairs. Faint at first. Flickering, like something alive. By the time I reached the dining room, the whole world seemed to slow down. That’s when I saw it. Hovering in the center of the room, just above the floor, was a shapeless black cloud—no limbs, no face—just thick, swirling vapor threaded with veins of glowing red. It pulsed like a heartbeat. A low hum crawled into my bones, even though there was no sound. I should’ve run. But something… called to me. Not with words. It was more like a thought appearing in my head, not mine but not foreign either. “Come.” I didn’t ask questions. I just moved. The thing floated through the sliding glass door like it wasn’t even there. I hesitated for half a second, then unlocked it and stepped outside. The air was still hot even though it was late, but it felt colder in that creature’s presence. It moved toward the side gate. I followed, heart pounding louder than my footsteps. It passed through the wooden planks like fog, and I jogged to catch up, unlatched the gate, and pushed it open with a creak. Then it stopped. “Look up.” I did. Three blue circles hovered in the sky. No sound. No motion. Just pure, cold light. They weren’t stars. They weren’t planes. They looked like searchlights without beams, just perfectly circular discs, watching. Judging. And as I moved a few steps to the side, the circles moved with me. Always above. Always locked on. I looked at the creature. It hovered silently beside me. “Relax,” it said inside my head. “That is where we are going.” I looked back up—and something had changed. The lights were rotating, drawing inward, forming a ring. Through the center of it… stars I had never seen. Galaxies twisted like spirals of paint. A wormhole. A gate. A portal. I turned to the being. It pulsed softly. I nodded. Without a sound, the vaporous creature surged forward—and passed into me. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t cold or hot. It was like breathing in a second soul. I gasped, stumbled—then froze. “No!” came a sharp, metallic voice. A shimmer in the air. A burst of static. Then he appeared. The man I hadn’t seen but had sensed: Droid L-84. His invisibility cloak dropped like a sheet of glass falling away. He stood there—golden, clunky, out of place in the Arizona dirt—holding a reinforced sack crammed with canisters. Each one faintly glowed red. He was too late. His eyes locked on mine. “The last one is inside you! Don’t let it take control!” He moved fast for something so heavy, crossing the yard in long, mechanical strides. But then— FWOOM. A beam of light came down from the portal above, so strong it painted the night white-blue. The pull was instant. My feet lifted from the ground. I felt myself being torn upward, weightless and hollow. Droid L-84 shouted something, but the wind swallowed it. Then he was pulled up too, arms flailing, still clutching the sack. Up we went—into the blue, into the stars, into something else. And then… We drifted. It wasn’t like falling or flying. It was like being unzipped from reality. Stardust brushed my skin like whispers. Shapes twisted in the void—clouds of red and black, twisting into monstrous, demonic forms. Eyes opened and blinked in the dark. I couldn’t tell if they were real or hallucinations. I floated through it all, numb. Lost. But it didn’t last. Ahead was light. Not blue. Not red. Just… new. We pierced the edge of a new atmosphere, and gravity punched me in the gut. We were falling—fast. Droid L-84 twisted in the air beside me. “Grab onto me! NOW!” I reached out, barely caught his arm—and everything went black. I didn’t feel the impact. I just know we hit the surface of a planet I’ve never seen, under a sky I didn’t recognize. It was night. And we are officially not alone in the universe anymore. The sun never let up—not even for a second. It just sat up there like a heat lamp cranked to the max, cooking everything it touched. The droid and I were out cold most of the morning, half-buried between jagged boulders that looked like someone spray-painted them in black and white checkerboard patterns. Weirdest damn rocks I’ve ever seen. Eventually, I stirred. My eyelids felt like sandpaper. My mouth was dry as hell. But the view? Unreal. This place—whatever planet it was—looked like Arizona’s prettier, freakier cousin. The terrain was desert, but it was teeming with life. Fat, stubby palm trees stuck out of the ground like alien asparagus. Some were short and packed together, others towered up like nature’s skyscrapers. Between them were weird red cacti that shimmered like they were breathing, and flowers that looked like inflated water balloons attached to vines. Pockets of orange grass moved like it was alive, and the sand… man, it wasn’t even sand. It was white—pure, clean, like bath salts straight out of a fancy spa. But none of that cushioned our fall. We didn’t land on the powdery stuff. We hit a boulder field, which was pretty in its own right. I was lucky to be alive—barely. My legs were intact, but the second I tried to stand, crack—a sharp pain fired through my chest. “Oh shit,” I muttered and slumped my ass back down onto one of the rocks. Strangely enough, it was cool to the touch. A nice contrast to the heat everywhere else. I leaned back, wincing, holding my side. A few feet away, the droid groaned to life. Sparks fizzled from his hip joint, and his visor flickered like a dying flashlight. “I wouldn’t get up too fast if I were you,” he said, his voice still metallic, but softer this time. “You could have internal bleeding. Or brain damage.” I let out a half-laugh, half-grimace. “If I told people back home what I saw, they’d totally say I have brain damage.” L-84’s visor blinked again. “Don’t worry. I’m sure someone is here to help us. We’ll find a way to get you home.” I clenched my jaw and looked down. “No.” He paused. “What do you mean, no?” I turned toward him and shrugged, though the movement made me wince again. “I have no home to return to.” There was silence. Not even the wind dared to interrupt. L-84 slowly adjusted himself upright. His left leg was busted, dangling like a half-disconnected pipe, so he detached it, reversed the joint, and used it as a makeshift crutch. “What are you doing?” I asked, eyebrows raised. He glanced back. “Getting help.” I watched as he hobbled away, uneven but determined. For a machine, he had more willpower than most humans I knew. “Wait!” I shouted after him. “What’s your name?” He stopped, turned just slightly. “My name is L-84. Droid L-84. And you?” “William Warner,” I replied. We didn’t say goodbye or shake hands. He just nodded once and limped off over the nearest hill, vanishing behind a thicket of the stubby palm trees. I stayed behind, breathing carefully, looking up at the swirling sky. My regular life? That was over. And to be honest… good riddance. Meanwhile... Not far from where I sat, over the ridge of a sandy slope painted with patches of orange grass, something was moving. A chariot—sleek and metallic but clearly handmade—glided across the uneven terrain, its wheels kicking up white dust. Pulling it was something out of prehistory: a triceratops, massive and muscular, with horns that shimmered faintly under the alien sun. Its scales weren’t dull brown, though—they had a greenish shimmer, like beetle shells. At the reins was a woman. Skin like porcelain kissed by the sun. Eyes the color of dark emeralds, scanning the horizon through binoculars. Black hair tied back into a high braid that ran down her back like a warrior’s banner. Ears long and pointed—definitely not human. She wore dark black & white leather armor that hugged her athletic frame, with etched silver accents that caught the light just right. Her name was Emily. She spotted movement below. Through the scope of her binoculars, she zeroed in on a limping figure—mechanical, sparking, and clearly in distress. The droid was almost out of energy. He fell, his body sparking slightly as he hit the ground. The triceratops slowed, then snorted and stepped forward. It lowered its head and gently licked the droid’s metallic faceplate like a curious dog. Emily leapt off the chariot in one smooth motion, boots crunching the white dust as she ran over. She crouched beside L-84, scanning him for damage. The droid’s eyes flickered open for just a second. “Boy… hurt…” he rasped. “Needs help... William Warner.” Then his systems dimmed completely, and he slumped into silence. Emily’s expression hardened, serious but calm. She turned toward the horizon, toward the distant rocks—toward me. Without a word, she stood, whistled once, and the triceratops turned its bulk in that direction. Help was coming. The sun wasn’t giving me a break. My head throbbed, my ribs felt like broken piano keys, and my vision blurred with each blink. The heat pressed down like a weighted blanket straight from hell. And then I saw her. A figure cutting through the haze, high atop a chariot drawn by a triceratops. I had to be hallucinating. No way someone that beautiful was real—not out here. The chariot came to a stop, its wheels grinding softly over the dusty earth. She stepped down—tall, graceful, deliberate in her movement. Her long black braid bounced slightly with each step, her emerald eyes scanning me carefully. Emily. She crouched beside me. Her skin had a glow to it, like moonlight on water, and her fingers were cool and steady as she touched my forehead. “You’re overheated,” she said softly. “Don’t talk. Try to breathe slowly.” I couldn’t say anything if I tried. My throat was dusty, my mouth was barely moving. But I still got to my feet, teeth gritted against the pain, pride kicking in just enough to keep me upright. Emily slipped her arm around my back, holding me up as we walked toward the chariot. She moved with strength and ease, like she’d done this a thousand times. “Relax,” she said. “The ride’s long, but you’ll make it. Just get comfortable.” I sat down, or rather collapsed into the chariot’s seat. It was lined with cushions stitched from some strange blue leather that shimmered faintly in the light. The moment I leaned back, a breeze passed over us, cool and fragrant like mint and citrus mixed together. And even through the pain, even through the heatstroke and cracked ribs, I noticed her again. Her sharp jawline. Her eyes—like the forest after rain. Her armor, sleek but practical, silver trims catching bits of sunlight. I couldn’t believe where I was. Couldn’t believe who I was with. Then the world tilted. And I passed out. When I opened my eyes again, it was like waking up inside a dream. The chariot had made it to a town—or maybe a village—but it looked nothing like anything I’d ever seen before. The buildings curved and shimmered like they were grown rather than built, shaped out of living stone, smooth wood, and metal that looked like chrome moss. Solar panels lined rooftops but were disguised as golden leaves. Vines and flowers wrapped around walls and bridges in a way that seemed intentional, like they were part of the architecture. It was solarpunk, no doubt about it. Clean, green, futuristic—but earthy, alive. This place thrived with balance. And people were everywhere. Elven folk, tall and elegant like Emily. Most of them seemed to glow under the alien sun. Some wore robes, others had work gear, utility belts, tools strapped to their sides. There were also people with vibrant red skin, all appeared to have black hair, and wore black garments. There were a few humans too—tanned, sun-kissed, and surprisingly casual given the setting. No one looked panicked or militarized. Just… living. We got a few stares. Some curious glances. A few hellos in languages I didn’t understand, and a couple in plain English. I tried to wave back, but all I managed was a nod. Then another Elven woman approached us. She also had braided black hair, scarlet lips, and a long blue tunic. Her blue eyes scanned me from head to toe. “Good not a blond in sight,” I thought to myself. Since I don’t want to be reminded of my father. That prick… Anyway this other Elven woman appeared to be checking me out. Looking for signs of injury. “What’s going on?” she asked, voice calm but direct. Emily adjusted her hold on me and said, “He’s injured. Internal trauma. Needs medical attention. The droid too—he’s low on power and took damage in the fall.” The Elf looked to the droid being dragged by the triceratops, barely functioning, sparks still gently flickering. She turned and called out to a group of Elven men nearby. “Take the droid to the Mechanists’ Lodge. Use caution—don’t jolt the processor.” Four of them stepped in without hesitation, lifting L-84’s frame carefully onto a floating platform, which hovered about two feet off the ground and hummed faintly like a giant tuning fork. Emily and the other Elf then turned their attention to me. “Let’s not keep the doctor waiting,” the Elf said. I was too weak to protest. Before I knew it, they had me laid out gently on a soft gurney made of interwoven crystal strands and vines. It felt… oddly warm and supportive. Almost like memory foam, but better. They wheeled me up toward a large dome-shaped building near the center of town. Its exterior shimmered like a pearl in the sun, surrounded by wind turbines that barely made a sound. Somewhere inside, I knew—hope or not—I was about to get answers. Or at least some pain meds. The first thing I felt was warmth—soft sunlight bleeding through the window beside me. My head throbbed like I’d been hit by a truck, and my limbs were sore, but I wasn’t dead. I cracked my eyes open, the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room coming into focus. My body was wrapped in crisp sheets, and the faint beeping of monitors pulsed steadily beside me. To my right, I saw two figures sitting quietly in chairs. “He’s awake,” said a familiar voice. It was Emily—dark-haired, green-eyed, and looking like an angel pulled out of the flames of battle. Seated beside her was the other Elven woman I remembered from before—similarly dark-haired, with striking blue eyes that glowed like glacier light. Both women looked relieved. The blue-eyed one leaned forward. “How are you feeling?” I coughed, my throat dry and ragged. “I feel like garbage,” I croaked. “But I guess I’m lucky to be alive.” I paused, glancing between the two. “I didn’t catch your names.” Emily smiled. “I’m Emily Eagle, and this is Serenity. We found you out in the Dunes. You were dying—your Droid told us everything. Including your name.” I looked toward the foot of the bed, but L-84 was nowhere in sight. “I’m William,” I said. “From Earth.” Serenity perked up. “Do you miss it?” I shook my head immediately. “No.” She blinked, curious. “Do you ever want to go back?” My jaw tensed. “Only to get revenge.” Silence filled the room for a moment. The kind that hums with unspoken pain. Then Serenity giggled. “I heard Earth was really far... and that the people are ignorant and smelly. Is that true?” Her bluntness caught me off guard, and I laughed—genuinely, for the first time in what felt like years. “No, Emily, she’s got a point. Earth’s full of ignorant, rude, and yeah... smelly people.” Emily rolled her eyes, but I caught the flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. For a few moments, it was just the three of us—laughing, sharing small pieces of our pasts. It felt...normal. Almost peaceful. But the peace didn’t last. The door hissed open, and in walked a tall, lanky man with copper-toned skin, blue irises, and glowing data lines that ran beneath his skin like living circuits. “I’m Doctor Subi,” he said, stepping toward the bed. “And William... your condition is worse than we thought.” He pulled up a glowing screen and pointed to scans—images of shredded organs, failing systems, dark pools of internal bleeding. I didn’t understand half of it, but I got the gist. “You won’t survive like this,” he said gravely. “Even with magic and tech combined, your body is beyond repair. There’s only one option.” I swallowed. “What is it?” “We transfer your consciousness into a new vessel. One that’s compatible and ready.” I narrowed my eyes. “So... like a brain transplant?” “Not quite,” he said. “It’s neural mapping, memory integration, and soul binding. It’s been done before. You won’t lose yourself—but your old body will die.” I hesitated. That was a lot to absorb. Emily stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on my arm. “It’s safe, William. A hundred percent survival rate. We wouldn’t be asking if there was another way.” Serenity added softly, “Please... we don’t want to lose you. You were chosen.” Chosen? That word echoed in my mind. I didn’t admit it aloud, but I wanted to live. Not just to breathe again—but to fight. To pay back the world that had spit me out and laughed while I bled. But ultimately, the two Elven beauties with their adorable eyes made me make up my mind. Still, I had to see it for myself. “Can I... at least see the body first?” I asked. Doctor Subi nodded. “Of course. Let’s take a look.” Emily wheeled me through a long corridor. The walls were smooth stone and glass, interwoven with glowing moss and sunlight streaming through solar-paneled arches. Outside the windows, I saw the solar punk village again—advanced yet grounded, lush gardens and elegant buildings powered by nature and design. Eventually, we entered a sleek medical chamber. Chrome and stone, tech and alchemy. At the center was a tall canister filled with translucent fluid. Inside it floated the body. My new body. It was tall—maybe six feet—muscular and covered in short, groomed grayish-blue fur. Humanoid in shape, but bestial in essence. Its head... It was lupine. A perfect fusion of man and beast. A wicked scar cut across the right side of its face. “I’m looking at a furry,” I mumbled. Serenity snorted. “No, silly Willy. That’s a Wulver.” That name struck a chord. “Celtic folklore, right? But... what’s it doing here?” Before Serenity could answer, Emily interjected, her voice serious. “That’s not important right now. What matters is whether you’ll accept it.” I studied the Wulver’s body. There was power in it—feral, ancient, and maybe even sacred. I recognized something in it. A part of me that had always been there, buried deep under pain, humiliation, and anger. I turned to Doctor Subi. He nodded. “This body, as well as almost all bodies in the galaxy, are Genetically engineered but are capable of reproduction, growth, and more importantly—this one is yours.” I exhaled. “Alright. Let’s do it.” I was placed gently into a reclining pod. Doctor Subi attached neurological nodes to my temples and chest, his hands steady. The glass canopy closed over me with a soft hiss, dimming the lights. Through the glass, I saw them one last time—Emily, Serenity, and the Doctor. I winked. Then the world turned black. At first, I thought I was dead. Then came the screams. I found myself in a dreamscape twisted beyond sanity—a living hell. Red skies bled into oceans of smoke. Charred mountains split open, leaking molten ash. And in the distance, I saw them. The Shark Monsters. Massive, biological beasts shaped like nightmares. Their eyes—pure black—seemed to see everything. Some walked like dinosaurs with bone-plate armor, claws, and mouths full of teeth like saw blades. Others had two sets of arms—one monstrous, the other eerily human. Their bodies fused flesh, cartilage, and alien bioluminescence. One flew overhead—a Megalodon the size of a dropship, its fins like wings of steel. Another crawled across the scorched ground, shaped like a thresher shark with digging claws and eyes that never blinked. There was a hammerhead with humanoid legs, a gaping jaw, and fingers that twitched like they wanted to peel skin. And then the worst one: A saw-tooth horror with rotating teeth like a pizza cutter and a wheezing growl that vibrated the air itself. They weren’t just monsters. They were designed—perfect tools of destruction. Demonic. Alien. Evil. They saw me. I panicked, heart thundering, but then— A voice. A black-and-red mist formed beside me, swirling until it shaped itself into a shadowy Immortal. “William,” it said. “This is only a dream. Follow me to our new home.” It offered me a hand, and I took it. White light consumed everything. I awoke to a cold rush of fluid draining from the pod. My eyes shot open. Different eyes. I breathed in—and the air was thick with life. My senses were sharper than ever. I could feel the heartbeat of the room. The pod door opened, steam rising around me. I stepped out. My balance took a second to adjust to new humanoid legs I wasn’t used to. But it all came naturally. I looked down and saw my reflection on the polished steel floor. A scarred wolf stared back. I was no longer a boy. I was something else. Stronger. Wilder man. A Wulver. Emily approached, her green eyes wide with awe. “Welcome back, William.” I grinned. My new teeth were sharp. I stood in front of the mirror in the locker room, flexing my newly clawed fingers, getting used to the weight of my new body. A locker beside me hissed open, revealing a fresh set of clothes—black leather, sleek, and clearly custom-made. The jumpsuit fit like a second skin, hugging my muscular frame. The arm cut-outs gave me room to move freely, while the thick, high-collared black cloak with red lining draped over my shoulders like it had been waiting for me. The boots—black leather with reinforced soles—strapped tightly with a satisfying snap. The cloak flared as I turned, catching in the air like wings. I looked… intimidating. Powerful. Whole. The door slid open behind me with a whisper, and in walked Emily and Serenity. Emily still wore her black & white leather jumpsuit with glossy black thigh boots laced tight. Serenity had on a pearl-white leather jumpsuit with black high boots that shimmered with rune-stamped seams. They both looked stunning—but Emily stole my breath the moment she stepped in. She always did. I smirked, arms crossed. “Everyone wears full-on black around here except you two, huh?” Emily tilted her head and smiled, one hand resting on her hip. “Yeah… I just wanted some contrast.” I raised an eyebrow. “Well, it works.” Serenity chuckled, “You clean up well, dog boy.” I rolled my eyes, then shrugged the cloak off my shoulders for a second and let it fall back into place. “So… what now?” “We want to show you the town,” Emily said, taking a step closer. “You’ve only seen the inside of a hospital so far. Time to see where you really woke up.” I nodded. “Lead the way.” We stepped out of the hospital and into a different world. The sun bathed everything in golden light filtered through the trees. Massive solar panels spun silently overhead, angled like flower petals to drink in the sky. Vines and greenery crawled up the sides of buildings—living architecture. Fusion reactors hummed quietly in the distance, veiled in crystal shielding and vines. But the strangest part wasn’t the tech—it was the shape of everything. Triangular homes with sharp Nordic roofs lined the pathways. Each one had a tidy lawn with orange grass. No two homes were quite the same, but they all had this Scandinavian-meets-sci-fi aesthetic—clean lines, wooden textures, and light stone walls. And the wildlife? That’s what made my brain short-circuit. Prehistoric-looking birds swooped overhead, their wings leathery like pterosaurs. People walked alongside four-legged reptiles the size of wolves. In the distance, someone rode a sleek, black-feathered theropod like a motorcycle. “This place is insane,” I muttered under my breath. Emily smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I turned to her. “Where in the world are we?” She gave no answer—just led us forward, down a long stone walkway that sloped gently like a ramp. The jungle canopy loomed in the distance, rich and ancient, and the canyon beneath us opened wide into a lush cradle of civilization. We descended into the heart of the town. At the center stood a building like no other—City Hall. Its walls were built from pale, rune-carved stone and accented with rich woods and black glass. It looked both old and futuristic, like it belonged in some alternate medieval timeline that had been given alien technology. Inside, it was even more breathtaking. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, made of crystal branches and glowing moss. Huge arched windows let in sunlight and framed the jungle beyond. Hallways curved like tree roots, and a spiral staircase led us upward. But the centerpiece—the thing that caught my eyes—was the massive skeleton suspended above the main floor. A winged beast. Its ribs alone were the size of a shuttle. “Is that a dragon skeleton?” I asked. Emily, standing beside me, gently grabbed my hand. “Will… don’t touch. Come.” Her fingers were warm against my furred hand. Despite everything, her touch still grounded me. We climbed the stairs to a room veiled in soft light and silence. A round chamber, high ceiling, with a smooth black table in the center and chairs arranged in a circle. Around it were people—Elves in dark robes, a few pale-skinned humans, and tall, crimson-skinned humanoids with glowing eyes and tribal markings. We took our seats without a word. At the head of the room stood a tall, regal Elven man with silver-blonde hair pulled back in a braid, and robes of layered dark silk. “I am Joseph Quincy,” he said. “Thank you for joining us.” He tapped a crystal embedded in the table. A holographic screen flickered to life in the air above it. “Two days ago, we received this footage from a scout drone on the tropical world of Talvas IX,” he continued. “The planet is under siege.” The footage began to play. A first-person view from a shaky camera—a man, a tourist walking across a beach, waves crashing beside him. He panned the camera around with glee. Then something moved in the water. A fin. The man stepped back, but not fast enough. Something exploded from the surf, knocking him flat—a shark. But this shark didn’t just bite. It stood. Its body twisted, deformed, and grew limbs. It roared—not like an animal, but like a thing born of war. More emerged from the ocean behind it—shapes that stood like soldiers, monstrous, biomechanical, soaked in blood and black oil. A fleet of dark spires descended from the sky—hive ships in the shape of Frilled-Sharks. “These aren’t sharks,” Quincy said. “We believe they’re something else. Something... engineered.” I stared. I couldn’t breathe. Because I had seen these things before. In my nightmare. The thresher. The Megalodon. The saw-tooth one. Every single creature from that hellish vision was now on screen. But I said nothing. I didn’t blink. I just kept watching, my hands gripping the arms of the chair until the leather creaked under my claws. Emily glanced at me. “Will? You okay?” I nodded slowly. But inside, I wasn’t. Because now I knew something the rest of the room didn’t. Those monsters… weren’t just invading. They were calling me. We left the dark meeting room in silence, the door sliding shut behind us with a low hiss. The hallway outside was quieter now, lined with soft ambient lights and whispering leaves from the vine-covered walls. The air was warm, but my chest had gone cold. Emily walked just ahead of us, and I sped up, grabbing her gently by the arm. “Emily,” I said, voice low and heavy, “please don’t go to Talvas IX.” She turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “I mean it,” I said. “During the surgery… when they were transferring my consciousness—I had a dream, or a vision. Those things, those shark-like monsters? I saw them. I felt them. And I think… I think they’re hunting me.” Her eyes narrowed with concern, but her lips pressed into a faint, sad smile. “I think you should stay here with Serenity,” she replied softly. I stepped in front of her. “No. That’s not happening. I’m not letting you go out there alone.” But Emily simply turned, her boots clicking against the stone floor. She walked away without another word, leaving me with nothing but the sound of her fading footsteps and the ghost of her warmth on my hand. “This is ridiculous!” I growled, turning to Serenity. She sighed and crossed her arms. “Yeah… she has the mind of a child sometimes. Don’t take it personally.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and added, “And I believe you.” I exhaled hard, tension trembling through my claws. “So now what?” Serenity smirked. “Now? We cheat.” I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?” “We sneak onto the mission. And we’re bringing backup.” The armory was a cathedral of weapons and tech—racks of fusion blades, plasma bows, and energy staffs lined the walls. But at the far end, in a vaulted room beneath glowing rune-stones, were two hovering devices—black discs etched with Norse-looking runes and red energy veins pulsing beneath their surface. “This is Wulver armor?” I asked. Serenity nodded. “Not what you expected?” “Not even close.” But as I stepped toward one of the discs, something strange stirred inside me. I knew what it was. Somehow, instinctively. I reached out, placed the disc against my bare chest, and felt it magnetize—clicking and locking into place. My cloak fell to the floor as I activated the device with a thought. In an instant, it came to life. FWOOSH. Black and silver nanomachines erupted like liquid metal, swirling around me, crawling over my limbs, my shoulders, my skull. In seconds, I stood encased in full armor—metal plates that looked forged and ancient, but humming with futuristic light. The chestplate curved like a wolf’s ribcage, spined shoulders flared outward, and the helmet fused around my head with no visor—just jagged metal crown-spines and glowing red slits that burned like eyes. “How fitting,” I muttered. Serenity equipped hers next—her armor formed with elegance, lighter than mine, silver with blue highlights, flowing more like ceremonial armor. Her helmet kept her face protected and added a shining circlet. We were about to sneak out when we heard footsteps approaching. Joseph Quincy appeared, tall and regal, with a subtle smirk. And beside him—fully repaired and polished—stood Droid L-84. His eyes lit up as he recognized me. “William?” The Droid said. Serenity raised a brow. “You’re not gonna stop us?” “On the contrary,” Joseph said. “You’re coming with me. My ship leaves now.” He turned without waiting, and we followed. Outside, the jungle sky was turning violet, the sun dipping behind the trees. Dozens of massive spacecraft hovered in the clearing—sleek black vessels shaped like Viking longships, with metallic hulls and glowing engine sails. Armies marched in formation, soldiers clad in armor as varied in color as a stained-glass mosaic. Green, red, blue, silver—they all bore the same Norse-futuristic look, wielding weapons of ancient design powered by modern fury. And for some reason… I felt at home in their ranks. We boarded Joseph’s longship—The Hræfnir—a vessel with dragon-carved sides and smooth halls. As it lifted into orbit, the view outside became a sea of stars and planetary rings. On the bridge, Joseph stood before a circular interface and began the real briefing. “Our mission,” he said, “is not only to engage the enemy. We’ve identified key hive ships controlling the swarm. Each hive ship broadcasts a psychic frequency—a link to their collective mind. Sever the link, and we cripple them.” “By what means?” Serenity asked. Joseph pulled up a display showing a crystalline virus—digital, almost magical. “A weapon of SOUND. It will disrupt their neural pathways, splinter their coordination.” “And the delivery system?” I asked. Joseph looked directly at me. “You, William.” I blinked. “What?” “You’ll be the one delivering it. No one else has the biology to slip past their psionic barrier. You’re… unique.” I didn’t answer. I just sat down at my station near the side of the bridge, staring out into the void, into the endless tapestry of stars. I didn’t know what I was. But I knew one thing: my instincts were returning. And as I drifted off to sleep in that cold metal chair, another dream took me. But it wasn’t a nightmare. It was… a memory. A woman. Not Emily. She stood in a black dress, embroidered with patterns of wolves and moons, staring at me with dark brown eyes that pierced straight into my soul. Her hair was long and dark, her skin light, her figure strong and graceful. “Madeline Scoggin,” I whispered in my sleep. Her name came to me like an old tune I hadn’t heard in years—but I knew it. She smiled faintly, standing beneath a tree covered in golden leaves. Then the world shook, and she reached out for me just as everything fell into shadow— And I woke up. I jolted awake with a sharp breath, staring again into the vast black of space beyond the viewport. But I shook it off. No time for dreams. No time for false memories. I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t care. Emily was down there. And I wasn’t about to let her die on some alien rock crawling with nightmare creatures. Joseph turned to us. “We’re deploying. Drop ship’s ready.” We moved fast, no ceremony. Droid L-84 clanked behind us in full combat mode, his new frame glinting in the red lights of the hangar. Serenity jogged beside me, her silver-blue armor flexing like living metal. and followed Joseph through the tunnel toward the launch bay. The Black Bird drop ship loomed ahead—a sleek obsidian dart with glowing crimson thrusters and wings that split like a bat’s blade. It looked like a predator in mid-scream. We climbed aboard. The moment we were sealed in, the engines roared, and the interior rattled like a war drum. I strapped in beside Serenity, across from Joseph and the droid. The walls were tight, no windows—just flashing red lights and the deep hum of power surging through the floor. “This is it,” I muttered. “Breathe,” Serenity said with a calm smirk. “Just another Tuesday.” I didn’t respond. We breached the atmosphere of Talvas IX like a bullet tearing through cloth. And all hell broke loose. The ship jerked, alarms blaring. We were hit—not once, but again and again, loud thuds rocking the hull. “They’re already here!” I shouted. Joseph gritted his teeth at the controls. “Hold on!” Through the view-screen above the cockpit, I saw them. They weren’t ships. They were monsters. Flying sharks, their bodies twisted like gargoyles—stone-like skin, massive jaws, twisted tails for steering. But what made my blood freeze were the white ones—glowing like spirits, suspended in the air as if gravity meant nothing. Their fins sliced through the wind, trailing streaks of pale light, and their forehead appendages sparked with white-blue plasma. And then came the pain. BZZZZK—WHAM! A bolt of electrical plasma hit the side of our drop ship, forcing Joseph to spin the vessel in a wild corkscrew. The whole crew slammed against their restraints as sparks flew from the overhead panels. “They’re charging their horns!” L-84 shouted in his deep synth voice. “Incoming!” Joseph swerved hard. “Not today!” The mounted plasma turrets on the drop ship came to life—controlled by Joseph’s neural interface. Twin barrels tore into the sky with glowing rounds, blasting two of the flying sharks mid-charge. They spiraled out in arcs of fire, crashing into the misty jungle below. Joseph didn’t respond. He was too focused—eyes glowing faintly with dataflow, arms tense at the controls. More drop-ships streaked through the atmosphere around us, some trailing smoke, others already in flames. But somehow, Joseph kept us airborne. And then, suddenly— THUD. We touched down. The hatch hissed open, and the world outside came flooding in—steam, heat, and the smell of burnt ozone. Talvas IX was a jungle moon scorched by war. The trees were massive, twisted with blackened bark and glowing veins of green energy. Fungal towers loomed in the distance, and strange birds screamed in the canopy. The sky was a blood-red bruise, filled with smoke trails and flares from the other drop ships landing nearby. Dozens of Black Birds had made it, unloading squads of Viking-armored soldiers onto muddy soil. I saw banners unfurl, weapons ignite, formations fall into place. But even surrounded by allies, I felt something was wrong. I stepped off the ramp, boots sinking into wet soil, and I just… knew. Something… some mind… was behind all of this. I looked to the sky again, watching the creatures still circling above. Sure, they had flesh and blood. They tore through metal, devoured bone, hunted in packs. But they didn’t behave like animals. No chaos. No hesitation. No fear. They moved with purpose. “They're killers,” I said. Serenity looked at me, her blue eyes sharp behind her helm. “They act like they’ve been trained.” “No. Not trained,” I said slowly, my fists tightening. “Controlled.” Joseph stepped up beside us, surveying the terrain with an old soldier’s instinct. “Hive minds usually behave like they’re being controlled. These things aren’t just animals… they’re soldiers. That’s what worries me.” Droid L-84 scanned the air. “Multiple signals converging north. Emily’s unit dropped in that direction.” Before Droid L-84 could speak another word, Joseph cut in. “That’s exactly where we’re heading,” he said, eyes sharp beneath his helmet. “Not just to meet up with Emily… but to launch the weapon—at the orbital gun.” He paused, letting it sink in. “That outpost may already be crawling with Shark People. Once they realize we’ve got the virus, we’ll have every one of those bastards on our backs.” I clenched my fists, gears turning. Then it hit me—something from Earth, buried in memory. “Wait,” I said. “Back in biology class… sharks. Sharks are drawn to blood. And sound.” Joseph raised a brow. “Go on.” “We can reach Emily and get her out. But we’ll need a second party to set a distraction—draw the swarm away. A blood trail, sonic bait, anything. While I get inside the orbital gun and launch the virus.” Joseph didn’t hesitate. He slowly unsheathed his blade—steel singing against the scabbard. “Bold,” he said, smirking. “I like it.” I looked down at my empty belt. “So where’s my weapon?” Droid L-84 stepped forward, holding out a heavy plasma axe—its head pulsing with blue heat. On the other hand, he offered a plasma handgun in a sleek black holster. I strapped them on without a word. They felt like they belonged there. Then Joseph nodded. “Let’s move. The cannon outpost is waiting.” And with that, we began our march through the jungle—toward fire, steel, and fate. The canyon winds howled low as we crept through the towering jungle trees. Our boots pressed into moss-covered stone, and distant calls of prehistoric birds echoed overhead. The Cannon Outpost was just ahead—half-buried into the mountainside like a fortress fossilized into nature itself. Joseph raised a fist to halt our approach. A figure stood at the entrance, her armor catching the golden twilight like a polished blade. It was Emily. She stood tall, clad in ornate silver armor etched with curling motifs—her helmet’s smooth metal faceplate glinted coldly, and a plume of black horsehair trailed behind her head like a war banner. Her shoulder plates were violet, regal and intimidating, and her waist bore a battle skirt woven with deep red lights pulsing like veins of lava. She didn’t lift her visor. Instead, her voice crackled through her comms. “What are you doing here?” Emily wasn’t just surprised—she was furious. Her glare fell on Serenity like a blade. “You brought him? He’s not even supposed to—!” “I came on my own,” I interrupted. “There’s no time for this. The virus—the cannon—we’re doing this now.” Emily went quiet, her jaw clenched behind the metal mask. Then Joseph raised his voice. “We breach the door. Set charges.” His command broke the tension like thunder. Several soldiers ran forward, attaching compact plasma explosives to the heavy blast doors. The countdown started. I tightened my grip on the plasma axe, its hum faint but menacing. Boom. The doors blew inward with a blast of white-hot light. What waited inside made us all freeze. The air was thick with the stench of death—burnt ozone, blood, decay. Bodies lay scattered like discarded puppets—tourists, civilians, security forces—all torn apart. Some were half-eaten, others mutilated beyond recognition. The floor was slick with blood, pooled beneath flickering ceiling lights. Then we heard it—a choked scream from deeper in the hall. I rushed ahead, pushing past the others. There, in the flickering dark, I found her. A Crimseed woman, her crimson skin now pale and blotched with bruises, lay cornered beneath a grotesque Shark creature—its humanoid body hunched, pulsating, grotesquely animated with wet breathing gills and jagged teeth. It didn’t care that we were there. It was raping her. My heart dropped into a pit of horror and rage so deep I could hardly think. I lunged, slamming my shoulder into the beast’s side. It snarled, twisting toward me—but I had already pulled my axe. I slashed low and severed its genitals in a single stroke. The thing screamed in unnatural pitch, flailing as I drove the axe deep into its skull. Bone cracked, plasma hissed—and it dropped in a twitching heap. The woman sobbed in shock, her body trembling. Joseph called for medics. Two soldiers came forward, lifting her carefully and leading her out. I stood there, staring down at the oozing corpse of the Shark. “They’re not animals,” I muttered. “They’re monsters.” No one disagreed. Then—a shriek echoed down the corridors. Dozens of red lights flickered in the shadows, like eyes. “They're coming,” Emily said. And they did. The first swarm burst out from the far end of the corridor—at least two dozen of them, leaping on clawed limbs, wielding jagged weapons made of bone and metal. The Shark People screamed as they charged, and we opened fire. My axe cleaved through the first that got close—its flesh sizzled against the plasma edge, black blood spraying across my chestplate. Joseph fought like a legend, his sword spinning and flashing like lightning. Serenity stayed close, guns blazing in bursts of blue plasma. Emily... she moved like a ghost of war—silent, lethal, the red lights in her armor gleaming with each elegant, deadly strike. She never raised her visor once. Not even for me. Droid L-84 was relentless—his arm cannon unleashed charged blasts, vaporizing anything in his path. One Shark leapt onto his back—he reached behind him, crushed its skull with one hand, and hurled the body down the hall like garbage. The fight lasted minutes—but it felt like a war. Eventually, the corridor fell silent again. Piles of enemy corpses smoked and twitched on the floor. We stood there, catching our breath. But we all knew what that was. The first wave. More were coming. The first swarm was dust and smoke. The bodies of the Shark People lay still across the blood-slick floors, their alien fluids bubbling in grotesque puddles. Steam hissed from scorched ceiling panels, and the air buzzed with static from fried lights and broken monitors. We knew it wasn’t over. The moment the fighting calmed, Joseph turned to the others. “Open the sunroof.” The ceiling above groaned and clicked—a massive mechanical system stirred to life, gears grinding with unnatural precision. Ancient alien hydraulics hissed as armored plating peeled back layer by layer like the petals of a dying flower, revealing the sky. Sunlight pierced the chamber, casting harsh beams across the orbital cannon nestled in the heart of the outpost. It was massive—twenty meters long, blackened and chrome, its barrel aimed directly toward the heavens like a titan’s finger. Coils of plasma energy circled its spine, pulsing with latent power. “There’s no time,” I said. “Somebody has to load the virus into that thing manually.” Joseph turned to me, already sensing what I meant. “I’ll do it. But you need to get everyone else out—including Emily.” His brow furrowed. “You sure about this?” “I am. Just keep in touch over comms. If I go down, someone’s got to know what happened.” Unsurprisingly, Emily had been listening. “No. Absolutely not,” she barked, stepping forward. “I told you to stay away from this mission. I should’ve left you behind—” “Emily,” I said, locking eyes with her helmet. “I’m not doing this to prove anything. I’m doing it because I’m the only one who can. This isn’t about us.” She clenched her fists, lips pressed in a thin, bitter line. It took Serenity to pull her back—literally. “Come on,” she muttered as she gripped Emily’s arm. “We don’t have time for this, Em.” Joseph gave me one last nod, then tapped his comms. “We’ll draw off as many as we can. Hold the base. We’ll be back.” And just like that—they were gone. Now, it was just me and Droid L-84. The droid’s mechanical body clicked and hissed as he adjusted the controls beside the cannon. His voice crackled through his speaker grill. “Manual preparation requires sixty-seven steps. Begin with a rotating plasma chamber interface.” The alien tech was clunky, yet breathtaking. The cannon itself wasn’t just a weapon—it was an artwork of war, lined with runes and glowing etchings that shimmered with violet light. Together, we worked like clockwork—unlocking panels, charging conduits, inserting bio-tubes. Eventually, I climbed the back of the barrel and inserted the virus capsule—a glowing orange core, gently pulsing with nanite energy. It clicked into place with a hiss. “All systems are green,” said Droid L-84. “Charging cycle initiated. Estimated time: thirty standard units.” I sighed, adjusting my plasma handgun’s holster. “Thirty minutes. Alright.” We used that time to fortify. Droid L-84 brought out plasma turrets, laser mines, ammo crates, reinforced gates—every tool we could salvage. The base was now a war nest, a last stand bunker. We’d turned it into a killing ground. Then came the call. Joseph’s voice cracked over comms. “We’ve lured most of them into the ravine. Lit the charges. But a large chunk of the hive’s broken off. They’re coming your way.” “How bad?” “Big enough to blacken the jungle.” And it was. From the sun roof, I could see them—hundreds of Shark People, rising like a tide over the emerald jungle. Their monstrous bodies rippled with muscles, spines, gills. Some ran on all fours, others on two legs like warriors from Hell. Their war cries shrieked across the valley. I turned to the droid. “Light ’em up.” Droid L-84 mounted a rooftop cannon and began raining plasma on the horde. I grabbed a heavy repeater and took position on the wall, blasting anything that got too close. The beasts fell by the dozens, smoke trails hissing into the sky. But it wasn’t enough. One of them—a Thresher Shark variant—spun like a drill and burrowed underground, punching through the concrete and opening a tunnel directly into the base. Seconds later, the Shark People came pouring out—talons, claws, shrieking mouths—like roaches erupting from a corpse. I kicked the platform’s ladder down, hoping it would slow them. It barely did. They began piling up, climbing over each other to reach me. I grabbed my axe and held the line. Steel sang as I swung the blade in furious arcs—splitting skulls, cleaving jaws, cutting limbs in waves. I fought like a demon, blood splashing on my armor, the handle slick with gore. But they just kept coming. A moment of clarity hit me—I saw a crate of explosives nearby. I grabbed two charges, armed them, and tossed them down into the breach. Boom. The basement exploded in a flash of red fire and dust. Half the swarm was blown to shreds. I tossed the remaining charges to Droid L-84. “Finish them off!” He obliged—precision missiles fired into the chaos, turning the battlefield into a hell storm. Meanwhile, I jumped from the platform and ran to the cannon’s timing panel. Five seconds. I turned. The cannon glowed. Then—fired. A blinding beam of energy lanced into the atmosphere, taking the virus with it. It screamed upward like the finger of God, leaving a ripple across the sky. I had done it. But it wasn’t over. I heard the walls crack. A new swarm broke through—not just grunts this time. These were elite warriors. Bigger. Stronger. Faster. At the front, the Saw-Tooth class—with spinning circular saw-jaws that hummed like bone buzzsaws. I grabbed my axe—but it snapped in half after killing the third one. I staggered back, unarmed. Then came the last one. A bio-form, towering and chitinous, like a Stethacanthus shark fused with a crab. Its back bristled with bony armor. Massive pincers and serrated limbs clicked and scraped the floor as it loomed over me. It charged. I dodged, firing my plasma pistol. It barely scratched its hide. I aimed for its eyes—only made it mad. It lunged, impaling me through the side with its talon. I gasped. Blood filled my throat. I was inches from its massive, serrated jaws. I was going to die. But then— Something changed. I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Instead, I felt a pulse—a surge from my chest, rising up my arm. And that’s when it appeared. The chainsword. Black and silver, humming with ethereal energy. The air around it shimmered with ghostlight. It had manifested from the Immortal still inside me. I gritted my teeth, grabbed the hilt, and sliced upward—ripping free from the monster’s talon. I charged, slammed the sword forward. The blade’s motor spun with a roar as it dug into the beast’s skull, tearing through bone and brain until the entire head split in two. The monster collapsed in a twitching heap, cut completely in half. Still carrying the sword, I staggered back up to the platform, panting. Droid L-84 turned to me, his scanners flashing concern. “I believe... we survived.” But I couldn’t answer. My legs gave out, and I collapsed. A few moments later, the Black-Bird Drop-Ship roared overhead, casting a massive shadow over the ruins. It landed fast, kicking up dust. The side doors opened—and Emily came running with medics in tow. I barely felt their hands lifting me. Emily knelt beside me, her visor now raised. Her green eyes were wide with worry. “You jerk,” she whispered. “You actually did it.” And just like that... Everything went quiet. We went home for the day. And I finally drifted off into sleep. The Wake and the Weight of Truth I awoke to that all-too-familiar hum of fluorescent lights above and the sterile tang of hospital-grade disinfectant. My back pressed into an overly stiff mattress, the sheets tucked tight enough to suffocate, and the low ambient beep of machines monitoring my vitals quietly pulsed in the background. "This shit again..." I muttered to myself. The ceiling hadn’t changed much since the last time I woke up in a place like this. White, modular panels—just as oppressive as ever. I groaned, pushing myself up with some resistance, half-expecting pain to shoot through my side where the crab-shark impaled me—but nothing. I patted around my torso, my ribcage, and finally stared at my bare right side. Smooth. Not even a scar. Not a dent. Not even a faint bruise. It was like the entire encounter had been surgically erased from my body. Confused, I looked around the room and caught sight of Doctor Subi, pacing near the far wall with a datapad. The moment he noticed I was awake, his eyes lit up with a warmth that didn’t quite match the cold clinical space. “You’re awake,” he said, stepping forward. “That’s… honestly miraculous. We weren’t sure if you—” I cut him off, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “No injuries, huh?” I said. “What the hell happened to me? And don’t feed me any more vague answers—I want to know everything. Especially about the Immortal creature inside me.” Subi gave a cautious smile, the kind people give when they’re deciding whether to lie or soften the truth. “That… is complicated. You’d get a clearer explanation from Droid L-84. He’s the one with deep archives on the Immortals.” I stood, bare feet on the cold floor, my fists clenched. “Fine. Then tell me this: why the hell am I remembering things that aren’t mine? Combat experience. Tactical maneuvers. Her. I keep seeing a woman—her face, her voice—someone I’ve never met. And don’t say it’s hallucinations.” That last part must’ve stung, because Subi winced and looked away. I stepped closer, my voice low and pointed. “There’s no way hallucinations can make me a soldier overnight. I knew how to fire an orbital cannon like I’d done it all my life. I performed field triage, analyzed swarm behavior, and predicted enemy tactics. That doesn’t come from fever dreams.” Subi sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I suppose you’re ready for the truth,” he said. “The woman you’re seeing—her name is Madeline Scoggin.” The name struck me like a slap across the face. My pulse quickened. I’d never heard that name spoken aloud before, yet something about it sent ripples through my mind, like echoes in a cavern that wasn’t mine. “Who is she?” I asked. “A princess,” Subi said bitterly. “From the Red Dragon Empire.” I let out a dry laugh. “A princess? You’re telling me I’ve got flashbacks of a royal?” “She wasn’t a good princess,” he shot back, stepping closer. “She and her bloodline were behind a centuries-long conspiracy. Corruption. Bloodshed. And war—against the Crimson Empire of Vikingnar.” He paused, letting the weight of those words settle. “Your current Wulver body—it was grown in a lab. Engineered. But it wasn’t blank when we gave it to you. The last soul to inhabit it was a man named Wilson. He was one of us… until he betrayed our people for her.” My mouth went dry. “So, this Wilson guy… he was in love with Madeline Scoggin?” “Infatuated. Controlled. Twisted,” Subi said, his eyes cold. “He was once a king of Vikingnar. My sister’s husband.” That hit like a sledgehammer. “She was queen. One of the most beloved rulers in our history. And he murdered her in cold blood. For Scoggin. That’s why we made sure he never came back.” I exhaled slowly, trying to absorb what I’d just heard. “So now I’m walking around in the skin of a backstabbing tyrant.” “No,” Subi said. “Now you’re walking around in a vessel that was once his—but is becoming yours. Thanks to the Immortal that fused into your soul. It’s an ancient being. An old-world guardian. It ensures no foreign mind can dominate the body. Wilson is gone. But his memories, his instincts... some of them may remain. They’ll merge with yours. Slowly. Carefully.” I leaned against the bed frame, eyes narrowed. “So I’m the ghost of two men. The butcher and the nobody.” “You’re neither,” Subi said. “You’re the bridge. You’re the buffer that might stop another war from erupting. And more importantly... you're someone who understands betrayal. Pain. Isolation. That’s why I chose you.” I scoffed. “You chose me because I’ve been kicked around my whole life?” Subi nodded, his expression softening. “You told me you wanted revenge. That you’d go back to Earth and make the people who hurt you pay. That darkness inside you... it's not weakness. It’s understanding. It’s what makes you not, Wilson.” I stayed quiet. For the first time in a while, I actually felt seen. Subi sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be honest. This isn’t just about redemption. It’s personal. Wilson killed my sister. The people of Vikingnar still chant his name in secret. But you? You’re the one with his strength, his skills—without his poison.” “So what now?” I asked. “You want me to take up his sword and fight your war?” “No,” Subi said. “I want you to rewrite the war. But first... rest. You’ve earned it. There’s a suitcase over there. Clothes, supplies, and... something else.” He didn’t elaborate. He handed me a chip-card with an address etched onto its surface in glowing runes. “Your new home. Just outside the city’s eastern rim. A hover cab’s waiting in the lot. Your next steps begin tomorrow.” I nodded slowly. My hand lingered on the suitcase, cold and smooth, a polished alloy with an elegant silver clasp. Something about it felt heavier than it looked. I didn’t know then that hidden inside the lining was a second canister—another Immortal, dormant and waiting. I left the hospital room without another word. Outside, the twin suns were just starting to set behind the crystalline skyline of Vikingnar’s capital. The air smelled of ozone, of wildflowers and distant snow. The cab door slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing a sleek black interior with neon blue trim. I stepped in. And just like that… I was on my way to the next mystery. The hover cab glided smoothly above the ground, weaving through tree-lined avenues and bio-luminescent lanterns that marked the outer residential district. As we left the gleaming towers of the Vikingnar capital behind, the terrain shifted into gentle hills, dotted with serene homesteads that looked like they were carved out of a dream—each one a blend of futuristic elegance and ancient Nordic craftsmanship. We finally came to a stop in front of a house built in perfect triangular symmetry—a Scandinavian-style home, sleek and simple, with dark wooden beams and glowing runes etched into the siding. The roof sloped steeply, covered in solar tiles that shimmered with the faint light of the planet’s twin moons. The air smelled of pine and ozone. I stepped out of the cab and approached the door, pulling the key card from my pocket. It hummed quietly in my hand, unlocking the entry with a soft chime. The inside was warm and modern—an open floor plan with glass walls that looked out onto the backyard. The wood interiors were accented with steel and lightstone, and every detail felt... deliberate. Clean. Peaceful. My gaze drifted toward the backyard—and that’s when I saw her. Emily. She was waist-deep in the water of a crystal-clear pool, the ambient light of the city reflecting off her black bikini. Her dark hair was wet, slicked back behind her ears, and her green eyes shimmered like emeralds under the moonlight. For a moment, the rest of the galaxy seemed to disappear. I didn’t say anything. I just quietly slid the suitcase down next to the door, peeled off my shirt, then my boots, then the rest. My feet hit the smooth stone as I stepped outside, the night air cool against my skin. She turned when she heard the splash—smiling faintly as I slipped into the pool beside her. We didn’t speak at first. We just drifted close, the water cool, but the space between us warm. Our arms eventually found their way around each other. At first for comfort. Then for more. There was no tension. No awkwardness. Just that strange feeling like we’d known each other far longer than we actually had. “Where are we?” I finally asked, breaking the silence. “I mean... what’s this planet called? I never caught the name. And I know Vikingnar has several worlds under its rule.” She leaned her forehead gently against mine. “This is Skaalandr,” she whispered. “It’s one of the free planets. A quiet one. I believe that’s why the Immortal brought you here—to give you peace.” I nodded slowly, letting the name settle into my thoughts. Skaalandr. It fits. Like a place out of myth. She tightened her grip around me slightly and said, “Thank you... for helping with the mission.” I smirked. “Kinda threw myself into it without thinking.” “That’s exactly the problem,” she said, her voice shifting from soft to serious. “Don’t do that again.” I raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” She stared at me, eyes glistening. “Because I couldn’t take it if I lost you.” My breath caught. She moved in closer, our foreheads touching again. “I love you,” she whispered. I blinked. “Already?” Before I could get another word out, she kissed me. And the rest just... fell away. The weight of alien worlds, of dead kings and ancient betrayals, of blood-soaked memories not my own, my own past misery—all of it vanished in the warmth of her lips, the softness of her skin. She kissed me like someone who had been waiting lifetimes for this one moment. And there I was—in a different world, in a different body, under different stars—making love to the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. No Earth. No pain. No past. Just her. Just us. And for the first time since this strange journey began... I didn’t feel alone. "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" CHAPTER 1: "RAPTURE"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 24: "BIOMECHANICAL" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" On Haj Prime, the afternoon sun burned low across the horizon, turning the green grass land into waves of molten gold. Serenity stood on the ridge of an ancient plateau overlooking the valley below, her white leather jumpsuit reflecting the glow like liquid fire. The tight fit of the outfit shimmered faintly as the wind tugged at her long black hair, whipping it across her shoulders and the elegant curve of her elven ears. She raised her binoculars, focusing on the distant biomechanical fleet parked along the cliffs—a fleet of Shark People ships, half metal and half living flesh. Their hulls glistened like scales, breathing and flexing as if alive. Every vessel pulsed faintly, veins of blue bioluminescent energy running along their surfaces. The sound of their low hum carried across the desert, a mechanical heartbeat echoing across the valley. Serenity narrowed her gaze, her blue eyes glowing faintly with the reflection of the scene. The sight was both beautiful and eerie. Then—smack. She flinched, spinning around, holding her rear. Haj Tooth stood behind her, grinning mischievously, her hand still hovering mid air after the playful slap. Serenity glared at her. “Hey, why did you do that?” Haj Tooth tilted her head slightly, her silver-blue skin glinting in the sun. She looked almost statuesque in her biomechanical armor, which moved like liquid metal over her sharklike form. Fins curled elegantly around her forearms, and gill-like vents pulsed faintly along her neck. Her eyes, sharp and oceanic, softened as she replied, “You seem very tense. I sense you still desire him—William?” Serenity sighed and lowered the binoculars, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was steady when she said, “What do you think?” Haj Tooth smiled knowingly, her teeth glinting faintly in the sunlight. “Your luck may change.” Serenity scoffed and crossed her arms, her boot heels grinding into the sand. “You’re lying.” Haj Tooth stepped closer, her tone gentle but unwavering. “I’m not lying. All of you will realize soon enough that you’re adults—capable of reason, not slaves to urges. There are problems in this universe that make your love triangles and jealousies look... small.” She looked toward the distant horizon, where smoke from old battles still rose faintly. “Even the mundane bickering that fills your lives now will cease to exist once you see what’s coming.” Serenity hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. There was a vulnerability there—just for a moment—before Haj Tooth’s hand reached out and rested on her shoulder. Then the Shark Queen pulled her into a firm hug, her metallic armor surprisingly warm to the touch. “Now come on,” Haj Tooth said, releasing her. “We must go to my homeworld of Poseidonnar and make our assault on Maladrie’s hell realm.” Serenity gave a curt nod, her eyes determined once again. Together, they descended the plateau into the valley below, their boots kicking up small clouds of dust as the sun dimmed behind them. The landscape shifted as they walked—rolling dunes giving way to fields of bronze-colored grass and clusters of jagged rock. The terrain resembled the Serengeti of old Earth, though far stranger. The air shimmered faintly with electromagnetic energy, distorting the colors of the plains. Towering spires of coral-metal formations rose from the ground like fossilized lightning, each one humming faintly as if alive. Hours passed before they reached the basin. There, nestled at the edge of a massive cavern system, lay the base of the Evolved Hive. Serenity’s breath caught at the sight. The structures weren’t built in any traditional sense—they had grown. Towers of metal and organic material spiraled upward, glowing with bioluminescent veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. Walkways of bone-steel arched between them, and translucent panels shifted like gills, exhaling vapor that shimmered in the air. Around the base, thousands of Shark People were at work. But these were not the same primal creatures that had once swarmed the seas of Haj Prime. They stood upright with regal posture, their bodies now more humanoid—sleek and muscular, with symmetrical faces that hinted at both human intelligence and predator instinct. Their eyes glowed faintly blue, and their voices reverberated like sonar when they spoke. Even their ships had changed. What Serenity had seen from afar now loomed before her in astonishing detail—vessels that breathed. The biomechanical ships were anchored in large pools of shimmering liquid metal, their surfaces rippling as if in slow respiration. Instead of relying solely on organic propulsion like their hive ancestors, these ships now absorbed metal directly from the environment. She watched as one vessel extended long tendrils into a heap of scrap material, its body shuddering as it drew the metal inward—digesting it, reshaping it into new armor plating. The process was both fascinating and unnerving. The merging of life and machinery, instinct and engineering—it was evolution on fast-forward. Serenity turned to Haj Tooth, her voice filled with disbelief. “How did you do all of this?” Haj Tooth smiled, her serrated teeth gleaming in the reflected blue light. “Rapid evolution,” she said simply. “Our kind was forced to adapt after centuries of war. We stopped relying on a single form of life and learned to merge what is living with what is forged.” Serenity shook her head, still watching the vast biomechanical structures breathe. “It’s… beautiful, in a terrifying way.” Haj Tooth let out a low hum of amusement. “If you want a clearer story,” she said, turning toward a nearby landing platform, “then you’ll have to come with me.” She gestured toward a sleek derelict spacecraft resting nearby. Despite its age, it had been reconstructed with the same biomechanical precision—metal plates merged seamlessly with living tissue, and its engines pulsed like the gills of a great leviathan. The hull shimmered with oil-slick colors, and strange runes glowed faintly across its sides. Serenity hesitated for a moment, feeling the low vibration of the ship’s hum through the ground beneath her boots. Then, without another word, she followed Haj Tooth up the ramp. The door sealed behind them with an organic hiss, and for the first time in years, Serenity felt the weight of destiny shift in her chest. Whatever awaited them on Poseidonnar—and whatever horror Maladrie’s “hell realm” truly was—she knew one thing for certain: this was no longer a fight for survival. It was a war for evolution itself. The interior of Haj Tooth’s ship hummed like a living organ—alive, yet mechanical, both engineered and grown. The long corridors curved in unnatural, graceful shapes that resembled the inner ribs of some long-extinct leviathan. The walls were dark graphene, polished like obsidian and pulsating faintly with streaks of bioluminescent veins that ran across its surface, glowing blue and violet in rhythmic patterns—like a heartbeat. Serenity could feel the pulse through her boots as she walked. It was as if the ship itself recognized her presence. The air was faintly warm, tinged with the metallic scent of synthetic saltwater. Beneath Serenity’s feet, the dark marble floor reflected her image—sleek, polished, almost ceremonial. She trailed her fingers along one of the bony arches that supported the ceiling, feeling the vibration within. It wasn’t dead material—it was sentient metal, bonded with bio-tissue. Haj Tooth walked ahead, her steps heavy yet elegant, her biomechanical armor shimmering like dark liquid mercury in the artificial light. She looked half-warrior, half-goddess—her long fin-like appendages shifting behind her like ribbons in the air. “You see,” Haj Tooth said, gesturing toward the corridor ahead, “we’ve learned from both the mistakes and brilliance of the past. Our ships no longer rely solely on flesh or machine. They are both perfectly merged.” Serenity followed silently, her eyes absorbing every detail. The ship wasn’t just designed—it grew around itself. Panels formed naturally, the metal bending into fluid shapes as if sculpted by invisible hands. Pipes like veins pumped luminescent gel through the walls. When they reached the bridge, Serenity was struck by the view. It was vast and cathedral-like. The command deck rose in circular tiers, each embedded with consoles that projected holographic runes and 3D schematics in a blue-white glow. The main viewing window curved in a semi-spherical dome, revealing the world of Haj Prime below—a sprawling savanna-like planet, golden under its twin suns. The surface was dotted with massive hive-like structures, their forms twisting and breathing like organic skyscrapers. Haj Tooth took her place at the helm—a control throne seemingly carved from fused coral and metal. Blue holograms flickered to life around her, forming intricate geometric sequences in mid-air. “This ship,” she said with pride, “is called Nautilus Ascendant. It was the first of its kind—a prototype. It can adapt, heal, and think. Every part of it is alive. We’ve evolved far beyond dependency on one form of creation.” Serenity stepped closer, looking around the bridge in awe. “It’s beautiful… terrifying, but beautiful,” she said softly. Her voice echoed slightly against the metallic acoustics. Haj Tooth turned, her blue eyes glinting. “Beauty and terror are sisters. Both are needed to inspire respect.” Through the panoramic glass, Serenity could see movement below. Hundreds of Shark People were gathering, their biomechanical armor glinting under the sunlight. The landscape rippled with motion as their living ships—sleek and silver, shaped like manta rays and swordfish—stirred from their hives. “Are they all coming with us?” Serenity asked. “Yes,” Haj Tooth replied firmly. “Every warrior is capable of flight or battle. Poseidonnar awaits us, and beyond that, the Wraith Gates of Maladrie’s realm. This fleet is the last hope for our kind’s redemption.” She leaned forward, pressing a clawed finger into the ship’s main control interface. The blue holograms flared brighter. “Initiate fleet link,” she commanded. Outside, the ground shuddered as dozens—then hundreds—of biomechanical vessels activated. Energy arcs traveled across their hulls, blue light sparking through the air. One by one, the Shark People’s ships rose from the surface, their thrusters emitting no flame—only a deep, resonant hum like a whale song echoing through space-time. Serenity stood near the viewing dome, watching as Haj Prime’s horizon receded. Dust swirled beneath the ascending fleet. The sight was breathtaking—organic ships spiraling into formation, their wings folding and unfolding like living creatures taking flight for the first time. On the bridge, Haj Tooth’s crew moved with silent discipline. They weren’t speaking—communication was telepathic, transmitted through the ship’s neural network. Holographic maps of the galaxy shimmered above them, showing glowing routes from Haj Prime toward Poseidonnar—a water world marked in soft blue. Serenity turned back to the dome. The fleet broke free of the planet’s gravity well, passing through a halo of clouds and into the void of space. The stars unfolded before them—thousands of radiant points glimmering against a sea of eternal black. Below them, Haj Prime shrank to a marble of gold and blue. Then, with a low, resonant pulse, the Nautilus Ascendant and its fleet disappeared into hyperspace—leaving behind a trail of shimmering energy, a ripple across the stars. Inside the ship, Serenity steadied herself as the warp currents surged around them. She looked over at Haj Tooth, who stood unwavering at the helm, her eyes fixed forward with unshakable conviction. The Shark Queen whispered to herself, almost inaudibly, “To Poseidonnar… and then, to Hell itself.” The stars stretched into blue lines—and the fleet was gone. The bridge of the Nautilus Ascendant shimmered in hues of deep cerulean and silver as they drifted through subspace, the ship’s core humming like a living heart. The walls pulsed with dim, bioluminescent veins that glowed in rhythm with the engines. Serenity sat quietly beside Haj Tooth at the helm, her reflection mirrored in the curved glass of the viewing dome. Stars streaked by in pale blue ribbons, whispering of galaxies untamed and unseen. Serenity broke the silence, her voice calm but edged with curiosity. “So, do you think your fellow Shark People on Poseidonnar are equally evolved as you and your fleet?” Haj Tooth’s sharp, dark lips curled into a confident smirk. Her gills fluttered slightly as she replied, “I know they are. Our people always do everything in unison. Hive mind or not.” Her tone carried a faint reverberation, as if two voices overlapped within one body—the organic and the mechanical speaking together. Serenity’s shoulders tensed. Her complexion paled, and she slowly sank into the co-pilot’s seat beside Haj Tooth. The chair felt cold, its smooth surface molded from bio-metal that adjusted to her form. She clasped her hands together, eyes distant as the ship’s bridge lights reflected off her pale skin. Haj Tooth tilted her head, noticing the sudden change in Serenity’s aura. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice softening. “Is it William?” Serenity shook her head slowly, her long black hair brushing over her shoulder. “No,” she said quietly, “I realized that our human-founded civilizations don’t have any unison. Like… what if there’s an outside threat? We won’t be ready.” Haj Tooth rested back in her throne-like seat, folding her arms. The faint hum of the engines filled the long pause between them. “To be honest,” Haj Tooth began, her tone both critical and sympathetic, “I’m surprised the human race has gotten this far with all of the Christian racism against skin color, mutants such as William, or even you or Emily. Not even Elves were allowed at the seat of the table.” Serenity turned her head toward her, listening in silence as Haj Tooth continued. “After the defeat of theocracy,” the Shark Queen said, “you’re now divided once again due to a new kind of evil. Excess and Nihilism.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, glowing faint blue from the reflection of the holographic readouts. “But,” Haj Tooth continued, “you people typically unite when you realize freedom is in jeopardy.” For a brief moment, Serenity looked like she wanted to respond—but before she could, the ambient lighting of the bridge shifted from cool blue to radiant gold. A low tone vibrated through the ship—an ancient beacon chime used by the Shark People to signify planetary approach. Then, Haj Tooth’s voice resonated through every deck, corridor, and vessel of the fleet, transmitted by her own neural link to the entire armada. “We’ve arrived on Poseidonnar. Welcome home.” From the bridge, Serenity and Haj Tooth gazed outward as the veil of subspace parted. Before them, the massive world of Poseidonnar filled the viewport—a luminous planet bathed in turquoise light. It shimmered like a gem adrift in the cosmic void, its atmosphere glowing faintly with auroras of green and violet. The Nautilus Ascendant descended first, leading the vanguard of the fleet. As the ships pierced the upper atmosphere, the view grew breathtaking. The world’s terrain unfurled below them—an ancient paradise mixed with raw, alien wilderness. It looked vaguely like Earth, yet profoundly different. Vast fields of green plateaus spread out between oceans of dark, glassy sand. Jagged mountain ranges jutted out of black deserts, where glowing rivers of bio-luminescent water wound through the valleys. Serenity leaned forward, pressing her hand against the glass. “It’s beautiful…” she whispered. As they breached lower into the cloud layer, they passed floating mountains suspended in magnetic balance. Massive Dragons glided around them—serpentine, winged, and adorned in crystalline scales that reflected sunlight in a thousand colors. The creatures roared as the Shark fleet entered their airspace, though they did not attack. They patrolled the skies and the shimmering lakes below like guardians of the realm. Haj Tooth smiled faintly. “The Dragons protect the sacred grounds of Poseidonnar. They were our ancient enemies,” she said. “Now they are allies. They watch, they judge, and they remember.” The fleet continued onward, engines thrumming in synchronized harmony. Below, Serenity could see entire cities sculpted into the natural terrain—structures that defied human architecture. They rose like massive organic sculptures, each one a hybrid of metal and living matter. The style was unmistakably inspired by the biomechanical aesthetic—twisted spires, ribbed domes, and veins of molten silver running through the architecture. They were reminiscent of H.R. Giger’s vision of nightmares and divinity intertwined—cathedrals of flesh and metal, both haunting and holy. “Your people built this?” Serenity asked, astonished. Haj Tooth nodded. “Every Shark, every drone, every living piece of technology is a builder. Our world is alive because we willed it to be.” As the fleet approached their destination, a massive air base came into view. It was shaped like a dome, colossal in scale, resting on the edge of a volcanic plateau surrounded by black sand and turquoise lakes. Biomechanical towers jutted out from its surface, and docking ports glowed with pulsating energy. The Shark Queen guided the Nautilus Ascendant toward the dome. Through the bridge glass, Serenity could see hundreds of Shark warriors standing on the landing platforms, their armor glistening under the planet’s dim blue sunlight. “Prepare for landing,” Haj Tooth commanded through her neural link. All across the skies, the rest of the Shark People’s fleet followed her lead. Their vessels—sleek, organic, and alive—synchronized in perfect formation, wings folding inward like the fins of deep-sea predators returning to the depths. As the Nautilus Ascendant descended, the light grew dimmer, filtered through the atmosphere of Poseidonnar. The ships’ thrusters flared softly, stirring black dust and blue mist across the landing field. Then, with a soft, resonant thud, Haj Tooth’s flagship made contact with the ground. The fleet of the Shark People—an army reborn through evolution—had officially returned home to the world that birthed them. Serenity sat in silence beside Haj Tooth, looking out at the sprawling biomechanical horizon. The hum of the engines faded, replaced by the low chorus of alien winds echoing across the plateau. Haj Tooth stood from her seat, her voice low but powerful. “Welcome,” she said, “to the heart of our civilization.” Deep within the heart of Poseidonnar, the air was heavy with the scent of salt and metal. The biomechanical city pulsed faintly around Serenity and Haj Tooth as they descended through a corridor lined with glowing coral-like structures that seemed alive—breathing, watching, remembering. The path spiraled downward, deeper into the ancient core of the Shark People’s civilization. Eventually, the tunnel opened into a vast underground expanse—a cathedral-like temple, older than any known species’ recorded history. It was not made of metal or stone but of something between the two: a dark, organic alloy that reflected faint blues and silvers like moonlight on water. Faint streams of liquid energy ran through the floor like veins, leading to the center altar where a faint hum echoed—a song only the ancients could hear. Haj Tooth walked ahead, her armor gleaming in the dim light. “This,” she said, her voice reverberating against the chamber’s vaulted ceiling, “is what I wanted to show you.” Serenity followed, her boots echoing softly with each step. Her white jumpsuit contrasted against the darkness, her black hair cascading down her shoulders as she glanced around in awe. The walls were lined with immense stained-glass windows—each one illuminated from within, despite the lack of any visible light source. They depicted cosmic events in abstract, haunting beauty: galaxies being born, oceans swirling on primordial worlds, and strange aquatic beings rising from the stars themselves. Serenity turned to Haj Tooth, her brow furrowed. “What are we doing here?” she asked. “I thought we had to leave soon?” Haj Tooth stopped at the base of the altar and turned back to her, her eyes faintly glowing blue. “Relax,” she said, her tone calm yet commanding. “I needed to show you this—this marvel of our creation, and creation itself.” Serenity hesitated, then stepped forward. As she approached the altar, the air shimmered faintly with energy. The windows above them shifted colors, refracting spectral light across the floor. The hues formed shapes—Sharks, Dragons, and vast cosmic storms frozen in art. Serenity’s breath caught in her throat. Each pane of stained glass told a story—one older than humanity itself. Haj Tooth lifted her arm, pointing toward one of the grandest panels. “You see,” she began, her voice solemn and proud, “my people started off towards the early days of the universe, being ruled under a hive mind. We evolved naturally here, right next to our adversaries—the Dragons.” The glass shimmered, showing two vast species emerging from the same cosmic cradle: one from the sea, one from the sky. “Our species clashed with theirs for some time,” Haj Tooth continued, “until we both evolved our biological forms for space exploration. Despite the lack of technology, and being more animal-like, we were able to conquer the stars.” Serenity’s eyes followed the moving images within the glass—primitive, colossal creatures soaring through nebulas and swimming through voids like cosmic whales. Haj Tooth’s tone grew deeper, filled with ancient reverence. “The Dragons appeared to be bent on surviving to thriving on other worlds, and they managed to achieve Wraith Travel. Although the Dragons were successful in flying to different planets and realms, some—if not most—of these places were hard to live in.” She moved toward another panel that depicted dying planets being reborn under strange, luminous currents. “Our Shark Hive also struggled to sustain itself due to depleting resources. But something happened once we left every planet we ravaged. We left seeds of new life on the worlds we touched.” Serenity tilted her head, fascinated. “Seeds?” Haj Tooth nodded. “We left a genetic marker on these worlds which saw rapid evolution of carbon-based life. Even worlds like Earth.” Serenity took a step closer to the stained glass, her reflection merging with the cosmic imagery. Haj Tooth’s tone softened. “We didn’t realize it at the time, but our evolutionary purpose was to create—and seed life. The Dragons, being the slick vermin they are, did the same. But something happened once Dragons kept returning from the Dark Dimension with sucker marks on their snouts.” Serenity blinked. “Sucker marks?” Haj Tooth pointed to another section of the glass. It showed dark tendrils emerging from a rip in space, wrapping around celestial dragons. “The arrival of the Kraken—or Krakens. Their evolutionary goal is to de-evolve, or kill, any living thing in the universe.” Serenity’s eyes widened. The art was horrifying yet mesmerizing—massive tentacles coiling through galaxies, devouring stars and organisms alike. “The Dragons and Shark People’s ancestors merely viewed the Kraken as food,” Haj Tooth said with a grim smirk, “and we quickly won our war with this invasive hive species, driving them back into the Dark Dimension. Our ancestors, the Dragons, fed on the Kraken hive species after every hibernation period. Once the Kraken emerged from the Dark Dimension, our species and the Dragons woke up to feast.” The stained glass flared with light, depicting the ancient wars in surreal glory—Sharks swimming through void storms, Dragons unleashing solar fire, and Krakens being ripped apart in the abyss. Serenity’s mouth fell slightly open. “So… are they coming back?” she asked, her tone hushed, half in fear, half in awe. Haj Tooth’s expression turned serious. “Strangely enough, they ceased to exist completely upon waking up during the rise of humanity on Earth, and the peak era for the Arckon civilization.” She walked slowly along the temple floor, the light glinting off her armor. “We then realized there was a locked door at the edge of the known universe. Nothing was getting in, and nothing was getting out. Even black holes—said to be entry points to the Dark Dimension—were disappearing throughout the cosmos.” Serenity took a deep breath, her blue eyes flickering with thought. “One question,” she said carefully. “Do the Kraken come from the Wraith?” Haj Tooth turned to her. The shadows from the stained glass painted half her face in light and half in darkness. “No,” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “But we need to make sure Maladrie, her Demons, Demonettes, and her Nihilistic followers never find the door leading to the Dark Dimension. A Kraken outbreak is the last thing we need.” The words echoed through the temple like a haunting prophecy. Serenity looked up one last time at the glass windows, her reflection surrounded by cosmic depictions of gods, monsters, and galaxies. The hum of the temple seemed to grow louder, almost as if the structure itself was alive and remembering every word spoken within its halls. Haj Tooth finally turned toward the exit. “Come,” she said. “We’ve seen enough for one day.” Together, they walked through the long, echoing corridor leading back toward the air base. The lights dimmed as they left the ancient temple behind, its stained glass fading into darkness—waiting silently for the next generation to rediscover its truths. Outside, the distant rumble of engines and the sound of roaring Dragons filled the alien air, as the two women stepped into the blue sky of Poseidonnar once more. They then proceeded to trek back to the airbase. The Shark People’s fleet left Poseidonnar beneath the ghostly glow of twin moons, the ocean world below glimmering like liquid crystal. From the domed airbase, hundreds of biomechanical ships ignited their engines—streams of phosphorescent plasma igniting the night sky in hues of blue and violet. The air thundered as the armada ascended, each vessel shimmering with bioluminescent light as it tore upward through the misty clouds. Onboard the Nautilus Ascended, Serenity stood beside Haj Tooth on the bridge. The interior pulsed faintly with organic light, walls breathing like the inside of some vast, living organism fused with cold metal. Through the panoramic viewport, Serenity watched as the green and black seas of Poseidonnar curved away below them. The planet’s luminous coral fields and ancient bone towers glimmered faintly before disappearing into the darkness of space. “Prepare the fleet for jump,” Haj Tooth ordered, her tone calm yet commanding. The fleet gathered into a tight formation, every ship aligning with perfect precision—like the synchronized motion of predators circling their prey. Before them, space began to warp. The void itself folded inward, forming a colossal, pulsating rift that glowed with eerie silver veins of lightning—the Wraith Gate. The air inside the bridge crackled with static energy, rattling Serenity’s armor as she steadied herself on the console. “Entering the Wraith,” Haj Tooth announced. With a resonant hum, the entire fleet surged forward and vanished into the shimmering distortion. Instantly, everything changed. The stars dissolved. The ship’s hull moaned under unseen pressure as the universe seemed to invert. Space folded into itself—colors bleeding, sound stretching. Serenity could feel time drag across her consciousness like molten glass. Then, just as suddenly, it was over. The Nautilus Ascended and her fleet emerged on the other side, engines echoing in the quiet aftermath of the jump. But the view outside the viewport was no peaceful cosmos. Instead, they floated above a hellish realm, its sky burning a deep orange hue like molten copper. Rivers of fire and ash stretched across the land below, and the ground rippled as though alive. From the command deck, Serenity leaned closer to the glass. “Where are we?” she whispered. “The Wraith’s heart,” Haj Tooth replied, eyes narrowing. As the fleet descended, the landscape below shifted from molten plains to rolling fields of gold—the wheat fields where I once met Beelzebub. I wasn’t there now, merely narrating what they saw. The ships glided silently through the orange sky, their hulls reflecting the flames of the horizon. Then, in the distance, a pulsing beacon flickered—blue and steady amid the chaos. It was Beelzebub, the humanoid wasp entity known for healing rather than harm. “Bring us down,” Haj Tooth commanded. Engines roared. The fleet landed in unison beside a cave surrounded by endless golden wheat. The wind whispered through the stalks, carrying faint echoes of voices from beyond the veil. The ramp of the Nautilus Ascended lowered with a hiss of vapor. Serenity and Haj Tooth descended together into the warm, dry air. Beelzebub was waiting for them near the beacon, his form radiating faint green light beneath the orange sky. “Hello,” Beelzebub greeted them, his tone smooth and knowing. “I’ve been expecting you.” Serenity stepped forward, her eyes sharp. “Have you found any evidence to suggest that the survivors William met up with are alive?” Beelzebub shook his head slowly. “No. But our scouts have discovered a decrease in Demon Warriors at Maladrie’s castle.” Serenity stood with the firelight of the orange sky reflecting in her blue eyes. She took a deep breath, then pressed her hand to the silver medallion embedded in her chest. A faint hum vibrated through the air. From the medallion, a swarm of nanobots emerged—thousands of silver motes that spiraled across her body in a perfect dance of mechanical precision. The air shimmered as the particles fused together, layering themselves into sleek, Viking-style graphene armor that gleamed like molten mercury. The armor expanded and sealed with a hiss, forming intricate engravings of Norse patterns along her gauntlets and chest plate. Her visor slid into place with a quiet click. She flexed her fingers, testing the strength of the alloy, and said firmly, “We should start there.” Beelzebub—his chitin glinting beneath the dim infernal light—let out a low, clicking laugh. “Ha! Maladrie’s castle still has loads of guards positioned at every entrance leading to the castle.” His wings twitched slightly, casting brief shadows across the golden wheat field that surrounded them. Without hesitation, Serenity reached into the side compartment of her armor and withdrew three small capsules. When she pressed a button, they unfolded into thin, shimmering fabrics—invisibility cloaks, each one humming faintly with quantum camouflage energy. “That’s why I suggest you use these,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “And only the three of us should go to the castle.” The cloaks fluttered in the warm breeze, their surface catching the orange light like liquid glass. Beelzebub tilted his head, his compound eyes narrowing with intrigue. “So,” he said, his tone now less mocking and more strategic, “we use invisibility cloaks and sneak our way inside. Smart.” He turned to glance back at the Shark People’s fleet resting in the distance. “And let’s give our warriors a rest while we’re away.” “Agreed,” said Haj Tooth, her voice steady as she fastened her cloak’s control node to her biomechanical armor. The node pulsed once, syncing with her neural network, though she didn’t activate the invisibility yet. The scales along her armor flexed slightly, absorbing the device as if it were growing from her own skin. Beelzebub followed her example, clipping his cloak to his leather combat belt and adjusting the fit. His wings folded neatly against his back, the edges shimmering faintly with bioenergy. Once all three were prepared, Beelzebub took the lead. “Let’s move.” The trio began their journey through the wheat field, the stalks swaying against their armor with soft, whispering sounds that merged with the ambient hum of the Wraith’s infernal wind. The air was heavy, metallic—thick with the scent of ozone and burning soil. The ground beneath their boots cracked faintly, each step leaving behind a faint glow as if the very land was alive. They passed the house where Maladrie once kept me hostage—a small, crumbling structure of blackened stone and twisted metal. Its windows glowed faintly red, and through them, faint echoes of screaming could still be heard, though no one was inside. Serenity paused for a moment, staring at it. The memory of my imprisonment there hung in the air like smoke. Haj Tooth looked at her. “Let’s keep moving,” She said quietly. Beelzebub nodded, and they pressed onward. The wheat soon gave way to barren, scorched earth where the soil turned from gold to black ash. In the distance, Maladrie’s Castle loomed like a wound in the landscape—a sprawling fortress of living stone and bone, twisting upward into the crimson clouds. Its towers pulsed faintly, breathing as if the structure itself were alive. The walls were covered in veins of molten energy, coursing through the organic metal like blood through arteries. The castle’s entrance was guarded by massive spiked gates, and from their vantage point on a nearby ridge, Serenity could see Demon Warriors—half humanoid, half machine—marching in synchronized patrols around the perimeter. Each one carried weapons forged from flesh and iron, glowing faintly in the dim light. The group crouched behind a cluster of petrified roots, the heat of the infernal ground radiating beneath them. The smell of sulfur and decay was thick. “Looks like Beelzebub wasn’t exaggerating,” Haj Tooth whispered, observing the heavy guard presence. Beelzebub nodded grimly, his antennae twitching. “She’s increased her security,” he said. “But it won’t matter. Once we activate the cloaks, we’ll move in undetected.” Serenity activated her device, and instantly her body flickered, vanishing into the environment. Only faint distortions in the air hinted at her presence. Haj Tooth and Beelzebub followed suit, disappearing one by one. The three invisible figures began descending toward the valley that led to Maladrie’s Castle, the infernal sky above them rumbling like a living storm. And thus began their silent infiltration of the Demon Queen’s domain. The three of them—Serenity, Haj Tooth, and Beelzebub—slipped silently through the massive gates of Maladrie’s castle, cloaked from sight by the shimmer of quantum light. The air within the walls was thick and humid, tasting of rust, incense, and ancient death. The sound of their boots on the bone-tiled floor was dampened by the strange organic material pulsing just beneath their feet. The walls curved upward like the inside of a colossal ribcage, veins of molten red light running through the dark metal structure. The interior was immense, stretching hundreds of meters high with vaulted arches that resembled spinal columns. They passed beneath shadowed balconies and balconies that appeared to be made of calcified skin. Yet, for all its terrifying grandeur, the halls were eerily empty. No guards. No movement. Just the quiet hiss of the castle breathing. Haj Tooth raised her hand slightly, signaling for them to stop. Her eyes turned pale blue, glowing faintly. Beelzebub did the same, his insectoid antennae twitching as both of them used telepathy—an old skill that let them reach beyond the physical senses. A faint hum passed through the air, like ripples in still water. After several long seconds of silence, Beelzebub spoke in a low, controlled tone, his voice echoing slightly in the vastness of the hall. “The only lifeforms I’m sensing are below this castle,” he said, antennae still quivering. “Most likely in the dungeon.” Serenity nodded, her visor reflecting the crimson glow of the biomechanical walls. “Then that’s where we go.” They moved swiftly and quietly, their cloaks flickering faintly with the ambient heat as they approached a massive elevator platform at the far end of the grand corridor. The elevator itself looked like a slab of black iron fused with bone, hanging by thick spinal cables that pulsated as though alive. Strange runes glowed along its surface, feeding power from the veins running through the walls. When Beelzebub activated the control glyph with a brush of his clawed hand, the elevator began to descend. The floor vibrated beneath their boots, and the air grew colder the deeper they went. As they descended through the shaft, eerie light flickered along the walls, illuminating rows of mounted trophies and artifacts—each one a grotesque memento from conquered civilizations. Among them were skulls of ancient tyrants, rusted weapons from Earth’s darkest wars, and relics etched with the symbols of the Nazi regime, preserved as though for admiration rather than shame. There were also terrorist banners and flags from forgotten cults fluttering faintly in the draft, their slogans written in languages older than time. Serenity’s hand twitched toward her sword. “She’s built a museum to glorify evil,” she muttered. Beelzebub clicked his mandibles, his voice sharp and disgusted. “Maladrie feeds off corruption. Every artifact here is a reminder of humanity’s lowest form. It’s what sustains her belief that chaos is divine.” Haj Tooth said nothing. Her eyes stayed locked on the images reflected in the metallic walls as they descended deeper, her sharklike features tightening with restrained fury. The elevator finally came to a halt with a deep metallic clang. Before them stretched a vast, dimly lit hall that looked like a training ground for Demonic Warriors. The walls were lined with racks of weapons forged from sinew and iron—swords with beating hearts in their hilts, whips made of spinal cords, and black armor pieces fused to the floor as if the ground itself grew them. But the place was completely empty. The echo of their footsteps bounced off the towering walls. Training dummies made from the corpses of lesser demons hung from the ceiling, swaying slowly in the stale air. Pools of coagulated blood reflected the crimson ceiling lights. Beelzebub lowered his invisibility cloak for a moment, materializing in the gloom. His compound eyes shimmered faintly. “Something isn’t right,” he said. “A castle this large doesn’t go unguarded.” “Maybe they were recalled to the dungeons,” Serenity suggested. Her voice sounded distant, echoing off the walls. “If Beelzebub’s readings are right, that’s where all the life signatures are.” “Then let’s move,” Haj Tooth said quietly, her tail flicking once as she reactivated her cloak. They crossed the training hall and entered a vast chamber, lit by rivers of molten blood flowing through carved channels in the floor. At the far end stood Caine’s throne room, a cavernous space filled with ancient banners and broken relics from the Infernal Wars. The air was heavy with the scent of brimstone and the metallic tang of death. And there it was—the Skull Throne—an enormous construct made of thousands of fused bones, horns, and obsidian. The throne was empty, yet it emanated a faint aura of dread, as if something invisible was still sitting there, watching. Serenity stepped closer, her armor reflecting the orange and red light. “Empty,” she whispered. “No Caine. No guards.” Haj Tooth scanned the shadows with her glowing eyes. “No life readings here either. Just echoes. It’s like the castle’s been abandoned.” “Or it’s a trap,” Beelzebub muttered, his mandibles flexing. Ignoring the oppressive silence, the trio moved forward, crossing a narrow bridge made of bones that stretched across a creek of flowing blood. The bridge groaned under their weight, vertebrae shifting slightly with each step. Beneath them, the blood bubbled faintly, releasing occasional bursts of crimson mist. The moment Serenity’s foot reached the other side, she glanced back toward the empty throne room one last time. The eerie quiet and the faint flicker of torches along the walls made it feel as though the entire castle was holding its breath—watching, waiting. Then, without another word, the three continued deeper into the underbelly of the fortress, toward the dungeon below, where the only living presence remained. The dungeon loomed like a monument to madness — a cathedral of suffering. The three infiltrators, Serenity, Haj Tooth, and Beelzebub, descended into the depths beneath Maladrie’s castle, their boots clanking softly against the metal grating as the last echoes of the bone bridge faded behind them. The elevator platform had carried them down into a hollow silence — no growls, no footfalls, only the faint hum of machinery buried somewhere in the walls. When they reached the dungeon’s entrance, the oppressive atmosphere thickened like smoke. Serenity’s visor shimmered briefly before fading as she powered down her invisibility cloak. Beelzebub and Haj Tooth followed suit, their cloaks peeling away from their bodies in a shimmer of blue particles. For a moment, none of them spoke — the silence itself seemed alive, heavy, and listening. Then they saw what the scanners had hinted at — the only “lifeforms” below the castle were not demons. They were remnants. Souls. The sight defied all measures of sanity. Every inch of the vast chamber — floor to ceiling — was coated with fleshy, twitching forms. Faces from every species known across the galaxies were melded together, fused by some grotesque surgical artistry. They were bolted into the metal and stone like biological wallpaper. Torn arms stretched across steel pillars; torsos melded into ceilings, pulsating faintly. Mismatched eyes blinked where no heads remained. Mouths gasped and groaned from the walls themselves, their tones blending into an unending symphony of suffering. The air smelled of burnt copper, formaldehyde, and old despair. Haj Tooth froze, the reflection of the living tapestry flickering across her shark-like eyes. Her chest heaved once, twice — a warrior’s heart struggling against revulsion. Then, unable to hold back, she dropped to one knee. Serenity turned toward her, voice trembling slightly beneath her helmet’s modulation. “Are you alright?” Haj Tooth didn’t answer at first. Her gaze swept the walls again, and finally she spoke in a low, strained tone. “I am. She isn’t though.” Serenity followed Haj Tooth’s trembling finger toward a curtained cubical illuminated by a faint red glow. The three of them approached slowly. The sound of distant heartbeats echoed through the dungeon’s iron arteries. Serenity reached out and yanked the curtain aside. Inside were two abominations that once had names — Paige and her partner. Now, their bodies had been reshaped into ghastly parodies of glass bottles. Their skin was translucent, their bones reduced to fragile framework, their blood circulating like liquid within. Their eyes floated in the red stream, aware but trapped, and their shoes capped the tops like stoppers. Serenity staggered back, gripping her chestplate. “What the hell is this place!?” she demanded. “Why go to great lengths to strip beings of their dignity, and turn their living flesh into inanimate objects?” Beelzebub’s wings fluttered once in disgust, his compound eyes narrowing. “This,” he said coldly, “is what happens when captured souls try to resist temptations of excess pleasure. Maladrie enjoys turning poor souls into the very thing they know they shouldn’t desire.” The wasp-entity’s mandibles clicked softly, his voice dropping into a grim whisper. “To her, it’s poetic irony.” Haj Tooth’s composure hardened. Her warrior’s grief transformed into fury. She reached into the metallic compartment on her belt and pulled out a cluster of spherical detonators, each marked with faint runes that pulsed like hearts. “Let’s blow this place up,” she growled. Beelzebub nodded grimly. “There’s nothing we can do. So Serenity — keep watch, while Haj Tooth and I set the charges.” Serenity inclined her head silently and stepped toward the corridor, scanning with her visor as Haj Tooth and Beelzebub moved swiftly along the walls, pressing the starfish-shaped explosives into the floor and columns. The green cores of the charges glowed brighter with every placement, casting eerie halos across the tormented faces embedded in the walls. Then Serenity’s visor pinged. A weak energy signal — faint but different from the others. She followed it down a narrow side passage, the sound of her boots echoing softly. The hallway curved sharply and opened into a separate chamber. It was colder here. The room was circular, with high arched walls made of black crystal. In the center, on a pedestal of twisted metal, stood a figure. The body was enormous — humanoid, yet divine in posture. Serenity stepped closer and realized the figure wasn’t carved stone. It was flesh, but petrified, crystalized from within. A man — or what once was one. His features bore ancient majesty, his chest pierced by a thousand fractures frozen in time. Serenity reached out with trembling fingers and touched the statue’s hand. The fingertip cracked off, falling to the floor and shattering like glass — and from the fracture, blood sprayed out. She gasped and stumbled back, heart hammering. Then she noticed a worn leather journal resting on a table beside the corpse. The pages were brittle, some soaked with dried blood. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and slid it into her metal pack. Her comms crackled — Haj Tooth’s voice, tense. “Serenity! The charges are set, let’s leave! Now!” Serenity took one last glance at the corpse — the being once known as Christ — before sprinting down the corridor. She met up with Haj Tooth and Beelzebub at the base of the elevator shaft. Without a word, all three activated their cloaking devices — their bodies dissolving into near-invisible distortions of light. Together, they ascended the blood-soaked elevator and crossed the bridge of bones once more. The dungeon behind them pulsed with faint green light — the quiet heartbeat of retribution counting down. And as the trio slipped through the empty throne room and out into the storm above, the castle itself groaned as though aware that judgment was coming. Maladrie’s fortress of depravity would not stand much longer. The petrified roots of the ancient forest emerged through the smoke like the skeletal hands of a dead god, blackened and cracked from centuries of fire. Haj Tooth, Serenity, and Beelzebub finally reached the massive tangle, their cloaks shimmering one last time before fading completely. As they de-cloaked, the air shimmered around them — the illusion dissipating like mist — and for the first time since they entered Maladrie’s castle, they stood in open air again. Haj Tooth reached into her belt compartment and pulled out the detonator — a circular device that pulsed a soft, ominous green light at its center. She glanced once at her two companions, her breathing steady but her voice cold with focus. Then, without a word, she pressed the trigger. The response was immediate. A blinding flash erupted from the horizon behind them, so bright that even Serenity’s visor dimmed automatically to protect her eyes. The ground trembled as if the planet itself were in pain. The sound came a second later — a deep, rolling explosion that swallowed the sky. The shockwave surged through the petrified roots and blasted past the trio, scattering dead leaves and ash in a violent gust. Maladrie’s castle — once a fortress of torment — was reduced to molten rubble. Its towers folded inward like collapsing spires of glass, sinking into the earth until only a vast crater remained. The Demon warriors who had guarded the walls disintegrated in the eruption, their cries fading into the fog of dust and burning ether. When the tremors subsided, a thick gray fog rose from the devastation, blanketing the wheat fields in a toxic shroud. The trio exchanged a brief look — one of quiet satisfaction mixed with unease — before turning back toward the distant glow of their camp beacon. They moved carefully, visibility reduced to almost nothing. Every step through the fog felt uncertain. The once golden wheat fields had turned into twisted, ash-colored stalks that swayed lifelessly in the heated wind. Beelzebub’s compound eyes flickered faintly in the haze, scanning for movement while Serenity kept her weapon drawn. Haj Tooth limped slightly, still recovering from the adrenaline crash of the battle, but she pressed forward with her jaw set firm. Then the ground began to rumble again — not from the explosions this time, but from something massive approaching. The sound came first — a deep, guttural growl that reverberated through the fog. A shape emerged — first one, then three heads. A Hellhound. Gigantic. Three snarling maws dripping molten saliva, each eye burning like a miniature sun. Its hide was dark and leathery, pulsing with glowing veins of crimson fire. Its claws dug trenches into the earth with every step, and each of its breaths sent ripples through the fog. The trio froze for only a moment before instinct took over. Serenity drew her sword, its blade flaring with blue plasma. Haj Tooth unsheathed her curved vibro-blades, both humming in resonance with her heartbeat. Beelzebub spread his tattered wings, his hands morphing into serrated wasp-like blades that buzzed faintly in anticipation. The Hellhound lunged — its central head snapping at Beelzebub with jaws wide enough to crush a tank. Beelzebub darted aside, slicing upward and scoring a glowing line along the beast’s neck. Serenity rolled forward, her sword slashing across the hound’s leg, severing tendons in a burst of orange plasma. Haj Tooth followed up, leaping high and driving both her blades into one of the side heads, twisting until it collapsed with a sickening crunch. But the creature didn’t go down easily. It reared up, howling in fury. One of its claws caught Haj Tooth mid-strike and sent her flying into a stone root. She hit hard, her armor sparking, and fell to the ground clutching her side. Blood oozed through a tear in her biomechanical plating. “HAJ TOOTH!” Serenity shouted, sprinting toward her while Beelzebub intercepted another lunge from the creature. The wasp entity sliced through the beast’s chest, carving a glowing gash that poured burning ichor. Serenity leapt onto the hound’s back, plunging her sword deep into the remaining central head’s skull. The creature roared one final time before collapsing with an earth-shaking thud, its three heads falling limp. Smoke and glowing embers filled the air around them. Serenity immediately knelt beside Haj Tooth, removing her metal pack and pulling out a med-kit made of miniature drones and vials of synthetic healing gel. She pressed one of the drones to Haj Tooth’s wound, and it emitted a faint blue light as nanobots sealed the injury from within. “Hold still,” Serenity said, her voice low but calm. “You’re going to be fine.” Haj Tooth grimaced but managed a smirk. “I’ve had worse,” she muttered. Beelzebub landed beside them, his wings folding tight. He looked down at Haj Tooth, then at the Hellhound’s corpse, still smoldering nearby. “I got more supplies to help treat her,” he said, his tone steady but urgent. Serenity nodded, helping Haj Tooth to her feet as Beelzebub rummaged through his own belt compartments, producing small canisters of restorative mist. Together, they sprayed the wounds until the bleeding slowed and the shark-warrior’s breathing steadied. The fog still hung thick, the air heavy with ash and the lingering scent of death, but in the distance — through the haze — the faint glow of their base camp shimmered like a promise of safety. Serenity slung Haj Tooth’s arm over her shoulder, and Beelzebub took point, his wasp eyes glowing red as he scanned the fog for more threats. CHAPTER 24: "BIOMECHANICAL" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 23: "STAGNANT" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" Drifting among the broken remains of Abraxas, our bodies floated weightlessly, half-lucid in the cold void. The shattered fragments of the planet still glimmered faintly in the darkness like dying embers scattered across an endless black ocean. Emily’s hand brushed against mine, weightless, fragile, but her eyes were closed — not in peace, but in exhaustion. Around us, Anisia, Hanna, Cole, Pete, Mathew, Rick, Jimmy, Elizabeth, and even Droid L-84 drifted like ghosts in an interstellar graveyard. Then, out of the silence, came the low mechanical hum of an approaching vessel. It was no shining beacon of salvation — the thing looked as if it had been stitched together from the wreckage of old battleships, its hull scorched, its engines wheezing like a dying beast. Crude metal plates patched its surface, and faint runes of Troll origin glowed faintly on its sides. Despite its battered look, it moved with grim purpose. A deep, resonating vibration spread through the vacuum as a gravity beam shot out from its undercarriage. The green-white beam enveloped us, pulling our limp bodies toward the ship. Pieces of planetary debris drifted alongside us, deflecting off the gravity field like sparks against a magnet. The cargo bay doors yawned open, and we were dragged inside, the last light of the dead planet fading behind us. The bay was pitch-black at first — metallic, cold, filled with the faint echo of dripping coolant and the groaning of old machinery. When the gravity field deactivated, we fell gently onto a grated floor. My breathing mask fogged with condensation as I slowly regained my senses. I turned my head and saw Emily lying beside me. Her dark hair floated slightly in the low gravity, her eyes distant, glassy. I reached out and helped her up. She didn’t say a word — her silence was heavy as the gravity of the ship flared again, after the cargo bay's green energy shield closed. Around us, the others stirred: Anisia rubbing her forehead, Cole checking for injuries, Hanna clutching her ribs, Mathew coughing through his rebreather. Pete and Rick sat up against the wall, groggy but alive. Elizabeth glanced at the door in suspicion, while Droid L-84 lay motionless, his systems flickering dimly from internal resets. The only sounds were the deep, mechanical groans of the vessel. No music. No voices. Just the heartbeat of machinery keeping us alive for reasons we didn’t yet know. Then came the heavy clanking of footsteps — boots against metal — echoing closer. The door hissed open with a screech that reverberated through the hold. A faint amber light poured in, revealing the towering silhouette of a Troll. It was him. Sigvard. The same Troll who had escaped Anubis’s lair — the same one who had led the rebel horde on Abraxas before Deathskull’s sphere obliterated it. He filled the doorway like a mountain given form, his armor mismatched and scarred, forged crudely yet unmistakably strong. Unlike the more brutish Trolls that served under Anubis, Sigvard’s features bore a regal brutality — his face resembled that of a mandrill, with streaks of blue and red painted across his muzzle, faded yet symbolic of some ancient Troll lineage. His tusks were gold-tipped, his eyes burning with grim intelligence. Behind him, several Troll warriors stood guard. Their armor was patchwork, salvaged from the ruins of their fallen kin, and yet their presence commanded respect. Sigvard’s gaze fell on me — recognition in his deep, amber eyes. I steadied myself and asked, voice still raw from dehydration, “Do you know where we can find the Rus Vikings?” He tilted his head, suspicious but intrigued. “Why?” he growled, his tone carrying both curiosity and warning. “So we can figure out why our dear Metallic Asshole betrayed us — and our people.” For a moment, Sigvard said nothing. His broad shoulders rose and fell in contemplation, then he gave a low grunt — a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “Granted,” he said finally. “I’ve heard of a temperate planet said to house a Rus Viking base. Maybe even a village or two.” “Good,” I replied, locking eyes with him. “Please take us there.” Sigvard’s expression hardened. “I’m going to have to keep you guys in here for security reasons.” I nodded slowly. I understood. He had no reason to trust us either — not after what he’d seen, after the slaughter on Abraxas. “Do what you must,” I said. Sigvard gave a short nod to his warriors and turned toward the exit. The door hissed closed behind them, sealing us once more in the dim cargo bay. Cole broke the silence, muttering as he leaned against a crate. “Are we really going to trust a Troll?” I turned my gaze to the sealed door, the metallic clang of Sigvard’s retreating steps fading away into the ship’s depths. “We’ve got no choice,” I said, my voice low, resolute. Around us, the dim lights flickered — a faint hum of engines began to resonate beneath our feet as the vessel changed course. The sound was oddly comforting, like the rhythm of a heartbeat returning after death. Emily finally looked up, her green eyes catching the faint light. Her expression was unreadable — sorrow, anger, exhaustion, maybe all three at once. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to. For the first time since Abraxas fell, we were moving again. But none of us knew where this path would lead — or if the world Sigvard spoke of truly existed. Outside, the stars stretched endlessly — a silent audience to our uncertain fate. Meanwhile, far beyond the drifting debris fields that once marked Abraxas’s orbit, the Drakkar Commander—a sleek and monstrous vessel of hybrid Necro-Tech and Viking origin—cut through the void like a blackened blade. Its hull shimmered faintly under cloaking fields, absorbing starlight as it moved. The ship’s design was angular, predatory, its surface brimming with pulsating crimson veins of energy that looked more organic than mechanical. Inside, the bridge of the Drakkar Commander was alive with low, thrumming energy. The air itself carried the faint scent of ozone and burnt metal, every surface slick with shadowy reflections of red light. Panels of holographic runes hovered above obsidian consoles, and the entire command deck curved outward like a cathedral of war—silent except for the hum of engines and the steady tapping of Anubis’s clawed fingers against a console. At the center stood Maladrie, her dark, uncanny beauty illuminated by the glow of the runic displays. Her eyes reflected the vastness of space as she stared out through the panoramic window, where the flickering trail of the Troll vessel—Sigvard’s ship—could be seen gliding through the black expanse. Her voice broke the silence, sharp and disdainful. “Why are we following this chunk of shit, of a spacecraft?” Anubis stood nearby, towering and composed, his jackal-like features emotionless as his golden armor glowed faintly in the bridge’s light. His voice rumbled like a storm restrained by command. “Our rebellious Troll Sigvard is on that ship.” Maladrie’s lips curled into a sly smirk, though her tone dripped with venomous boredom. “Where in the hell are they going?” Anubis’s gaze shifted to the holographic projection in front of him—an image of the Troll ship slowly gliding toward a blue-green planet ahead. “They’re heading to some irrelevant rock,” he said flatly, flicking in mild irritation. Maladrie’s smirk widened into something more sinister. She turned toward the forward viewport, her form casting a long shadow across the polished floor. “Good,” she purred. “I’ll send some of my best warriors to fuck up the ship, and accelerate it and its cargo to their intended destination.” Her words hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop. Anubis gave a slow, approving nod. “Efficient,” he said, his tone darkly satisfied. In the corner, partially enshrouded by a veil of holographic mist, Deathskull stood at a control station—his metallic frame motionless except for the soft hum of his internal servos. The crimson glow from his visor pulsed once, and without a word, he raised one hand over a set of projected symbols. The Drakkar Commander’s cloaking systems surged to full power. The vessel’s structure shimmered, bending the light around it until the enormous warship vanished entirely from sight. The stars filled in the void it once occupied, as though it had never been there at all. Silent. Invisible. Deadly. The hunt continued. Back aboard Sigvard’s vessel, the situation was far more primitive. The ship’s bridge was cluttered, dimly lit by the glow of outdated control panels and holographic maps that flickered sporadically. Wires hung from the ceiling like vines, the air thick with the scent of oil, sweat, and recycled oxygen. Sigvard leaned over the main console, barking quiet orders in his gravelly voice as his Troll pilots navigated the dense asteroid drift ahead. The large viewport displayed the vast emptiness of space ahead, with faint readings on radar that indicated gravitational anomalies—but nothing more. To the untrained eye, they were alone. The Troll pilot at the navigation seat squinted at his console, the radar feed flickering strangely. He tapped the screen with a clawed finger, then froze as static crawled across every display. “Chief,” he said cautiously, voice low and tense. “We’re being followed.” Those words hit the air like a hammer. Sigvard straightened immediately, his nostrils flaring. The lights on the bridge dimmed, flickered, then began to pulse with a rhythmic red warning flash. “Show me,” he ordered. But the pilot’s trembling claws hovered uselessly above the console. Every holographic readout flickered, then went black. One by one, the auxiliary systems shut down. Sparks erupted from a panel near the door, and an alarm blared through the ship — not a loud, roaring klaxon, but a low, gut-wrenching wail that seemed to crawl beneath the skin. The lights strobed, casting the Trolls in flashes of red and shadow. “Every control—locked!” shouted another pilot. The doors along the bridge and throughout the vessel are sealed with a metallic thud, locking down with magnetic force. The Trolls tried to override them, but the manual panels hissed and sparked as if the circuits themselves were fighting back. The entire ship began to shudder, its engines roaring unevenly as external force overrides took control. Sigvard gritted his teeth and slammed his fist against the console. The screen flashed briefly before going dead again. “Someone’s hijacking us,” he growled, tusks glinting in the red light. Deep in the hull, the faint sound of metal grinding echoed through the corridors, almost like laughter—mechanical, hollow, and distant. Outside, invisible to all sensors, the Drakkar Commander remained in pursuit, cloaked and watching. It's dark silhouette moved like a phantom across the stars, unseen and unstoppable, as Maladrie’s demons prepared to strike. The cargo hall was trembling violently, lights flashing crimson as the shrill alarm wailed through the chamber like a metallic scream. The air was thick with static energy, and the smell of scorched wiring mixed with iron and oil. Shadows stretched long across the floor, bending against the strobing lights. Emily, Anisia, Hanna, Cole, Pete, Mathew, Rick, Jimmy, Elizabeth, Droid L-84, and I turned in unison toward the far corners of the room—toward the sudden, unnatural movement within the darkness. Out of that gloom, dark orange figures began to materialize, glowing faintly with an ember-like hue. Their forms flickered as though carved from molten shadows, sinewy and fluid—demonic warriors that bore an uncanny resemblance to those we’d fought in the Wraith realms. Their eyes burned like molten metal as they fully stepped into existence, brandishing weapons that hissed with energy and reeked of corruption. The largest one spoke in a garbled, otherworldly tongue before lunging. We reacted instantly. The cargo hall, vast and industrial, became our battlefield—its metallic floor clanging beneath boots and claws, crates tumbling as energy sparks lit up the chaos. Emily moved like a streak of lightning, slicing through one demon’s chest with her sword as it shrieked and dissolved into orange vapor. Cole and Mathew fought back to back, their plasma-edged blades cutting through demon flesh that hissed like burning tar. I swung Revenge, my chainsword roaring to life, cleaving through another fiend with a violent spray of glowing embers. The stench of burnt ozone filled the hall. “Keep your guard up!” I shouted, cutting through another as its claws grazed my armor. Suddenly, the temperature dropped—then rose sharply again—as a massive hellspawn emerged from the far bulkhead. It towered over us, easily twice my height, its body rippling with veins of liquid fire and teeth of obsidian. The floor shook as it stepped forward, its voice a guttural growl that rattled through our chests. Emily’s gaze met mine. No words were needed. We charged. The beast swung an enormous claw that sent metal crates flying. Emily ducked low while I struck high—Revenge met its arm, grinding through fiery flesh with a roar of sparks. The monster howled and swung again, but Emily was already behind it, plunging her sword deep into its spine. Together, we moved as one rhythm—cutting, dodging, striking—until its molten form cracked apart and collapsed into a pool of dying embers. For a brief second, there was silence—then the floor shuddered. Back on the bridge, Sigvard and his Troll warriors were under siege. Demonic figures erupted through the metallic walls like smoke turned solid, tearing into the Troll crew with savage precision. Sparks exploded from the consoles as the bridge descended into pandemonium. Troll pilots were dragged from their seats and impaled before they could scream. Sigvard swung his jagged sword into one demon’s skull, snarling. “Hold them back!” he roared. But amidst the chaos, no one noticed the flickering symbols on the main console—the autopilot had been seized. The demonic presence wasn’t just physical; it was digital, infiltrating the vessel’s systems like a virus. One Troll pilot, bleeding from a wound across his chest, slammed his fist against a control panel. “They’ve locked us out!” he growled. The demons, their mission complete, began to flicker and fade, their bodies dissolving into the air. They de-materialized, vanishing back into the safety of the Wraith with eerie smirks—leaving the bridge soaked in blood and fire. “Cowards,” Sigvard spat, wiping demon blood from his cheek—only to turn and see the worst of it. The autopilot’s trajectory was now locked, pointing directly toward the planet ahead. A blue-green world loomed large through the viewport, the atmosphere glowing faintly. The ship was descending fast. “Brace yourselves!” Sigvard barked, rushing to override the controls. Sparks burst from the panels as he forced manual control, the metal beneath his claws glowing red-hot. “I’ll get us down!" Back in the cargo bay, the tremors intensified. Crates tumbled like dice. The lights went white-hot, then flickered out completely. The demons we had just fought suddenly vanished, their bodies melting into air, retreating through invisible gateways back into the Wraith. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant rumble of engines losing altitude. “They’re gone,” Cole breathed. “Cowards,” I muttered, lowering Revenge. Then the whole ship lurched violently. “Everyone—turn on your gravity feet!” I shouted. Our suits’ magnetic systems engaged with metallic clicks. The gravity stabilizers hummed as boots locked onto the floor. Crates flew past us, slamming into walls. One massive container came loose and shot toward Anisia—it caught her shoulder and sent her spinning across the floor. I moved to help, but she waved me off, muttering something under her breath. She groaned, pushing herself up as sparks danced around her. From behind me, even over the sound of chaos, I could’ve sworn I heard Emily’s quiet chuckle—a brief, fleeting moment of humanity amid the storm. On the bridge, Sigvard’s claws danced across controls. Through the viewport, the planet’s atmosphere filled the sky in a fiery glow. Clouds streaked past as the ship began to burn on entry. “There’s a lake!” one of the surviving pilots shouted. Sigvard’s eyes darted toward the glimmering surface ahead—a massive alpine lake surrounded by dense forest. “We’ll aim for that!” he commanded, gripping the helm. “Deploy the parachute!” The command was obeyed—but there was one fatal flaw. The thrusters were mounted at the front of the ship. The parachute, at the rear. As the chute opened, the entire vessel wrenched apart. Metal screamed. The ship’s midsection tore open like a splitting ribcage. The tail section—where we were—snapped away, spinning violently before plunging straight into the lake below. Water exploded upward as the hull shattered, metal shrieking as it hit the surface. Inside, we fought to free ourselves from debris. I ripped open the emergency hatch with brute strength, flooding light into the dark compartment. “Move!” I shouted, breaking through a submerged corridor. Emily was the first out, pulling Hanna and Elizabeth behind her. We swam through the freezing water, surfacing near the jagged remains of the hull. The wind howled, rain pelting our armor as we crawled onto the muddy shore. Steam rose from the lake where the tail had sunk. Behind us, Droid L-84’s systems flickered back online, his optics glowing faintly as he climbed from the wreckage, dripping wet but functional. We made it. Meanwhile, several kilometers away, the cockpit section slammed through the alpine forest, tearing down trees and scattering rock. When the smoke cleared, the Troll survivors groaned within their dented command module. Sigvard coughed, moving past a Troll pilot barfing in the emergency doggy bags. Sigvard was on his knees slamming his fist into the floor. “I’ve got to make sure my engineers don’t eat mushrooms before handing me a spacecraft!” he roared. His words echoed through the wreckage as the wind outside whistled across the cratered earth—marking the end of the fall and the beginning of what came next. We trudged away from the shattered hull and the steaming lake, boots sucking at the sodden earth as we threaded into the temperate rainforest. The trees closed around us like cathedral pillars—immense trunks that rose so high their crowns vanished into a low, misted sky. Their bark was a mosaic of deep purples and iron-black veins, and moss fell from branches in long, silent curtains. The air smelled of wet loam and resin; every breath tasted like ancient soil. We moved in a loose line, slow and careful, the wreck’s aftermath still heavy on us. Our armor sat inert in tiny silver disks against our chests; powered down, they were nothing but jewelry. It made walking easier, lighter—more human. Eventually the forest thinned and opened into a clearing, a wide, grassy basin ringed by trunks that looked like mountains. The light dropped down through the canopy in shafts, glancing off the wet blades of grass. We formed a scattered circle, soaked and tired, each of us carrying the weight of what we’d seen. The broken fragments of the tail section drifted somewhere behind the tree line, a reminder that safety was a fragile thing. From the edge of the clearing, Jimmy’s voice rang out, thin with exhaustion. “Where are we going?” I pointed, the motion slow, toward the darker slope up the ridge where the cockpit metal had finally come to rest. “Over there. The rest of the ship crashed up the mountain.” I turned to the group. “Power down your armor, we’ll be lighter without it.” The words were practical, not tender, but they were met with small gestures—hands to medallions, soft clicks as armor whispered back into the silver cores embedded in the chest region of our leather undersuits. We watched the nanoweb draw back into each disk until nothing remained but cloth, leather, and the scars we carried beneath. Emily stretched her shoulders, looking up into the living cathedral of trees. “The trees are also the size of mountains,” she said, voice half-wonder, half-fatigue. She sank onto a moss-covered stump. “We should stop & rest here,” she added. “Why?” I asked, not unkind but wanting to move, wanting momentum. The war still hummed under our skin. “Because I want to know if Anisia had sex with you?” Her question landed like a stone in a quiet pond. Branches whispered overhead. I felt the clearing tilt for a moment. “Let’s not attack each other now, Emily.” The words were careful. We had already been broken thin by betrayals and explosions; there was no need to pick at fresh wounds. “Says the same guy who’s keeping secrets from them,” Emily shot back, blunt as a blade. Cole, who’d been cleaning grit from a broken blade, looked up in genuine confusion. “What is she talking about?” Emily turned on me with that direct look she always used when she would not be bluffed. She pressed until I folded. There was no grand reveal—only the heavy, ordinary mechanics of confession. “Cole... Anisia,” I said, and then with a breath I hadn’t planned, I said the thing that had sat in my chest too long. Looking at Anisia, at the woman who’d sprawled nearby and tried so hard to be fierce, I said, “I am not just William. I am William Warner, we met each other before our lives became a sci-fi epic. Sounds corny, but we already met during summer school at Gilbert High-School... Sorry.” Anisia’s face went as if someone had touched a raw nerve. Tears gathered quickly, her composure cracking. The clearing filled with a stunned hush; leaves shivered as though the trees themselves braced. Cole’s confusion turned into a baffled, incredulous laugh that sounded wrong in the solemn air. “What? How? Like what the fuck happened to you? Why are you a masculine furry? It’s very off putting in so many ways.” His words were clumsy, but they cut through the fog of tension and made us human in the moment—awkward, vulnerable, ridiculous. I let the explanation tumble out, bare and blunt and more honest than I’d planned. “While you were asleep, I was teleported into this setting without due process, and was injured during the process. They placed my consciousness into this new body, and the rest is history.” Anisia’s tears blurred the world for her. “Why would you keep this a secret?” she asked, voice small and raw. There were a hundred reasons that lined up like stones in my throat, but I didn’t hide from them now. “They’re many reasons. Were in the middle of a fucking war, a betrayal by the government, and speaking of betrayal, I simply got trust issues. I’ve been betrayed by allies, and didn't want attachment, so if any of you betrayed me I won’t feel disappointed.” She folded in on herself, hurt and bewilderment mixing into something that looked like an accusation. “Will, I feel like you used me!” Her words were not quiet. They were the honest strike of someone who’d been given a simple, private thing and discovered it was not theirs alone. “Actually, it’s the other way around!” Emily answered, quick to Anisia’s defense as if she already inhabited the truth. After a long, tensioned pause, Emily stood and guided Anisia away from the circle, toward a shallow wash where the ground fell away and the air felt thinner. The two of them retreated a few yards—alone but not solitary—leaving the rest of us to sit with the revelation. We stayed together in that conifer prairie, the forest breathing around us, while Emily and Anisia talked. From where we were, voices softened into the hush of private conversation. When they returned, Anisia had sat on a rock, small and composed in a way that made the lines around her eyes look deeper. Emily’s voice carried back to us clearly enough. “You have to realize whatever you think William wants, he doesn’t. Ever since he was captured in the Wraith, and was sexually abused by Maladrie... He’s been struggling with his lust, and his boundaries to say ‘no’ to ladies like you.” Anisia closed her eyes and let the words settle. When she opened them, the answer was quiet but resolute. “Ok, I understand now... I also did in fact have sex with him.” The admission hung in the clean air like an exhaled breath. It was small and terrible and true. Emily, without warning and with a sound like a small slap of rain, brought the back of her hand across Anisia’s face. The motion was sharp, half-reproof, half-anger. “Just don’t do it again, otherwise there will be more than that came from.” The light in the clearing had dimmed to a copper-green, the kind that comes before dusk in alien forests. While Emily and Anisia talked among the rocks and shallow stream beyond the tree line, the rest of us sat in the conifer grass, scattered and half-broken, catching our breath. The air smelled of resin and ozone, a strange combination of nature and old technology. Small spores drifted through the sunlight like glowing dust motes, their faint bioluminescence giving the place an unearthly shimmer. Cole was the first to break the quiet. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking at me with an uncertain expression. “So why do you have trust issues?” he asked. I looked at him for a long moment, the words I’d already said echoing in my mind. “I already told you,” I said slowly. “I was betrayed multiple times. Let’s just say, I had a friend once who didn’t have my back during a conflict. And now, we’ve been betrayed by a rogue AI who I thought would govern us. I made too many mistakes trusting the wrong people or things.” Cole nodded, his face drawn and thoughtful. “Do you trust us?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. The word came out quietly, but with weight. The truth was complicated, but I meant it. Pete, who’d been silent most of the time, shifted where he sat. His eyes met mine, sharp and searching. “Can we trust you?” he asked. “That depends on what you want me to be trusted with,” I said. “Your secrets, that I’m reliable, or if I’m moral?” Pete didn’t flinch. “My secrets. Jimmy and I are together.” I blinked at him. “Why would I care?” “Then why does Emily seem so strict?” Pete countered, his tone suddenly defensive, as if he’d already been judged by her before. I sighed, letting the truth slip through. “Because Emily and I made an agreement with each other—to not break each other’s loyalty. It’s funny how…” I looked down at the moss-covered ground beneath me. “I’m worried about betrayal, and yet I keep letting Emily down.” Cole rubbed the back of his neck. “Is it really your fault though? I heard you were made that way due to your time in the Wraith.” Mathew, ever the joker, leaned back against a log. “I also hear the goddess of excess is really hot, so I understand your troubles.” “Mathew, stop!” Elizabeth snapped, her voice sharp as broken glass. Mathew did stop, and changed his tone. "Your wife is very pretty Will, and you shouldn't cheat on her again. If you continue to disrespect her like that, I will not trust you. Maladrie is just an empty vessel." I raised my hand. “Mathew you a point.” I turned to him. “And Mathew, I assure you Maladrie is really evil. I’ve seen how her excessive pleasures lead to the pain of others—through torture, and humiliation. She’s been known to cut damned souls apart and reconfigure them into living furniture.” A cold silence spread across the group. Even Mathew’s smirk faded, replaced with unease. Hanna spoke next, voice low and careful. “Does she always have the urge to work with creepy figures like Deathskull? If so, who else has she corrupted?” “Of course,” I said, my tone firm. “As for any others she’s corrupted beyond the stars, I can only guess. It’s definitely not the Rus Vikings though.” Mathew cleared his throat, regaining a bit of his usual levity. “What if it’s aliens?” I stood up from the conifer grass, brushing off my palms. The bioluminescent spores swirled around me like faint embers. “If it’s aliens next, we have the Vikingnar Republic to save.” The mood sobered again as I looked at each of them in turn. “All I ask,” I said, my voice serious now, “is can I trust you guys to criticize or judge me—or Emily—when we need it.” There was a long pause. The forest breathed around us, the distant sound of a waterfall echoing through the mist. Finally, Rick, the quietest among us, spoke. “Maybe,” he said simply. I stared at him, half expecting more—but there was nothing else. Just that one, cautious word. It stunned me more than silence. Nobody was being direct, and yet maybe that was honesty in itself. Moments later, I heard footsteps through the ferns. Emily and Anisia were returning from their private talk. Emily’s stride was calm, collected; Anisia trailed behind, head bowed, her expression unreadable except for the faint tightness in her jaw. Without saying a word, Emily slipped her hand into mine. Her fingers were warm, grounding. We didn’t need to speak. Behind us, Anisia followed, pouting quietly, her envy obvious even through her attempt to look indifferent. The eleven of us gathered our things, the silver medallions on our chests glinting faintly in the dying light. The air hummed with a faint electronic undertone—the forest alive, whispering, ancient yet touched by circuitry. We began walking again, boots sinking into the damp moss as the mountain loomed ahead, its summit cloaked in cloud and smoke. Somewhere up there lay the cockpit of the crashed spacecraft—our next destination, our next test, and perhaps, another betrayal waiting to unfold. The forest held its breath. Around us, the sunlight shifted and fell across the clearing in pale bands. We were a broken, ragged company—warriors and survivors—but in that fragile circle, the raw truth had been laid down like a map. Trust had to be rebuilt or it would not be survived. We rose, smoothed our clothes, picked grit from hair and armor disks, and began toward the mountain where the cockpit lay—each of us carrying new knowledge and the heavier burden that truth always brings. The wind howled down the mountainside, carrying with it the metallic tang of ozone and scorched soil. Smoke from the wreckage still drifted through the towering pines, curling upward in lazy spirals that disappeared into the thick, gray clouds. The cockpit of the dismantled spacecraft had split open like a ribcage, its frame jutting out at odd angles, sparks still flickering from severed wires. The terrain was damp and slick from the steam of the crash lake far below. We made our way carefully through the debris field until we reached what remained of the ship’s bridge. Sigvard and a handful of his Troll warriors were still alive—burned, battered, but breathing. Their armor was blackened and dented, their tusked faces streaked with grime and streaks of alien blood. The sight of them standing among the molten wreckage was a grim reminder of how fragile survival had become. I approached Sigvard, who was limping but upright, leaning against a bent steel panel for balance. “Do you still have a clue on how to reach a Rus Viking base?” I asked. Before he could even open his mouth, a sudden, vibrating hum filled the air—low, rhythmic, mechanical. It reverberated through the wreckage, through our armor, through our bones. The Troll warriors raised their weapons in alarm. The air shimmered, as if the world itself was glitching, and then—one by one—figures began to emerge from the distortion. They de-cloaked silently. An entire squad of Rus Viking warriors materialized around the wreckage, their armor catching the dim light with a subdued, predatory gleam. Their suits were crafted from pale army-green and black graphene plating, interwoven with gunmetal-gray chainmail that flexed with each movement. The visors on their helmets glowed an ominous red, two narrow eyes that pulsed faintly like breathing embers. Their weapons were unlike anything I’d seen. Red energy shields flared to life in their left hands, translucent yet alive with power, and their right hands gripped swords that radiated plasma heat. Some blades mirrored the ancient Viking design—broad, heavy, engraved with runic circuitry that shimmered faintly with every pulse. Others curved elegantly, shaped more like fauchions or katanas, humming with razor energy that distorted the air around them. And then, from behind them, their leaders stepped forward. These ones wore armor that was sleeker, darker, more ceremonial. Their helmets bore crested ridges reminiscent of samurai kabuto, and their movements were controlled, silent, and precise. The mix of Norse ferocity and Eastern discipline gave them an almost divine presence—warriors of two eras merged into one, shaped by technology and tradition alike. The air between us was thick with tension. Our group instinctively tightened formation—Emily at my side, her hand brushing the hilt of her blade; Anisia still shaken but alert; Cole and Pete scanning the treeline for hidden threats. The surviving Trolls snarled low under their breath, unsure whether to attack or submit. Then, through the haze, one of the armored leaders stepped closer. His voice came through a voice modulator that gave it a faint metallic resonance, like two tones overlapping. “We’ve been expecting you,” he said, his red visor narrowing as he studied me. “We saw your breach of the atmosphere from a mile away.” A long silence followed. Even the forest seemed to hush. Then, with a slow gesture, he turned his blade downward and pointed toward the distant valley. “Follow us,” he continued. “Our base is not far from here.” He motioned for his warriors to fall in formation, and the others obeyed without a word. Their synchronization was uncanny—every step, every motion calculated. We looked at each other, unsure. Fourteen souls—eleven of us, Sigvard, and two surviving Trolls—now surrounded by an army we barely understood. But what choice did we have? Emily gave me a small nod, quiet but resolute. I returned it, tightening my grip on my weapon before turning to the others. “We go,” I said. And so, we followed. The Rus Vikings moved like shadows, their armor faintly humming with an energy field that repelled the falling mist. The trail led us through towering trees whose trunks glowed faintly with bioluminescent veins, their roots interwoven with metal conduits that pulsed with a dull red current. Nature and technology fused seamlessly here—an ecosystem half alive, half manufactured. As we marched, I caught glimpses of alien wildlife slinking through the underbrush: crystalline beetles that scuttled on transparent legs, serpents with scales that flickered like static, and owl-like creatures with holographic feathers. The air was rich with the sound of power sources deep underground—a faint hum that vibrated through the soles of our boots. Ahead, the lead Viking raised a hand, signaling for silence. Through the canopy, we could now see faint red lights pulsing in rhythm—beacons. Towers of metal rising above the trees. Their base wasn’t hidden underground or buried in ruins; it was alive within the forest itself, built vertically around colossal tree trunks. We reached the edge of a ridge, and before us sprawled the Rus Viking stronghold—an architectural fusion of ancient mead hall and futuristic fortress. Gigantic roots of steel and wood intertwined, forming bridges and terraces. Runes glowed across the walls like neon circuitry, shifting patterns as if breathing. Hovercrafts rested on platforms shaped like carved stone shields. Banners of crimson light fluttered, displaying the symbol of a wolf intertwined with circuitry. One of the samurai-like leaders turned to us once more. “Welcome,” he said simply. “To Skogheim— one of the last Rus Viking strongholds.” We stood there, stunned by its beauty and its menace. Emily looked up at the burning banners and whispered, “It’s like Valhalla… reimagined.” She held my hand tighter. And at that moment, I couldn’t help but agree. But deep down, I wondered—had we really found allies? Or had we just stepped into another gilded cage waiting to test our trust all over again? CHAPTER 23: "STAGNANT" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 22: "TROLLS ATTACK" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The black ash fields stretched before us like a cursed plain, swallowing sound and light alike. Each step crunched as though we marched on brittle bones. The air was a bit cold, but it was not the kind of cold that cleansed—it was the kind that lingered in the marrow, as if the land itself resented our presence. Ahead, the mining city loomed like a scar on the world, its jagged spires clawing upward, its walls lined with smoke and strange light. It did not feel like a place built for men; it was more like a wound carved into the earth by greed. The silence between us was not the silence of soldiers but of warriors, each carrying the weight of their own pasts and their own reasons for fighting. Emily walked close at my side, her hand brushing mine now and then, a subtle reminder that I wasn’t alone even as the world felt like it was trying to devour us whole. Anisia moved just ahead of us, her stride steady, her gaze turned inward as though she were listening to voices none of us could hear. Charlie and Erika trudged toward the rear, muttering at one another as siblings do, their bickering sharp enough to cut the tension but never quite enough to sever it. It was then I realized something was missing. Nicholas, Teresa, Alex, and Joe—the ones I had thought to send ahead—were nowhere to be seen. A knot tightened in my chest. I called their names, voice carrying across the cold expanse. “Nicholas! Teresa! Alex! Joe! Come forward!” The wind answered me. But not them. I turned on Deathskull, his golden skeleton frame a looming shadow against the gray sky. His optics glowed faint red, like embers smoldering in a furnace that had forgotten warmth. “Where are they?” I demanded. “I asked for Nicholas, Teresa, Alex, Joe. I meant for them to open the way.” His voice came, slow and empty of feeling. “They remain on the ships. Guardians for the fleet.” I stared at him, fighting the urge to let anger run wild. My jaw tightened until my teeth ached. “You didn’t tell me. You robbed me of choice.” Deathskull tilted his head, almost like a curious bird. “Choice is inefficient. The fleet is safer this way.” I took a step toward him, every word heavy with the rage of betrayal. “Safe? Do you think safety wins wars? Do you think a machine can understand what’s lost when you strip away trust?” The others were listening, though they tried to pretend they weren’t. The silence between us grew heavier than any blade. Then, unexpectedly, Charlie and Erika pushed forward from the ranks. Charlie’s grin was shaky but eager, the kind of grin men wear when they’re too afraid to do anything else. “We’ll do it,” he said. “Send us in. We can find the way, slip past their defenses, get the gates open.” Erika nudged him aside, her eyes sharper, steadier. “We’ll do it right. No theatrics. No stumbles. Just trust us.” For a moment, I simply looked at them. Two who were not meant for this, yet willing to step where even hardened warriors would hesitate. I thought of the nights they spent bickering, their clumsy attempts at humor when the darkness pressed too close, and the way they always ended up back to back when danger came near. There was loyalty there—loyalty not born of orders or chains, but of choice. That was worth more than Deathskull’s “efficiency.” I placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, the weight of it meant to steady him. His grin faltered, but his chin lifted. Then I looked at Erika, who met my eyes without flinching. “Go then,” I said. “Take only what you must. Shadows are your allies now. When the time comes, you’ll open the way for us. But if the shadows turn against you, run. No glory is worth your lives.” They both nodded, one with nervous eagerness, the other with quiet resolve, before slipping back into the crowd. The march resumed, but it no longer felt like a march of faceless soldiers. It felt like a band of warriors, each step carried by pride and purpose, each soul burning its own fire. I felt Emily’s presence beside me, silent but strong, her gaze fixed on the mining city ahead. Anisia’s eyes flickered, still listening to whispers none of us could hear. And Deathskull… he lumbered forward, unreadable, his golden frame gleaming with the false promise of an angel. As the city drew closer, its walls rising like the jaws of a beast, I felt the world tighten around us. This was not just another battle. This was a test of what we were—men, women, Immortals, and machines—walking into the heart of something that threatened to consume us all. And in that moment, I understood: war was the machine’s word for it. But for us, this was something older. A trial. A saga. A reckoning. The blackened ash clung to our boots as we drew closer to the shadow of the mining city. The walls ahead were monstrous—part alloy, part stone, built with the arrogance of conquerors who thought themselves eternal. Their surface glowed faintly with defensive fields, a dull shimmer in the cold light, like the city itself was breathing. The smell of scorched metal and chemical fires grew stronger the nearer we marched, filling the air with a sharp taste that stung the tongue. Emily walked beside me, her steps firm but not steady. I could sense the tension radiating from her in ways no armor could conceal. Her helmet turned slightly, her voice sharp and unsteady as she finally broke the silence. “Tell me the truth, Willy,” she said. “Are you… are you trying to flirt with Anisia?” The words cut sharper than any blade. I felt every warrior’s gaze nearby, even if they pretended not to listen. For the first time in the long march, I couldn’t summon words. My silence was an answer in itself, and not the one she wanted. My throat closed, my chest burned, but I said nothing. Before Emily’s voice cracked into anger, Valrra moved between us like a spirit slipping through tension. She glanced at me once, her eyes hard with disappointment, then turned to Emily. “What’s going on?” Valrra asked, her voice steady, though carrying the sharpness of a blade sliding free from its sheath. Emily’s breath caught. I could hear it over the comms, muffled but heavy, the sound of someone fighting to stay composed. “You said… you said my Willy could control his lust.” Her voice faltered, trembling with suppressed tears. “Yet he’s still trying to flirt with Anisia!?” The accusation hung heavy in the air. I wanted to deny it, to rip the words apart, but still I said nothing. My silence betrayed me. Valrra straightened, her voice turning sharp as command. “In order for him to stay loyal to you, Emily, you need to be direct. You must constantly fulfill his sexual needs.” Emily’s head jerked back as though struck. “I did!” she shouted, her voice breaking under the weight of humiliation. Valrra didn’t waver. Her tone was cold, almost merciless. “Every night, Emily. You must fulfill his sexual needs every night. Only then will his fire burn for you and you alone.” Emily froze. The comms carried the sound of her sharp breath, trembling on the edge of panic. Then her words came, broken, desperate. “Did he… did he cheat on me?” I opened my mouth to finally speak, but before the words could leave me, the massive walls of the city loomed in full. The gates were ahead, guarded by towering figures, Trolls armed with shock cannons and jagged blades. The chance for confession was swallowed by the urgency of war. I raised my hand and pointed toward the walls. “Charlie, Erika!” I barked. My voice was steel again, though inside I was breaking. “Get in there. Slip through the shadows. Open the gates.” The siblings exchanged a quick glance, nodding in unison before peeling off into the ruined structures near the city, disappearing into the maze of blackened stone and rubble. Then I turned back, catching Emily’s gaze through her visor. “You—by my side. Prepare for the charge.” She hesitated, the weight of mistrust still hanging between us, but after a breath she moved closer. Her presence was reluctant at first, then steadier as her fingers brushed the hilt of her blade, ready to fight again. Even as my chest churned with guilt, her loyalty was unshaken. I didn’t deserve it. I thought to myself bitterly: Damn me. Damn my weakness. Damn Anisia for even being here. And yet, as fate would have it, Emily stood tall next to me, her body angled toward the coming storm. I could feel her fire rekindling beside me, even if her heart was raw. I was unworthy, but still she was ready to fight as my queen, my shield, my blade. On the other side of the gate, Charlie and Erika had already slipped into the shadows of the Troll guard post. The muffled clash of steel and the hiss of energy blades cut through the night. Troll bodies hit the ground one by one, their throaty growls silenced in the darkness. Erika knelt over the gate console, her fingers flying across its alien controls before she cursed, drew her plasma dagger, and drove it deep into the wiring. Sparks erupted, smoke billowed, and the plasma gate shuddered before its protective field collapsed in a burst of dying light. To signal us, Erika shouldered her cannon and unleashed three bursts into the sky, each one cracking like thunder. The purple clouds above burned white with the impact. The signal flare cut a jagged line of fire across the sky, Erika and Charlie Kirk’s message burning against the pale sunlight. For a heartbeat, relief steadied my chest—we knew the way forward. But that relief fractured almost instantly. From the ruins flanking the path, shadows shifted. Trolls—hulking, thick-skinned beasts bred for war—rose with a guttural roar. Their arms coiled back, spears glinting with iron edges. Erika and Charlie ran. Their boots tore against the stone, desperate to make it back to our line. But the distance was too great. The first spear whistled through the air, striking Charlie square across the throat. He staggered, clutching at the wound, blood pouring through his fingers before his knees buckled beneath him. The second came with a sickening accuracy. It drove into Erika’s neck, snapping her voice into silence before she collapsed beside him. The flare still burned overhead, mocking us with its promise of guidance, while the two who lit it bled out on the ground below. Our signal. I tightened my grip on my chain-sword, its red-glowing teeth humming with restrained fury. The warriors around me shifted, weapons primed, their war-cries building in their throats. The charge was seconds away. I looked once more at Emily. Her hands clenched her weapon, her body trembling with fury and doubt, but her gaze was locked forward. She hadn’t abandoned me. She would never abandon me. And that made the guilt sharper than any wound I had ever carried. “Emily,” I said lowly, my voice reaching her through the comms. “Stay with me. Whatever comes, stay with me.” She didn’t answer—not with words. She simply raised her weapon, took her place beside me, and waited for the storm to break. The gates yawned wide. The city awaited. The charge began. I raised Revenge, my chainsword screaming with hunger as the gates cracked open before us. Emily ran at my side, her silver armor glinting in the dim violet light of Abraxas’s icebound sky, and together with our warriors we surged into the heart of the storm. The first clash came immediately—Jackal-headed warriors in burnished bronze armor, Trolls wielding gravity maces, and their snarls mixing with the shouts of my companions as steel met flesh. The impact was brutal. My blade tore into the first Troll’s torso, and his scream was cut short as Revenge split his chest wide open. Emily’s magic exploded around me, crystalline silver spears erupting from the ground beneath our enemies, piercing them upward through the rectum and bursting out of their mouths in a grotesque brilliance that only she could conjure. I caught myself staring too long, comparing her merciless beauty to Anisia’s void-born sorcery—her black holes that tore enemies limb from limb, sucking body parts into singularity with a muted pop. That moment’s distraction nearly killed me. A Troll swung a gravity mace down at my head, the weapon humming with destructive potential. I caught it mid-strike, ripping it from his massive hands with a burst of raw strength, and before he could recover, I drove my chainsword into his jaw, severing it clean and decapitating him in one stroke. Then the larger Trolls came, towering brutes with scars etched across their flesh. They pressed against me with relentless force, but I answered with something deeper. I didn’t scream. I didn’t snarl. My rage had settled into silence, and every movement was precise, honed by the weight of betrayal and frustration that had been gnawing at me since Brimwald. My blade sang through the air, clean arcs of violence, splitting one brute in half from shoulder to hip, then another with a downward strike that shattered his skull. I fought with rage, yes—but rage stripped of all sound, all wildness. Cold. Efficient. Like a machine. But my momentum was halted when Anubis’s elite stepped into the fray—Jackal-headed warriors clad in heavy golden armor. Their presence was immediate, suffocating. One lunged forward, his golden staff humming with power, while another circled to flank me. I seized the moment, lunging forward with my jaws. My wolfman teeth sank into the first Jackal’s throat, crushing bone and tearing flesh, ending him in a spray of blood. But before I could turn, the second warrior unleashed a sonic blast from his staff. The wave of sound cracked through the air and slammed me back, hurling me through the gates and into a half-collapsed building. I rose, shaking off dust and stone, my body aching but unbroken. Inside, I wasn’t alone. From the shadows emerged something uncanny—a demonette clone of Maladrie. Her dark eyes gleamed with mockery, her body an imitation of her mistress, clad in leather and horns, every detail sculpted for temptation and cruelty. The Jackal warrior followed me inside, needle in hand. He lunged forward, aiming to sedate me. With a snarl, I twisted, clamped my jaws down on his arm, and ripped it free before the needle could pierce my flesh. His scream was cut short as I summoned Revenge, driving the chainsword straight through his head. He yelped once, a final canine cry, and then collapsed in a heap. Before I could breathe, the demonette was upon me. She seized the fallen syringe, and in a flash of motion, jammed it into my neck. A burning sting spread through my veins, threatening to pull me under. But there wasn’t enough venom left to overpower me. The world wavered, blurred for an instant—but I held on. With a roar, I grabbed her by the throat, threw her across the room, and slammed her onto a cracked table. The table splintered beneath her weight, and the clone writhed beneath my grip, snarling with demonic hunger. My head pounded from the sting of the needle, but my grip tightened all the same. There was no hesitation left in me, no doubt, no mercy. My silent rage burned colder than ever, and the battle was far from over. Outside the shattered walls, the battlefield still roared with steel, claws, and the screams of collapsing Jackal warriors. Anisia turned sharply toward Emily, her voice like a blade: “Where is Willy?” Emily’s eyes narrowed, her voice hot with venom. “Why in the fuck do you care?” Deathskull raised a skeletal arm and pointed toward the ruined building where I had been thrown. But inside, I was no longer hearing them. My vision was tunneled. The Maladrie demonette clone writhed on the broken table, a living shadow of her maker. Her form radiated corruption and allure, every curve engineered to distract and disarm. Dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, black eyes glimmered with unnatural hunger, and her orange skin shimmered like molten copper under the flickering lights. Her leather boots scraped across the stone as she pushed herself up, her body arched in a way that pressed my primal urges into the forefront of my mind. It wasn’t just appearance. I couldn’t tell if Maladire was broadcasting waves of temptation, or this was my own doing? I felt my armor hum, sensors struggling to filter out the energy, but I was already slipping. My heartbeat thundered. I could smell her—sulfur and sweetness, a scent designed to snare the predator inside me. I staggered closer, instincts snarling louder than reason. The violent clarity I had in combat blurred into something raw, something animal. My fists clenched, my jaw tightened, and I felt the edge of myself beginning to fracture. She whispered without words, pressing visions of her seductive beauty as she struggled to get up. I gave in. Despite being a shadow compared to her maker, she still looked just as sexy. Dark hair, dark eyes, smooth orange demonette skin, and worst of all, being clad in black leather thigh-high boots. Her butt was raised in the air, as she started to get up. I didn't think. I powered down my armor, undid my leather trousers, proceeded to grab her thigh booted legs, and yanked her closer towards me. She barely put up a fight and seemed to enjoy my sexual advances. I spanked & licked her ass. With my erect penis, I forced it into her vagina, and began thrusting my hips repeatedly. The Demonette didn’t scream, not even a peep, or a struggle despite this interaction being nonconsensual. Then, outside the ruin, footsteps crashed against the rubble. Anisia appeared in the doorway, her eyes sharp with alarm as she felt the pull of the psychic web. She lunged forward, trying to reach me, to drag me away from the demonette’s beautiful body. But I lashed at her, filling the air with a pressure that pushed Anisia back outside near the doorframe. She stumbled, now unconscious. The demonette laughed, a sound like oil over fire, and the building seemed to warp around her. My thoughts flickered in and out—one second I was myself, the next I was drowning in visions of endless desire and hunger. Then Emily entered. Her presence sliced through the haze like a silver blade. She looked first at me, seeing the storm clawing at my mind, then at Anisia, half-collapsed just beyond the threshold, and finally at the demonette clone. She did not hesitate. “Hey. Stop that!” Her words cracked against me like thunder. I obeyed instantly. My body froze, as though her voice had reawakened the core of who I was. I staggered back, snapping free from my horney rage. The demonette hissed, realizing her hold had shattered. She tried to rise, dark magic writhing at her fingertips. But Emily was faster. She used her sword, slicing upward. The clone’s head was severed cleanly, her body collapsing into a bloodbath. Silence rushed in. My breath came heavy and uneven. I powered my armor back up, the familiar hum grounding me again. On the ground lay my chainsword, Revenge, waiting like a faithful hound. I gripped it tightly, the vibrations in its teeth matching the thrum of blood still pounding in my ears. Emily extended her hand to me. Her touch steadied the storm inside. Without a word, I let her pull me back toward the battlefield, where our warriors still clashed against the tide of Jackals and Trolls. Behind us, Anisia remained unconscious in the doorway, the dust settling over her form. Neither Emily nor I looked back. The war was still raging, and we had no room for hesitation. Emily and I moved as one, blades and fury tearing through the horde in what felt less like combat and more like a relentless storm of violence. Each motion of her silver-crystal sorcery was like a symphony of piercing light, jagged shards erupting through the torsos and skulls of our foes. Beside her, I carved my path in silence, my chainsword grinding through flesh and armor, spraying the ground with gore as limbs fell away from bodies in heaps. The battlefield beneath the city gates had become a tapestry of carnage. Trolls shrieked as their bodies were severed apart, Jackal warriors clawed and bit until they too were cast down into the growing mounds of death. The gates loomed above us, still glowing faintly from Erika’s wrecked console work, and beyond them, the half-lit streets of the mining city stretched into ruin. Amid the chaos, movement flickered in the corner of my eye. Anisia stirred. She had been discarded outside the shattered doorway, unconscious and forgotten, but now her form pushed against the rubble, her eyes burning with renewed life. Without hesitation, she launched herself forward. Her sword cut through the air in a sweeping arc as she unleashed her fury on two Trolls, their bodies collapsing before they even realized she was awake. Black flames curled around her hands, and with a thrust of her palm, a shockwave of magic sent a Jackal warrior spiraling back, its body bursting apart into crackling dust. Her resurgence bolstered the tide. Emily and I pressed harder, feeding into the momentum, fighting as if the universe itself had narrowed down to this one battle. I drove Revenge into the gut of a Troll, tearing upward to sever its chest in two, then pivoted and hacked clean through another’s arm before it could bring down its mace. Every strike was deliberate, fueled not by screaming rage but by the quiet, relentless wrath that boiled within me. Rage without sound, rage without hesitation—a machine of flesh and bone driven only to kill. The bodies piled high, and still they came. Yet, for every enemy that surged forward, another fell to our blades, to Anisia’s magic, to Emily’s crystalline impalements. It was an endless dance of blood. I paused briefly, scanning the battlefield as blood dripped from the teeth of my chainsword. “Where’s Deathskull?” I asked Emily, my voice cutting through the roar of combat. “I don’t know, but we should continue fighting,” she replied, her crystals erupting outward to skewer another Jackal through the chest. And so we did. The battle bent to us. Despite Deathskull’s absence, despite the fractures in our trust and the shadows that lurked between us, we carved our way through them all. When the smoke began to thin, when the last of the enemy collapsed at our feet, the silence that followed was deafening. Emily, Anisia, Hanna, Cole, Elizabeth, Jimmy, Mathew, Pete, Rick, Valrra, Hailey, Droid L-84, and I stood together at the gates, weapons slick, bodies weary, yet still standing. Against the odds, against the weight of our own divisions, we had claimed victory. The battlefield inside the city gates was still. Too still. No screams, no cries of wounded survivors, no lingering growls from the defeated. Just the wind carrying the stench of death and the hollow echo of quiet streets beyond. Emily turned toward Droid L-84, who stood sentinel near Valrra and Hailey, its metallic frame faintly scorched but undamaged. “Thank you for protecting Valrra, and Hailey.” The droid turned its head, voice flat, unburdened by pride. “Don’t mention it.” But even as relief flickered in Emily’s tone, suspicion gnawed at me. My grip tightened on Revenge, its teeth humming as if in anticipation. “Where in the hell did they put their slaves? Are they scared, we’re about to free them?” The silence that followed was answer enough. We advanced slowly, our warband of survivors moving toward the main spire that loomed in the heart of the city. Its obsidian walls rose high, covered in strange carvings that shimmered faintly in green luminescence. Each step toward it carried the weight of unease, the sense that the battle had not ended but only shifted. Then the doors of the spire shattered open. From the abyss within, three grotesque figures spilled out, their bodies writhing with an unnatural rhythm. They were not Trolls. They were not Jackals. They were something worse—demonic Wraith spawns, their forms held together by tendrils of dark flesh. Each had a head that was nothing but a cavernous mouth lined with jagged teeth, and atop their skulls pulsed glowing tendrils that spat arcs of green energy across the broken stones. Their two legs carried them with terrifying speed, tentacles whipping outward like lashes as they shrieked in tones not meant for mortal ears. I raised my arm and signaled. Valrra and Hailey fell back instantly, pulling the warriors with them. The Immortals would face this alone. The ground shook as the spawns advanced, every step leaving black scorch marks. We met them head-on. Emily’s crystals erupted in volleys, stabbing into their limbs only for the creatures to regenerate in sickening bursts of flesh. Anisia’s fire burned across their hides, slowing their movements, while Hanna and Cole drove their blades into writhing tentacles, hacking them off only to watch new ones sprout again. I threw myself at the nearest beast, Revenge screaming as its serrated teeth tore through a writhing arm, severing it clean from the mass. The creature howled, spraying green fire from the tendril atop its head, scorching the stone where I had been a moment before. I lunged again, silent rage driving me, each swing carving deeper into its hide, each strike pushing back against the horror it unleashed. But as I closed in, I saw them—the tattoos. Strange markings glowed faintly across their distorted flesh, swirling into patterns too familiar to be coincidence. They were almost identical to the tattoos borne by Alex, Joe, and Nicholas. The sight churned my stomach, pressing questions I had no time to ask. Were these spawns once men? Had they been twisted into this form? The thought clawed at me, but there was no time to dwell. Another spawn lunged, its mouth opening wide enough to engulf me whole. I sidestepped, drove Revenge upward, and split its maw in two, tearing flesh and spraying ichor across the ground. Emily and Anisia pressed the attack with me, the three of us moving like blades of one weapon. And then, with blood, fire, and crystal, we subdued them. The three beasts collapsed, twitching in spasms of their unnatural lives, before finally dissolving into nothing more than heaps of black sludge on the stone floor. The silence returned once more, heavy and suffocating, hanging over us as the spire loomed higher still. The battle had been won, but the war beneath the surface had only just begun. A bright golden hue spread across the ruins of the battlefield, bathing the city gates and shattered buildings in a celestial glow. It wasn’t natural sunlight—it was something far more dangerous, radiating from the spire that towered in the heart of the mining city. The light pulsed as though alive, flickering in steady rhythm, drawing every eye upward. I felt it before I saw it, a hum in the air that pressed against the skin, rattled bones, and charged the atmosphere with unnatural tension. My instincts screamed, and I didn’t hesitate. I started forward, pushing past the wreckage and blood-stained stone, stepping into the yawning threshold of the spire. The interior swallowed me in shadow, broken only by the alien radiance spilling from above. The structure was unlike any mine or fortress I had ever seen. Its walls pulsed faintly, alive with veins of energy that led upward, all converging at the peak where the glow was born. I stepped deeper—and froze. A crowd awaited me. They stood shoulder to shoulder, lining the corridor and blocking the path forward. Maladrie clones. Dozens of them. Their identical features made the air uncanny—dark eyes, orange-tinged skin, obsidian hair spilling down over leather straps and thigh-high boots. Each one wore the same sinister smirk, an army of shadows born from the same wicked mold. Their eyes locked on me in unison, and for the first time in this war, I felt as if I were looking at an ocean of death. Before I could act, the silence broke. “Will, I think everyone should turn on their plasma shields, I’m seeing an intense energy about to burst from the top of the spire,” Droid L-84’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. I followed its gaze upward. Through the haze of golden light, I made out the faint silhouette of Deathskull at a console high above. His skeletal frame moved with precision, claws darting across ancient controls, his entire focus locked on the object in his grasp. The Sphere. My stomach dropped. The Sphere pulsed violently, threads of golden energy bleeding outward in arcs. It wasn’t just glowing—it was charging. I didn’t waste a second. “Turn on your plasma shields, all of you!” I roared, my voice cutting through the din. Chaos erupted. Emily, the Immortals, and I moved instantly, rushing to Valrra, Hailey, Kyle, and Krystal, throwing ourselves atop them to shield their mortal bodies with our armored forms. The others followed suit, creating a living wall of protection as the light above reached its crescendo. The Sphere discharged. A beam of raw energy tore down from the spire, a golden storm that ripped through the battlefield. The air vibrated as flesh and blood vaporized in an instant. Our mortal warriors—Anglo-Saxons, Vikings, men and women alike who had hurled themselves fearlessly into the heart of battle—were swallowed and silenced beneath the weight of their own armor. Their bodies vaporized, their spirits snuffed out like candles, yet their steel shells clattered empty to the ground. The droids fared no better. Their frames remained intact, but the surge crippled their cores, shutting them down in waves. The silence that followed was only broken by the hiss of sparking circuitry. When the light dimmed, what was left of our army was a graveyard of hollow armor and fallen machines. Only Valrra, Hailey, Kyle, and Krystal stirred beneath us, alive by fortune and the desperate protection we had given them. Our triumph had been shattered in an instant. Then the true slaughter began. The Maladrie clones moved as one, their bows materializing in hands that shimmered with venomous energy. The air sang with the release of arrows—tipped not with steel, but with gravity-forged venom that pulsed like molten green fire. They struck us hard, piercing beneath our nano chainmail, searing into flesh with toxic precision. I staggered, the venom crawling through my veins like fire. My muscles strained to obey, but every movement dragged as though I were drowning. Beside me, Emily gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with defiance even as the toxin slowed her arms. The Immortals faltered, their blades wavering, each step heavy as lead. The mortals we had protected were untouched, hidden behind our wall of flesh and shields. But we were powerless to aid them. The venom did its work well, stealing our speed, draining our strength, forcing us to our knees. The battlefield that had echoed with victory only moments before was once again drowned in the grim weight of despair. And above it all, the spire still pulsed with golden light, Deathskull’s silhouette steady at the console, the Sphere thrumming in his grip as though the universe itself was being rewritten by his hands. The venom coursed through my veins, dragging me down like lead. Every movement was an effort, every breath a rasp. Emily collapsed beside me, her hand clutching her side where an arrow had struck. Elizabeth, Cole, Mathew, Rick, Pete, Jimmy, Hanna, and Anisia all faltered in the dust, caught in the same relentless grip. We were warriors, but the poison made us fragile, bound us in invisible chains. Droid L-84 was the only one untouched by venom, but he was no help—his frame lay motionless, powered down, silent as metal stone. The Spire loomed, its doors already open, shadows spilling out across the battlefield. From that darkness came Deathskull, sparks still leaping from his frame, his steel footsteps echoing across the broken ground. Anubis stalked at his side, golden eyes burning like small suns. Then Maladrie appeared, bow in hand, her lips curved in that cruel smile that promised only pain. I forced myself forward, rage giving me one more heartbeat of strength. I tried to lift my chainsword, but the venom crippled my muscles, dragging me back to the ground. Maladrie lost her arrow, and it sank deep. Fire spread through me again, and I collapsed. I spat blood, glaring up at Deathskull. “You fucking bitch machine!” He stopped, tilting his head, then spoke with the voice of cold iron. “Don’t take this personally, you furry cunt! You’ll realize, art is worthless, creation is useless, and life is useless.” My body trembled, but I forced the words out. “I was wrong to think you were the answer to a better society! You just killed people I trusted you to rule.” Deathskull’s optics glowed brighter, his tone sharp as a blade. “You said it yourself. Don’t get too attached to these mortals. You went against your own advice. What a shame.” His words cut deeper than steel. I faltered, broken between fury and grief, until Maladrie’s voice slid across the battlefield like poisoned honey. “He’s right, so it’s time to take away the remaining mortals from you, boo!” She snapped her fingers. From the Spire’s shadows stepped her clones—uncanny reflections of herself. They looked human at first glance, but there was something wrong about them, something that made the blood run cold. Their movements were too smooth, their smiles too precise, their eyes too empty. They were familiar yet alien, seductive yet lifeless. Demonette flesh made into women that shouldn’t exist. We lay powerless as they closed in. Emily’s hand slipped on her sword, unable to lift it. Elizabeth reached out weakly, her fingers trembling. The others were no better, each of us pinned down by the venom, reduced to helpless onlookers. The clones moved quickly. Valrra was seized and dragged screaming into the Spire. Kyle fought with desperate strength, but three clones pulled him under, his armor scraping across the stone. Krystal was torn away, her cries echoing into the hollow dark. Hailey’s voice rose in a single sharp scream before it was cut off, her body dragged into the shadows. They were taken from us—one by one, torn from our side. I reached out, my hand clawing at the dirt, chainsword slipping uselessly from my grip. All around me my companions fell silent, bound in venom’s chokehold. Droid L-84’s still frame lay beside us, cold and inert. And I could do nothing as the people I had sworn to protect disappeared into enemy hands. After our mortal friends were dragged into enemy hands, the battlefield went silent except for our labored breaths. The venom still burned in our veins, weighing us down, suffocating us. Then—cutting through the silence—came the sound of a war horn. It rose like thunder across the valley, deep, ancient, and filled with rage. From the distance, through the purple haze of Abraxas’s dying skies, came a marching horde. At their head was a towering figure I recognized even through the poison haze. Sigvard—the Troll who had escaped Anubis’s lair. His massive frame and mandrill snout were scarred, his body battered, yet his eyes burned with vengeance. He had gathered an army, rebels who dared to rise against their former master. Their cries echoed as they surged forward, the horn sounding again, promising fire and blood for Anubis. Sigvard shouted, “I’m Sigvard, coming to kill you Anubis!” But their fury would not be enough. From the Spire steps, Deathskull’s voice carried across the field like iron grinding on stone. “Let’s use the sphere to blast them, and the core of this miserable planet. Afterwards we leave.” Maladrie smiled, venom glinting in her teeth, and with a single sharp snap of her fingers, her demonette clones readied their bows, their faces frozen in cruel, uncanny grins. The Jackal-headed warriors raised their golden staves, the Troll slaves clutched their weapons, and all prepared to meet the Rebel Trolls head-on. Above them, Deathskull ascended the Spire again. The Arckon Sphere pulsed in his metallic hands, light gathering until it glowed like a newborn sun. With a single motion, the Sphere unleashed its wrath. The beam ripped across the land, vaporizing the Rebel Troll horde where they stood. Their armor, their flesh, their cries—gone in a heartbeat, reduced to ash and silence. The battlefield, once filled with defiant roars, became a grave of smoke and heat. Only Sigvard survived, his instincts saving him as he hurled his body behind the jagged ruins of a mining pillar just before the blast consumed his followers. The Sphere’s energy did not stop there. Deathskull turned its light downward, into the planet itself. The ground shuddered violently beneath us, cracks tearing open across the blackened soil. A low groan rose from deep within Abraxas, the sound of a dying world. The purple forests trembled in the distance, their roots twisting as fissures consumed them. From the top of the Spire, Deathskull descended, the Arckon Sphere glowing in his hands like a heart torn from the chest of a god. Maladrie stepped forward, her voice carrying sharp and triumphant. “Alright everyone, back to the portal we go.” She snapped her fingers, and reality split open in a searing crack. A swirling portal bloomed, its light spilling across the ruined city. One by one, they stepped through—Maladrie herself first, her clones following like shadows. Anubis disappeared in silence, golden eyes flickering. The Jackal warriors and their Troll allies marched into the light. And finally, Deathskull entered, the Sphere clasped in his cold hands. Then they were gone. And they took our remaining mortal friends with them. The portal collapsed into nothing, leaving only silence and the slow groan of a planet breaking apart. Emily struggled to her feet, Anisia clutching her arm for balance. Hanna and Elizabeth staggered near, their faces pale beneath their helmets. Cole, Pete, Mathew, Rick, and Jimmy stood wounded but alive, staring at the Spire as tremors rattled the ground. Droid L-84 lay beside us, still lifeless from the Sphere’s earlier blast. The tremors became violent convulsions. The sky itself split, streaked with fire. From the void of space, we would have seen Abraxas tearing apart from within, its core eroding, collapsing into a violent detonation. And then—it exploded. A blast brighter than a thousand suns tore through the void, hurling fragments of the world into the abyss of space. Abraxas was gone, reduced to dust and ruin. Hanna, Cole, Pete, Mathew, Rick, Jimmy, Elizabeth, Droid L-84, Emily, Anisia, and I—eleven souls left—were cast adrift, half-asleep, suspended between life and death, floating in the cold silence of space. Our war had cost us the world beneath our feet, and now the cosmos itself carried us like ghosts without a home. CHAPTER 22: "TROLLS ATTACK" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"