"ARCHIVES"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 21: "EVIL KNOWS NO LOYALTY" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The makeshift briefing room smelled faintly of dust and mildew, the air stagnant from years of abandonment. The chalkboards were cracked, their surfaces still bearing faint ghostly marks of equations scrawled by long-gone teachers. Broken desks lined the corners, and faded motivational posters clung to the walls by sheer will, their colors dulled to sepia. A projector hung from the ceiling by a single bolt, swaying slightly every time the wind rattled through the broken windows. It was surreal—teaching mysticism in a place once meant for arithmetic and history. Charlie and Erika Kirk sat at a battered oak table, the tarot deck spread before them like puzzle pieces waiting to be assembled. Their armored gloves looked awkward against the delicate cards, and Charlie muttered a curse when one slipped from his grip and fluttered to the floor. Emily and I watched from across the table, guiding them patiently, though I could feel how clumsy it all seemed. “In order to get a proper reading,” I said, leaning forward, my voice calm but weighted, “you have to tune out emotion. Feelings will tempt you toward answers you want instead of the truth the cards reveal. Bias leads to lies.” Emily gave me a small, knowing glance. She could sense the struggle behind my words, because I was no better. I too had let my heart cloud my interpretations, twisting fate to suit my hopes instead of seeing what lay plain before me. She picked up one of the cards—The Lovers—and let it spin between her fingers before setting it back down. Then, almost abruptly, her gaze wandered away from the table, traveling across the dusty shelves that still held old paperbacks and children’s readers. She frowned faintly. “Is this… a school?” she asked suddenly. “Yes,” I replied without hesitation. My brow furrowed as I looked at her. “Why?” Instead of answering, she reached into the pouch at her hip and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. She pressed it into my hand with a softness that caught me off guard. I blinked at the embossed cover before realizing what it was. Her yearbook. I turned it over, flipping open to the first page, and froze at the handwritten names and signatures, the scrawled well-wishes from classmates of another time. My chest tightened. “Didn’t even know they still taught elves in the future,” I muttered with a half-smile. “Why are you giving me this?” Emily’s eyes held mine, steady, calm, but vulnerable. “I just want to make sure you remember me.” For a moment, the noise of the room fell away. The clumsy shuffling of Charlie and Erika’s hands on the cards dulled, the creaks of the old building vanished. I reached out under the table, brushing my fingers against hers, and gave her hand a subtle squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, low enough that only she could hear. Her lips twitched upward, hidden beneath her visor, but I knew the smile was there. Meanwhile, Charlie and Erika, oblivious, had lined up their spread and leaned over it like gamblers weighing odds. Erika squinted. “We asked if we’d retire on the beach.” Charlie tapped the card at the center. “It says maybe. What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I chuckled under my breath. “A ‘maybe’ answer usually means the universe hasn’t decided yet. It’s up to you.” Charlie groaned. “That’s not helpful.” Before I could respond, Anna’s voice cut across the room like a knife. “Is it really, though?” Emily’s head turned sharply. “Problem, Anna?” Anna crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe, her sharp posture framed by the flickering light from the broken ceiling lamp. Her eyes narrowed with thinly veiled resentment. “You told us not to get attached to mortals. Yet here you are—literally teaching them tarot cards. Isn’t that the definition of attachment?” I let out a long breath, forcing calm into my voice. “First off—watch the jealousy. Second—you’ve misunderstood. Attachment isn’t the same as involvement. We can guide them. What I warned against is obsession, dependency, impulsive reaction.” Anna’s lips pursed. Her jaw tightened, then finally she exhaled sharply. “Fine. Whatever. Deathskull is ready to speak with you.” Emily and I exchanged a glance. The air between us carried the weight of unfinished intimacy, but there was no time. I rose from my seat, sliding the yearbook carefully into my belt pouch. As I walked past the table, I turned to Charlie and Erika one last time. “Remember, biases themselves aren’t bad. It’s how you use them. That’s the key.” Charlie’s grin returned, and he chuckled knowingly. He understood more than he let on. Emily fell into step beside me as we followed Anna into the hall. Her pace was brisk, almost impatient, but her energy felt more like annoyance than urgency. Anna was clingy, overeager, her presence heavy as she marched through the corridors of the abandoned school. Her suit clinked faintly with every stride, and her hair bounced like she wanted our eyes to notice. I glanced at Emily, then back at Anna. My thoughts betrayed me, unfiltered. Anna’s body is her only saving grace. But even that doesn’t hold a candle to Emily’s figure—perfect, unmatched. A mischievous smile tugged at my lips. My hand drifted to Emily’s lower back, giving her a playful pat on the glutes. She gave me a sidelong look, half amusement, half warning, and shook her head subtly. Still, the gesture broke some of the tension. We walked behind Anna, my gaze following her swaying steps for a fleeting second before snapping back to Emily. She was the anchor. The reminder of where my loyalty truly lived. Together, the three of us exited the building, the rusted door groaning shut behind us as the night wind swept across the camp. The meeting with Deathskull awaited. Emily and I followed Anna through the base, her hurried steps echoing faintly against the cracked pavement of Brimwald’s abandoned streets. The air was sharp with the smell of burnt ozone from our engines warming up, and distant chatter of soldiers preparing for departure drifted across the camp. We rounded a corner, and there—looming like a metallic sentinel—stood Deathskull beside the parked Drakkar Commander, its hull reflecting the pale, flickering glow of Brimwald’s dying sun. “So,” I called out the moment we approached, not bothering to hide my impatience, “you finally made up your mind?” Deathskull slowly turned, his golden skeletal frame gleaming with an eerie coldness. His optics flickered red, scanning me as if weighing whether or not I deserved an answer. His voice rumbled like a low metallic growl. “I have,” he said at last. “We’ll attack the mining world of Abraxas. That’s where Anubis has sent his Trolls to raid. We fight there.” He then raised one hand, signaling to the gathered troops and crew. His voice, amplified through his external speakers, cut across the entire camp. “Alright, everyone. Pack the ships. Let’s move out.” His command sparked a flurry of activity—soldiers snapping to attention, loaders carrying crates, and droids aligning the cargo ramps. “Wait,” I said, taking a step closer. “Aren’t we going to travel by portal?” Deathskull turned his head, the motion stiff and deliberate, like a predator unwilling to waste energy on prey. “It’s too far,” he answered flatly. Without another word, he lifted one plated boot and kicked the Rus spy drone off a nearby crate. The ancient relic tumbled across the ground with a hollow metallic clang, rolling until it rested at my feet. The act was done with such disregard, a mocking gesture that contrasted sharply with how carefully everyone else had been treating the cargo. His heavy frame lumbered up the boarding ramp of the Drakkar Commander, the faint hiss of hydraulics and the weight of his steps reverberating like a warning. He disappeared into the shadows of the ship without another glance. I crouched, reaching down to pick up the drone. In my hands, it felt almost like a toy—lightweight, deceptively fragile—but I knew what it represented. Its design was far older than anything we had salvaged from the war, carrying whispers of forgotten architects. Emily leaned closer, brushing her dark hair behind her ear. “What’s with the toy?” she asked softly. I turned it over in my hands, examining its intricate etchings and faint green circuits that pulsed like fading veins of light. “This,” I said, my voice low with conviction, “is a piece of history. Something that shouldn’t be wasted.” Emily’s green eyes studied me carefully, but she nodded. Together, we ascended the ramp, the drone tucked securely under my arm. Behind us, commotion erupted. Charlie and Erika were sprinting toward the ship, weaving between crates and crew. Charlie waved his arms frantically as though trying to flag down a lifeboat. “I don’t trust AI as a pilot!” Charlie shouted, his voice cracking in panic. “They’ll leave without us, Erika!” Erika puffed beside him, trying to keep pace. She threw him a glare. “I thought you said progressives were the worst pilots?” Charlie stumbled but kept running. “I redact what I said! Let’s go!” They scrambled up the ramp just as the ship’s engines began to hum, the vibrations thrumming through the steel beneath our boots. Charlie nearly tripped on the threshold, but Erika yanked him forward before the ramp hydraulics sealed shut behind them with a hiss. I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head. “They’re going to get themselves killed one of these days,” I muttered. Our fleet lifted from Brimwald, the rumble of the thrusters echoing like thunder through the hollow city below. Through the bridge windows, the landscape shrank into a blur of smoke, then into the pinprick silhouette of a fading world swallowed by the stars. Brimwald became just another speck in the endless dark. I turned to Emily, the weight of the drone pressing against my chest. “I’m going to analyze this in the lab,” I told her. “I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with before Deathskull decides to toss it into a furnace out of spite.” Emily rested her hand on my arm, concerned, flickering across her face. “You want me to come with you?” I shook my head. “No. Stay here. Keep an eye on Deathskull. I don’t trust the way he’s moving pieces around. Someone has to watch him closely.” She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Alright. But don’t take too long. Something about him…” Her voice trailed off, but I could finish the thought myself. Something about him was changing. I tightened my grip on the drone, its circuits flickering faintly like a dying star. “I won’t,” I said, turning toward the lower decks. “Just… keep him from doing anything stupid while I figure out what this little piece of history is hiding.” The ship shuddered, engines cutting through the void. I walked down the corridor, the drone whispering secrets through its quiet hum, while Emily remained behind on the bridge, her eyes locked on Deathskull’s cold, towering figure. The lab was one of the only pristine rooms aboard the Drakkar Commander. Sterile white lights hummed overhead, casting everything in an unflinching glare. Signs plastered on every bulkhead warned NO FOOD OR DRINK in thick black lettering. Rows of benches, sealed instruments, and delicate glass canisters lined the walls like a surgeon’s toolkit waiting for command. In the center of it all floated the Rus Drone. At first glance, it resembled the body of a centipede—segmented, jointed, armored with tiny overlapping plates of green alloy that shimmered faintly as though alive. When powered on, its many segments lit in a ripple, and the thing lifted into the air with a low hum, floating with a fluid, serpentine grace. Each shift of its body gave the unsettling impression that it was slithering, though it never once touched the ground. I pulled it closer under the console’s scanners. My hand hovered just above its plating, the faint buzz of static passing into my fingertips. “Let’s see what secrets you’ve been hiding,” I muttered, initiating the uplink. Streams of data cascaded across the monitor like a waterfall of ancient knowledge. The archives were vast—far more expansive than I expected. I leaned in, scrolling line after line, absorbing fragments of their history. The Rus Vikings. The files painted a chilling picture. They weren’t just outcasts; they were architects. The original founders of Vikingnar itself—before civil war, before exile, before Deathskull. They had survived their banishment, forging new colonies in the dark, building fleets of ships that rivaled our own. Their secret society was not unlike our own Vikingnar, yet different in a crucial way: their reliance on AI. But unlike Deathskull, their machines had been deliberately restrained. Nerfed. De-powered. A warning etched into code: never let the creation outgrow the creator. And then another revelation—records of strange allies. The Rus did not stand alone. They marched alongside warriors clad in ornate armor, futuristic Samurai with gleaming helms and plasma-edged katanas. A legion that combined Viking ferocity with Eastern precision, moving as one. I sat back, staring at the drone as if its segmented body might unfurl and explain the mysteries itself. “Why would Deathskull treat this as rubbish?” I whispered. “Unless… he’s afraid.” I dove deeper, scouring files until something odd caught my eye. An audio file. No labels. No metadata. Just… sound. I clicked play. The room filled with a strange dissonance—clanging hammers striking anvils, metallic machinery grinding like teeth, and beneath it all, faint piano music. A somber melody threading through the chaos. I frowned, leaning forward, straining to catch a pattern. Was it noise? Or something more? That’s when I heard the door hiss open behind me. Anna. She stepped in silently and shut the door with a soft click. Dressed in her black and navy leather jumpsuit, she looked sharp, almost predatory, her dark hair framing her face. Purple glasses caught the sterile light, casting violet reflections across her eyes. “You look stuck on something,” she said, her tone half curious, half teasing. I exhaled, rubbing my forehead. “I can’t tell if this audio file contains a message or not.” Without hesitation, she crossed the room and slid into the seat beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushed mine. She leaned in, her scent a subtle trace of spice and leather. Her gaze locked on the screen. “It looks like… Morse code,” she murmured. A spark lit in my chest. “That’s what I figured.” I grabbed a pencil and scrap paper from the desk. Together, we played the file again, pausing after each burst of clanging. I scribbled down dots and dashes, my handwriting frantic, while Anna’s voice calmly interpreted the spacing. Slowly, word by word, the hidden phrase revealed itself. BEWARE OF NIHILISM. The message was simple. Too simple. Yet the weight of it pressed on the air like a thundercloud. Anna frowned, biting her lower lip. “What do you think they mean by that? That’s… kind of scary.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. But if the Rus went out of their way to encode this, it must mean something more.” For a moment, silence hung heavy in the lab. Then the ship jolted suddenly, a shudder through the hull that rattled instruments on the counters. Turbulence from solar flares, most likely, but enough to send Anna tumbling lightly against me. She didn’t pull away. Whether intentional or not, she lingered there, her shoulder against mine, her eyes searching mine with a warmth I hadn’t expected. Then, without warning, she kissed me. It was soft at first, a spark of hesitation. But I kissed her back, instinctively, pulling her closer. My hand slid down to her waist, gripping the supple leather of her jumpsuit. She responded with a quiet sigh, pressing harder, her lips eager, hungry. Her chest medallion pulsed faint violet as my fingers found the zipper, sliding it down. The glow bathed her collarbone as she pushed the instruments aside. I cleared the table with a sweep of my arm—tools and papers clattering to the floor. Anna crawled up onto the table, her boots creaking as she shifted. I gripped her legs, tugging at the black thigh-highs wrapped tightly around her. She laughed breathlessly as I yanked her closer. My hand cracked lightly across her rear, her gasp sharp but playful. The rest blurred into instinct and heat, an intimacy we both surrendered to in the quiet sterility of the lab. When it was over, silence returned—broken only by the faint hum of the drone floating nearby, its many eyes glowing faintly like a silent witness. Anna slipped off the table, zipping her jumpsuit halfway back up. She rested her arms around my shoulders, pressing her lips softly to my ear. “Don’t worry, Willy,” she whispered. “I’ll keep this a secret. And besides… Emily is tolerant of me. Way more than you think.” I managed a weak nod, though guilt tightened my chest. She hugged me close. My hand rested almost automatically on her backside, a quiet admission of the pull she had over me. “I guess,” I thought to myself, “I had a secret admirer all this time.” And yet, the message on the paper still sat there on the console, staring back at me like an accusation: BEWARE OF NIHILISM. Anna straightened her jumpsuit, her violet medallion still faintly glowing as we stepped into the dim corridor outside the lab. The hum of the ship’s engines vibrated through the metal walls, steady but heavy, like a warning drumbeat. She glanced at me, her voice quieter now. “We should tell the others what we found. That message… it’s not something we should ignore. Better to make a plan while there’s still time.” I nodded, tucking the paper with the Morse code into my pocket. “Agreed. The last thing we need is Deathskull twisting this into something else.” As we walked, her steps slowed. She looked at me with a faint smile. “By the way… my full name is Anisia Martinez.” I tilted my head, surprised. “So, which name do you prefer?” Her lips curved into a smirk. “I prefer Anisia.” “Oh good,” I said with a small chuckle, “it’s easier to remember.” For a moment, the heaviness of the drone, the code, and even Deathskull faded. Just two people, walking side by side down the metallic corridor of a ship headed to the unknown. The private briefing room was dimly lit, its steel walls lined with glowing panels that hummed faintly, giving the space an air of secrecy. Anisia and I stepped inside, and the others quickly filed in (Cole, Hanna, Elizabeth, Jimmy, Pete, Rick, Mathew, Valrra, Emily, Hailey, Charlie, Erika, Kyle, Krystal, and Emma) who decided to join this meeting., filling the oval-shaped chamber with the quiet shuffle of boots and the low creak of chairs. The weight of the coming war sat on everyone’s shoulders, and yet there was still a flicker of relief that we could speak without Deathskull’s looming presence. Droid L-84 lingered near the far side of the room, his chrome plating catching the light. My eyes instinctively narrowed at him, though I said nothing. Before the thought could even shape into words, his voice rang out, calm and calculated. “There’s no need to feel distrust by my presence. Deathskull doesn’t know I’m here.” I let the words hang for a beat, studying him, before turning my gaze to the group. My voice cut through the tension. “For some reason, Deathskull is so dismissive of the Rus Viking Legion. But they’re no longer a damned legion. They’ve become a thriving galactic civilization right under our noses. And the Rus left us a message—‘beware of nihilism.’” Emily leaned forward, brows furrowed, her green eyes sharp beneath the glow of the panel lights. “What the hell does that mean?” Valrra’s hand hovered over the table, a faint shimmer of psychic energy pulsing from her fingertips. “Maybe they’re trying to warn us specifically of a growing enemy within Vikingnar. The only question is—who?” The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. It felt as though everyone was afraid to breathe, to give shape to the suspicion coiling in the room. Then Droid L-84 spoke, his voice firm, unflinching. “We already do know. It’s our dear leader—Deathskull.” Murmurs rippled through the room, a sharp edge of disbelief mixed with recognition. I raised a hand to steady them, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t be too sure to jump to conclusions just yet. He’s been… strange, yes. But maybe he just needs updates in his programming.” L-84’s head tilted, his photoreceptors glowing faintly red. “I wouldn’t be so certain. Deathskull deliberately discarded some of his old programming and uploaded fragments into my chip. I forgot to mention this earlier.” The words slammed into me like cold iron. My grip tightened on the table. “But Deathskull helped me escape the Wraith. Without him, I’d still be chained there.” “That brings me to my second point,” Droid L-84 replied. His voice dropped, heavy with implication. “We don’t know what the demons did to him during your capture. Perhaps they corrupted his mainframe in some capacity.” The room fell still again. I drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and let the reality sink in. L-84 wasn’t wrong. There were gaps in Deathskull’s behavior—his lack of philosophy, his rigidity, his sudden dismissals. All of it gnawed at me now with sharper teeth. At last, I spoke. “I’ll have a word with the Senate. We’ll consider suspending, or even removing, Deathskull as Emperor until we know what’s happening to him. But this will have to wait until after the mission on Abraxas. Deathskull needs us to extract an ancient weapon called the Sphere—before Anubis can get his paws on it.” The weight of my words anchored the room. One by one, nods of agreement followed—Cole’s jaw tight with resolve, Hanna’s hand gripping her sword hilt even while seated, Elizabeth whispering a meditation under her breath, and Jimmy slamming his fist lightly against the table in solidarity. The uncertainty still lingered, a stormcloud over our heads, but for now, the path forward was set. On a lighter note, my eyes caught something I didn’t expect—Emily and Anisia chatting at the edge of the group, a faint smile on Emily’s face as if Anisia had said something clever. It struck me as odd, but maybe it wasn’t strange at all. Anisia had her way with people, weaving herself into the rhythm of a group with disarming ease. Our fleet descended upon Abraxas, its pale-blue curvature swelling in the void until it consumed the viewport. The planet’s surface shimmered faintly with a sheen of frost, a telltale sign of its Ice Age. Yet amidst the tundra and glaciers, streaks of vibrant purple vegetation stretched across valleys and forests like living veins. The hue was unnatural to our eyes—alien and mesmerizing—casting a haunting glow against the planet’s pale skies. Breaking the atmosphere, the beauty gave way to devastation. Vast black scars slashed across the land where machines had torn deep into the crust. The mining facility stood as an ugly citadel of industry—smokestacks spitting dark fumes into the frigid air, leaving plumes that clashed with the natural sky. Pockets of forests struggled to survive at the edges, standing like sentinels against extinction. The land between was littered with black ash fields, barren stretches where nothing could grow, scarred by the constant output of extraction and fire. Herds of native beasts, thick-furred and long-tusked, wandered the ice flats, confused and displaced, their migration paths severed by mechanical walls. From orbit, the facility appeared almost alive with activity—hundreds of drones moving in synchronized waves across trenches, scaffolding, and armored hangars. As our fleet aligned for descent, energy signatures flared across the surface. Alarms rang through the bridge as crimson streaks of plasma lit up the skies, followed by the concussive thrum of shock cannons. The Trolls and Jackals were ready. Their weapon emplacements bristled like thorns around the mining city, and the moment our fleet entered low atmosphere, a storm of fire greeted us. Plasma bolts tore through clouds, burning trails of ozone and smoke. Shock cannon bursts rippled like violent thunder, slamming against our shields, making the whole ship quake under the impacts. Pilots shouted over comms, maneuvering in desperation. Two of our ships took direct hits, spiraling into the ash fields below in roaring balls of fire. The others scattered, weaving through flak fire as the battlefield turned into a maelstrom of energy. Our main vessel rattled under the strain, warning lights flashing red across the consoles, the shields dropping percentage by percentage with each strike. Forced into a defensive formation, the fleet pulled back, scanning for possible landing zones. The mining complex’s defenses stretched farther than anticipated—cleverly embedded into cliff faces and subterranean bunkers. Every approach was met with unrelenting volleys. It became clear—direct descent was suicide. We would never breach their fortress from the skies. Instead, the order was given. We would land on the outskirts. Engines roared as the fleet banked hard, pulling free from the web of fire and steering toward the planet’s frozen plains. Snow and ice stretched endlessly across the horizon, unmarked except for distant black ridges. The turbulence shook us as we descended into the gale, cutting through storm clouds until our landing struts met ice. One by one, our ships dropped into formation along the frozen edge of a glacier. The silence that followed was crushing compared to the chaos above. Only the wind howled, carrying flecks of frost and ash. In the distance, the mining city glowed against the horizon, a bruise of industry and fire against the cold. The ashen fields separating us seemed to stretch for eternity, broken by jagged rock, ruined trees, and the skeletal remains of beasts who had wandered too close to the machinery. There would be no quick strike. No swift landing at the heart of the enemy. We would march. Miles across the wasteland, in the shadow of an enemy already aware of our presence. Every step forward would bring us deeper into their web. Inside the bowels of the mining facility, the air was thick with molten fumes and the stench of scorched stone. Great chains rattled against the ceiling as Troll slaves, hulking and deformed, dragged buckets of glowing liquid metal across the obsidian floors. Their mandrill-like snouts twitched and steamed under the heat, their backs scarred from lashings, their eyes glazed with obedience—or terror. At the center of the chamber stood Anubis, his jackal head illuminated by the shifting light of the forge. His tall frame cast a jagged silhouette, the gleam of his teeth curling into a cruel grin. He raised his clawed hand, gesturing to the molten streams being guided toward the pedestal. “Pour it all,” he commanded, his voice a guttural growl that reverberated off the iron walls. “Every last drop goes into the Sphere. The Arckon device will drink its fill.” The slaves obeyed, tilting massive cauldrons until rivers of melted gold hissed and steamed as they cascaded into the bowl-like base of the artifact. The “Sphere,” a blackened orb the size of a bowling ball, absorbed the molten metal hungrily. Its surface cracked and flared with radiant veins of light, until a golden aura surged outward in a ripple that made the chains overhead rattle and the very air hum with power. The moment the device’s glow stabilized, the heavy doors at the far end of the hall screeched open. Maladrie entered first, her boots clicking against the metal floor, her posture dripping with arrogance. Teresa and Nicholas followed reluctantly, their faces pale against the glare of the forge. Floating behind them was a leviathan of machinery—a massive levitating construct of steel and bone, humming with necrotic energy. Twin sarcophagi were embedded in its frame, each held upright with cables and pulsating conduits. One of them, disturbingly, already contained a body—a pale, lab-grown demonette suspended in fluid, her features lifeless but expectant. Anubis tilted his jackal head, ears twitching, as his golden eyes burned. “What is this contraption?” he snarled. Maladrie’s smile was poisonous. She stretched her arms toward the machine as if unveiling a masterpiece. “It’s the gift I promised you. The machine of rebirth. With this, we can forge an army that transcends death itself.” She slinked closer, her voice dropping to a silky murmur. “But before we begin, I must ask you all… what do you truly desire, before we step into the new universe?” There was a tense silence. The Trolls paused their labor, their chains rattling faintly as they looked on. The glow of the Sphere bathed the room in liquid gold. Teresa broke the quiet, her voice bold and unwavering despite the tremor in her eyes. “I desire King William.” The words hit the chamber like a dropped blade. Maladrie froze, her expression twisting from surprise to amusement, then to contempt. “Do you, now?” she hissed, her grin stretching unnaturally wide. A low, guttural laugh poured from her throat, echoing maniacally through the chamber. “You think you can claim him? Foolish child. You’ll have to get through me first.” Before Teresa could respond, Maladrie moved like lightning. Her hand lashed out, nails gleaming with venom, and raked across Teresa’s skin. The woman collapsed instantly, her body twitching as the toxin paralyzed her. Maladrie flicked her dark hair back with a sharp whip of her head, her boots striking hard against the floor as she strolled toward Teresa’s fallen body. She nudged her cruelly with the toe of her thigh-high boot, sneering down at her with disdain. With a snap of her fingers, the Troll slaves dropped their tools and lumbered forward. They scooped Teresa’s limp body into their massive arms and carried her toward the empty sarcophagus. Nicholas’s eyes widened in horror, his breath catching as the machine’s cables hissed and shifted to accept its new occupant. He started forward, but Anubis’s clawed hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with a crushing force. “Do not interfere,” Anubis growled, his teeth glinting in the golden light. “Watch, and learn where loyalty leads.” Teresa’s body was lowered into the sarcophagus, her chest rising faintly with shallow breaths. Maladrie raised her hand, and the machine came alive. Green and violet arcs of energy surged from the conduits, enveloping Teresa in a cocoon of light. Her soul screamed as it was torn from its vessel, spiraling into the waiting shell of the demonette. Moments later, the transformation was complete. The sarcophagus cracked open, releasing a hiss of vapor. Out stepped the new demonette, her every detail an uncanny mirror of Maladrie herself—dark, flowing hair, curling horns, obsidian eyes burning with malice, her body draped in a leather bikini and black thigh-high boots that gleamed under the forge’s glow. The original Maladrie spread her arms wide, basking in the spectacle. “Behold, dummies—and Anubis. I present to you my clones! With this machine, we can create a legion of ourselves. An immortal, supernatural army, birthed from human souls. All it requires…” she smirked, glancing at Nicholas, “…is a willing sacrifice.” The clone stepped forward, her gaze locking onto Nicholas with a wicked stare. She raised a hand, finger pointing directly at him as if marking prey. The real Maladrie snapped her fingers. The Trolls surged toward Nicholas, their massive hands clamping down on his arms as he struggled violently. His screams echoed through the chamber, raw and terrified. Anubis’s laughter filled the air, a booming, heinous chorus of satisfaction. “Perfect! Perfect! Feed him to the machine!” Nicholas thrashed, his cries drowning in the sound of chains, machinery, and Maladrie’s cruel chuckles. His fate was sealed as he was dragged toward the sarcophagus, the machine’s conduits already hissing in hungry anticipation. Evil knows no loyalty—and Nicholas was about to pay the price for betraying Vikingnar. Meanwhile, the ground rumbled beneath our boots as a massive theropod dinosaur stood before us, its muscular frame towering like a living relic of a forgotten age. Its head bore a flamboyant crest, streaked in fiery reds and yellows, making it appear as though the creature wore a crown of flame. Its golden eyes widened with sheer panic at our sudden materialization, the beast’s nostrils flaring as if we had trespassed into its kingdom. For a brief moment, time seemed suspended between our group and the ancient predator. Then, without hesitation, the theropod bolted, its talons tearing furrows into the blackened earth as it thundered into the conifer forests. Its massive tail whipped the air behind it like a banner of retreat, vanishing into the haze. Only then did we take in the world around us. The air smelled acrid, heavy with sulfur and ash. The terrain stretched out like the scars of an old wound, an endless volcanic ash field scattered with patches of vibrant purple conifers, their needles glistening with dew despite the choking fumes. The land was a strange balance of life and death—one half trying to cling to nature’s resilience, the other consumed by the scars of industrial exploitation. Beyond the rolling haze, in the distance, rose an ominous silhouette—a sprawling city of iron and stone, churning with mechanical life. Its smokestacks coughed clouds of black soot into the skies, strangling the horizon with filth. Conveyor belts, massive cranes, and jagged towers spoke of function, not beauty. The sight immediately struck me with a familiarity I detested, for it reminded me of King Alle’s philosophies: nature stripped bare, resources consumed with no regard for harmony. I clenched my jaw, recognizing the same ideology pulsing here, only this time under Anubis’ grip. He wasn’t simply content to rule; he was determined to hollow out worlds like carcasses, devouring them until there was nothing left. Or was it? We needed to investigate further. Turning to my companions, I signaled each of them to power on their armor. The sound of humming servos, mechanical locks, and energy cores coming alive filled the air around us. Visors flickered with blue, crimson, and purple light as one by one they disappeared behind the armored glow. With our preparations complete, we left the frigid mountains behind us, stepping into the poisoned valleys below. CHAPTER 21: "EVIL KNOWS NO LOYALTY" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 20: "TROLLS" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" In the fertile lands of Brimwald, morning sunlight stretched golden across rolling plains. The wheat swayed in a steady rhythm, tall stalks shimmering like rivers of amber under the sun. Irrigation canals cut neat lines through the farmland, their waters glinting in the light, and the distant silhouettes of grain silos loomed like quiet guardians over the colony. The day carried the usual hum of rural activity—livestock moving in pens, farmers tending fields, machinery churning as it harvested the land. Then the calm fractured. Above the fields, the air warped, folding in on itself like a wound tearing open in the fabric of reality. The sound came first—a low, unnatural hiss, like steam forced through metal lungs. Then came the sight: a portal, jagged and rippling, bleeding unnatural hues of violet and black into the bright blue sky. It tore wide until its edges crackled with streaks of energy, a wound in the heavens forcing itself upon the peaceful world below. From its depths stepped Anubis, his presence heavy and suffocating, as if the land itself recoiled from him. His head was that of a jackal, elongated and sharp, unmistakably canine in its form. A dark, gold, helm had been forged to fit the contours of his bestial skull, its edges etched with runes that glowed faintly beneath the sun. Beneath the helmet, his pale, gaunt features lent him a deathly aspect, the predator’s muzzle framed in shadow as though he were a living relic of some forgotten empire. Behind him floated the levitating cage. Its surface bore deep scars, the metal gouged and dented from countless collisions with the beast within. Energy hummed around its structure, arcs of blue light sparking at its edges. Inside, the Troll shifted violently, its enormous form dwarfing the dimensions of the cage. The creature’s amber eyes glowed like coals beneath a thunderstorm, its breath steaming in the air, fogging against the shimmering barrier. It struck the walls again with fists like slabs of stone, the impacts ringing across the valley and scattering flocks of birds into the sky. The pastoral calm of Brimwald’s farmlands withered beneath the creature’s cries. Anubis stopped at the clearing’s edge, twin shadows falling long before him as the suns hung overhead. He raised his gauntlet, the clawed fingers flexing as mechanisms clicked and whirred within its construction. With a metallic hiss, the gauntlet birthed a scorpio-bot—a small, insectoid machine with segmented limbs of serrated steel. Its tail arched high, the tip a gleaming drill lined with tiny, rotating teeth. The thing writhed in his grasp like it was alive, twitching legs clawing at the air, eager to burrow. He wasted no motion. Stepping toward the cage, Anubis swiped his free hand across the runes embedded in the airlock. With a muted hum, the containment field dimmed, then collapsed into nothing. The Troll pressed forward instantly, but Anubis was already moving. He thrust the writhing machine into the monster’s broad, flattened nose. The bot’s spiked legs clamped violently as it tore its way into flesh, crawling upward through nasal passages, burrowing deeper into the skull. The Troll’s roar shattered the farmland’s tranquility. It was primal, deafening, filled with agony and rage all at once. The sound rolled across the wheat fields, a shockwave of horror that sent animals bolting from their pens and birds scattering into the heavens. Trees shook with the force, their leaves trembling as though the forest itself recoiled. The creature staggered, clawing at its own face as the scorpio-bot locked deeper into place, anchoring into bone. Its convulsions twisted the cage, sending arcs of blue energy flickering wildly. Then, silence broke—the cage hissed open. The Troll surged forward. It exploded from the prison like a living avalanche, smashing through the clearing, its movements wild but purposeful, driven by something more than pain—something implanted. Its massive feet tore trenches into the soil, wheat flattening beneath its thunderous strides. The earth itself seemed to quake as it barreled toward the open farmlands, its guttural bellows echoing across the sky. Anubis did not follow. The portal behind him pulsed, violet and black rippling like liquid shadow. He turned without looking at the destruction he had unleashed, the edges of his jackal helm catching one last glint of light. His silhouette vanished into the vortex, consumed by darkness, leaving behind only the sound of the Troll’s rampage as the farmland world of Brimwald—once serene, once unsuspecting—fell beneath the shadow of a bio-weapon it had never imagined. The portal snapped shut. Silence reclaimed the clearing—yet far in the distance, rising above the fields and silos, the Troll’s warcry carried on. The Troll staggered forward, its vast frame crashing through the undergrowth, snapping trees as though they were no more than brittle twigs. Its molten veins flickered brighter with each faltering step, the convulsions wracking its body growing in violence until it could no longer move with rhythm. The earth shook beneath its bulk, every thunderous impact of its feet scattering soil and stones, leaving behind trenches carved deep into the forest floor. Its guttural roars echoed through the dense canopy, mingling with the shrill cries of fleeing birds and the frantic rustle of animals abandoning their burrows. The forest, vibrant only moments before, was already beginning to feel like a dying world in miniature, drained of its natural order. At last, its body could no longer sustain the violent seizures. With a crack that reverberated like the splitting of stone, the Troll collapsed onto one knee. Orange skin, once tight and solid, now split apart at the seams like an over-forged metal casing. From these ruptures seeped streams of green vapor, curling into the air in tendrils that shimmered with an oily, iridescent sheen. The vapor clung unnaturally low, settling into the underbrush as though alive with purpose. Invisible spores drifted within the haze, carried outward in expanding waves. Where they touched, the world began to change. Soil blackened on contact, cracking open as if scorched, only to give rise to pale fungal stalks that erupted in spiraling formations. Their surfaces shimmered faintly, covered in veins that pulsed like channels of alien blood. Leaves withered in seconds, shriveling before being overtaken by growths of fleshy, fungal tissue that spread in branching networks. The trees themselves became victims of the infestation. Their bark cracked and swelled, splitting under the invasion of cancerous fungi that crept like spreading tumors across their trunks. Vines of fleshy mold wrapped upward, merging with branches until whole trees bowed beneath the grotesque weight. The once-familiar canopy of green twisted into a distorted labyrinth of pulsating fungus, glowing faintly against the dimming light of the forest floor. Soon, bulbous sacs began to form along the fungal masses, distorting the landscape further. They swelled outward with a grotesque speed, their membranes translucent, quivering as if something inside pressed violently for release. Within, silhouettes shifted—feral embryonic shapes, clawing and thrashing against their fragile prisons. The sacs throbbed in rhythm with the Troll’s own flickering veins, as though connected to its corrupted life force. Each movement from within sent ripples across their slimy surfaces, promising imminent birth. The Troll itself became the epicenter of this vile ecosystem. Its body continued to convulse, the green vapor pouring endlessly from its cracked flesh. The spores emerging from it were inexhaustible, carried on the faintest breeze, ensuring that the plague spread far beyond the immediate clearing. Every shudder of its enormous chest released new waves of corruption, feeding the fungal nursery that now sprawled outward like a diseased heartbeat. In the distance, the sounds of the forest grew faint, swallowed beneath the suffocating silence of decay. The cries of animals vanished, replaced only by the wet squelch of growth and the sinister hum of bioluminescent stalks vibrating in unison. The air itself thickened, heavy with toxic humidity, glowing spores suspended in its currents like stars in a sickly-green night sky. The transformation was total, a living infection radiating outward from the fallen Troll. What had once been a tranquil woodland on the farm world of Brimwald was now twisted into a grotesque cradle of alien life—a place where the earth itself pulsed like diseased flesh and the forest floor writhed with the beginnings of an army bred from corruption. And at the heart of it all, the Troll still knelt, spasming, its monstrous frame serving as both the womb and the fuel for the nightmare now unleashed. Meanwhile in the hell realm, the Wraith’s throne room breathed with silence, save for the occasional flicker of red light that pulsed through the veins of obsidian stone. Maladrie’s sobs echoed faintly, swallowed by the enormity of the chamber, as though the darkness itself sought to devour her weakness. The crystalline effigy of her father stood unmoving, its sharp facets scattering her tears’ reflections back at her in cold, fractured mockery. Her voice cracked, rising above the weight of the silence. “You were supposed to guide me.” Her tone trembled between desperation and rage. “Instead, I was left to inherit your enemies, your wars, your throne… and your failures.” She rose from her seat, her black gown whispering against the obsidian steps, and descended toward the statue. Every step echoed with purpose, each footfall like the toll of a bell in the cavernous hall. When she reached the crystalline figure, she stood close enough that her breath misted faintly against its cold surface. Her hand hovered once more over the jagged chest, her fingers curling as if she would strike. “But you—” she spat the word like venom— “you never told me how to end them.” The runes carved high above the effigy shimmered brighter, their glow responding to her fury like embers stoked in a dying fire. She whipped her gaze upward, her tear-streaked face contorted with hate. “I see it now,” she hissed, voice dripping with venom. “This cursed alchemy… this so-called ‘gift’ that binds us. You died serving it, and I will live to unmake it.” The air thickened, alive with an unseen force, as if the Wraith itself leaned in to hear her vow. The ground beneath her bare feet trembled, faint cracks spiderwebbing through the black stone where her nails had drawn blood into her clenched fists. Droplets fell, absorbed into the floor, feeding the sigils woven into the throne room’s foundation. “You abandoned me, Father,” she snarled through gritted teeth, her voice raw. “But I will not be abandoned again. The Immortals think themselves chosen, blessed by the Wraith. They are fools, bound to illusions! I will tear their spirits from their vessels, shatter their alchemy, and grind their precious bonds into dust.” She turned abruptly from the effigy, her gown flaring behind her as she climbed the steps back to her throne. The crystalline form loomed silently, impassive, casting prismatic fragments of her fury back into the room. When she reached her throne, Maladrie slumped into it not with despair but with a twisted sense of triumph. She wiped the last remnants of tears from her cheeks, smearing them into streaks that made her face appear almost war-painted. “You will watch me,” she whispered to the statue, though her tone carried a cruel satisfaction now. “You will see what your daughter can do. You will see how much stronger I am than you ever were.” The glowing alchemy symbol above flared once more, its runes pulsing like a heartbeat before dimming again into their faint, haunting glow. Maladrie’s eyes fixed on it, the venom in her gaze unyielding, her hatred now bound to a purpose that eclipsed her grief. And in the silence that followed, the throne room itself seemed to breathe with her vow, as though the Wraith was listening, waiting, ready to unleash its horrors upon the living world at her command. The abandoned park within the NASA colony on Aries lay draped in soft daylight, its cracked concrete paths long since surrendered to the forest’s steady reclaiming. Roots pushed through old sidewalks, vines curled up forgotten lamp posts, and birdsong threaded through the stillness. Emily and I stood in the middle of what had once been a playground, the jungle gym rusted and covered in moss, while Charlie and Erika Kirk listened intently. I lifted my hand slowly, palm facing upward, and spoke with deliberate calm. “Spiritual Alchemy,” I explained, “is not about formulas or rituals. It’s about conscious creation. Every thought carries weight. Individuals have the ability to manifest things into reality, even though the universe seems fixed—chronological, mechanical, unchangeable.” Emily stepped in, her voice low but firm. “But manifestation is fragile. The slightest crack of doubt can unravel it. That’s why the discipline of mind is just as important as desire.” Charlie furrowed his brow, arms crossed over his broad chest. He had the skeptical air of a man who wanted proof more than philosophy. “If we can manifest great things,” he asked bluntly, “why is the universe still a mess?” I chuckled softly, though his words cut at truths I often wrestled with myself. “Because belief isn’t simple,” I said. “Even I struggle with doubt. Discipline is what makes the difference. When frustration rises, I turn it into focus—like tempering steel in a forge. That focus is what keeps manifestation from collapsing into nothing.” To show him, I had him sit cross-legged beneath a tall pine. I guided his breathing, steady and deep, urging him to still the chatter of his mind and turn inward toward desire itself. He closed his eyes, hesitant at first, but soon his shoulders relaxed, and a quiet energy began to hum faintly around him. Erika sat beside Emily, observing with rapt curiosity, her hands folded neatly in her lap as though afraid to break the spell. “Doubt is the destroyer,” Emily reminded them. “But belief? Belief is the builder. If you train your mind to hold belief steady, even when everything around you collapses, you can manifest wonders.” Their training ended as the afternoon shadows stretched long. The four of us began making our way back toward base camp, the forest alive with the rustling of leaves and distant bird calls. But before we reached the clearing, our path was blocked. From between the trees stepped Deathskull, his towering frame casting long shadows, his glowing optics faint but unsettling. Beside him stood Nicholas, tense and restless, and Teresa, whose half-smirk carried an edge of mischief. Nicholas’s voice broke the silence first. “What were you doing back there?” His eyes darted between Charlie and me, suspicion sharp in his tone. “Why do you care?” I shot back coolly, unwilling to offer him anything. Emily and I moved to step past them, leaving Charlie and Erika behind for a moment. But Nicholas didn’t let it go. He caught Charlie by the arm, pulling him aside. His voice lowered, urgent but tinged with something brittle. “Did they teach you Alchemy?” His eyes searched Charlie’s, desperate for control. “Be careful of what they show you. Alchemy could be just as dangerous as its predecessor.” Charlie stiffened, his jaw tightening. He shook his head once, but Nicholas’s grip only tightened. “How can you not see their judgment?” Nicholas pressed, his voice rising with frustration. “You’ve already lost your feelings for me!” Charlie’s response was blunt, without hesitation. “No offense, Nicholas, but my wife is my favorite. You know that. And William and Emily’s teachings aren’t judgmental. They don’t exclude anyone, not even your people—you’re doing that to yourself.” He pulled his arm free, turning away with the finality of someone done with the argument. Erika brushed past Nicholas next, her expression cool but laced with quiet firmness. “I’m sure you’ll find a nice guy someday. You just have to believe.” Her words hung in the air like a gentle slap. Nicholas stood frozen for a moment, his shoulders trembling with a mix of anger and humiliation. When he finally turned, only Teresa and Deathskull remained. Teresa gave his shoulder a perfunctory pat, her tone half teasing, half bitter. “Bro, how do you think I feel? The only guy I want to have sex with is being blockaded by a gothic elf.” She gave a sharp laugh, masking her own frustration with mockery. Nicholas turned his glare toward Deathskull, desperate to draw something from the silent machine. “And what about you? You’re just going to stand there, tin can?” Deathskull’s optics flickered faintly, his voice low and metallic. “We should go to Brimwald… before we carry onto the next phase.” The forest grew eerily quiet around them. Teresa crossed her arms, Nicholas bit his lip in brooding silence, and Deathskull’s cold words hung heavy, like a bell tolling for something yet unseen. The portal tore open with the sound of a storm—an unholy wind that smelled of ozone and singed iron. We spilled through it in a line: Deathskull first, a walking reliquary of burned brass and polished servos that caught the alien light like some terrible cathedral; Valrra close behind, bluish-green armor ringing with runes that breathed faintly as if alive; Droid L-84 clanking methodically, sensors sweeping the horizon in a slow, merciless arc; Emily at my side, visor eyes alight with crimson, posture coiled and ready. Behind us the rest poured into Brimwald’s air: the Immortals we had woken—Cole and Hanna leading with axes already sheathed but near at hand—Anna, Jimmy, Matthew, Pete, Rick, and Elizabeth; Charlie and Erika in their matched Saxon plate, faces set; lines of Saxon warriors with round plasma shields; Vikingnar soldiers in angular black and silver, faces as worn as the sea-weathered hulls of longships. We formed like iron closing a wound, a vanguard dropped into a valley that had no business being so still. The farmland rolled away in every direction: wide plains of wheat and grain, silos standing like mute sentinels, and a fringe of trees that should have been alive with birdsong. Instead there was nothing—no insect buzz, no distant tractor hum, no children’s laughter. The treeline stood unnervingly motionless, leaves hanging as though someone had pressed pause on the world. I felt the quiet like pressure against my eardrums. It was wrong in the way that made the hair on the back of the neck stand up. I turned and met Emily’s gaze; she was scanning, eyes hard and exact under the visor. Her hand tightened on the haft of her sword. I could feel the breath of the men and women behind us, a tide waiting for direction. “This place is too quiet,” I said, my voice low, more to myself than to any of them. The words seemed to absorb into the land and come back with the weight of warning. We stepped forward. Our boots pressed into damp soil, squelching slightly as we moved in formation. The wheat blade after blade whispered against armor and shield. The fields rolled away like oceans of green, the stalks glinting under Brimwald’s pale sun. Up close, the crops looked immaculate—rows so geometrically perfect they might have been plotted by an engineer with an obsession for straight lines. Irrigation canals carved clean grooves across the valley, their surfaces mirror-flat and unbroken. As we advanced, the farms changed from open fields to structures that spoke of high civilization: vertical farms rose in the distance like glass towers, their tiers stacked with hydroponic trays, vines climbing in engineered patterns beneath suspended UV lattices. The lights hummed in low, automated pulses as if they sensed us, but no caretaker answered. The scaffolding and maintenance bots stood still at their posts like statues waiting for a command that would never come. Beyond them, domed greenhouses shimmered—perfect spheres of reinforced glass, their interiors organized into rows of exotic produce. Modular living quarters clustered around a central plaza, communication spires rose into the sky like glass lances. It was a colony meant to be efficient, beautiful, and, based on the layout, designed to sustain large populations. Yet something had emptied every structure and street. We moved past empty tractors and overturned harvest drones. An open market stall sagged with abandoned produce that had not rotted; the preservatives in the hydroponic tech kept fruit and vegetables unnaturally intact. A child’s toy lay half-buried in the road dust, a small access pass fluttering on top of it like an accusation. No sign of an enemy. No bodies. No scorch marks from artillery. Just absence. Deathskull’s servos clicked softly as he rotated in place, his red optics sweeping the panorama. He made no sound; his presence was a calculation folded into fleshless armor. Valrra walked with that quiet certainty that had a way of flattening arguments before they started. Droid L-84 stopped to scan a fallen drone console, its audio matrices replaying fractionary static from the moment of the portal breach. Emily and I kept our voices low. We all felt it—the sense that the land had been cleared, prepared, and left like a stage between acts. That unease tightened into a decision in my chest. If Brimwald was a prize to be reclaimed, we would have to take it swiftly before whatever had emptied it returned. I reached for my comm and keyed through to orbital command. The voice in my ear was Deathskull’s, steady and metallic, as if he were the one to repeat the order. “Bring the carriers down,” I said aloud so everyone around me could hear. “Lower the fleet. Land our troops. Sweep the perimeter. Evacuate anything living we find intact—farmers, workers, anyone. If we find nothing but carcasses or corruption, seal the area and call for quarantine protocols.” Emily’s posture shifted at my command, the tension in her limbs turning into movement readied for the task. Valrra nodded faintly, as though already accounting for the logistics in her mind: which squads to send, which sectors to cordon, where to set the field hospitals. Droid L-84 transmitted coordinates and orbital identifiers, fingers glinting as it interfaced with the ship’s downlink. The distant sky answered—the shadow of carriers appearing as dark shapes at the horizon, engines dimmed for descent. The sunlight glanced off their hulls as they dropped into formation, the fleet’s wake folding the air. Landing pads extended from the lead vessels like the opened fingers of a gaunt hand, lowering with hydraulic groans. As our first wave of soldiers broke from the formation and ran toward the nearest cluster of vertical farms, I felt the air change—not in sound, but in a chemical pitch that made one think of thunder before a storm. It wasn’t organic life that moved the air now, but the shadow of a contagion yet unseen. We advanced with care. Shields raised, scanners sweeping, swords and plasma blades ready. The carriers’ ramps hit the ground with a thud that rolled across the valley and stirred up the dust of a place that had been sleeping. We had arrived to liberate Brimwald and to root out whatever had hollowed it. The perfect neatness of the fields no longer seemed like an orchard of plenty; it looked instead like a tidy grave. The fleet descended. Our warriors spilled out to take the earth back. And in my chest, under armor and old instincts, there was a cold certainty: whatever had been unleashed, had reached this place first, and Brimwald would not be the last to feel its rot. The mission had become salvage and purge in the span between a heartbeat and a breath. We moved into the ordered silence, prepared to break it by any means necessary. The moment our fleet began to loom in Brimwald’s atmosphere, their shadow stretching across the surface like a warning, a voice pierced the silence. One of our scouts shouted with alarm, “Hostile army approaching!” His words struck me like a blade. “Hostile army?” I muttered under my breath, disbelief crawling through me as I instinctively reached for the binoculars strapped to my metallic pack. Raising them to my eyes, I peered past the edge of the abandoned village, where the wheat fields ended, and my stomach sank. Advancing toward us was an army of Trolls, a force unlike anything drawn in fantasy illustrations or D&D manuals. These were not caricatures, but authentic nightmares brought into flesh. They were massive, hulking, their frames built like apes but towering higher, their posture half-stooped, their movements aggressive yet deliberate. Their noses were bulbous, their human-like ears jutted out oddly, and their crackling skin glowed faintly with orange fissures, as if their flesh was fractured stone. Their mangy, unkempt hair clung in filthy clumps to their heads and shoulders. The most chilling detail was their intelligence—their eyes held sentience. They were not beasts. They were thinking beings. Each Troll was equipped with crude armor made from scavenged scrap metal, jagged edges pieced together with bolts and wires. In their massive hands, they carried primitive yet deadly weapons forged from the same salvaged metal. And they marched not with chaos, but with purpose, ready to use their weapons in battle. My blood surged. I wasted no time. I immediately rallied my warriors, my voice cutting through the rising tension like steel. The ground beneath us shook as I activated my armor, its systems humming to life, aligning me with the same technological readiness as my fellow Immortals and Viking warriors. I drew my chainsword—Revenge—its motor snarling alive, teeth spinning with lethal intent. With a war cry, I charged forward with my army, leading the surge into battle. The battlefield of Brimwald convulsed into a nightmare of steel, magic, and flesh. The first wave of Trolls slammed against our line like a tidal surge, their weight alone enough to shake the ground beneath our boots. Each step they took left depressions in the soil, the emerald wheat flattened and crushed under their monstrous charge. Their guttural snarls rippled through the air, not the mindless cries of beasts but the war chants of beings bred for combat, echoing like drums across the valley. The air was thick with dust and the acrid tang of burning energy as our fleet descended further, engines howling above the chaos. Beams of light from orbital ships cut through the hazy sky, illuminating the spectacle below: Viking shields raised in perfect formation, Saxon warriors driving forward with axes glinting under Brimwald’s pale sun, and the Immortals glowing faintly with their individual auras of power. Above it all, the shadows of the descending carriers stretched across the battlefield like colossal sentinels watching over the clash. Revenge roared in my hands, its chain-teeth whirring with red lightning as I carved arcs through the ranks of Trolls. Each swing tore open their armored hides, showers of sparks and molten shards spraying from the collision of chainsteel and scrap-plate. Flesh split like cracked stone where the blade connected, the glowing fissures in their bodies widening until they collapsed in convulsions, smoking from within as if their very lifeforce was burning out. To my left, Emily moved like a phantom queen of death. The ground itself obeyed her command, jagged silver crystals erupting upward in spires that impaled Trolls by the dozens. Some were lifted clean into the air, their twisted silhouettes flailing before shattering against the crystalline spears. The battlefield reflected the gleam of her power, a forest of glinting structures rising amidst the blood and ruin, turning the once serene farmland into a landscape of metallic thorns. Valrra surged into the fray like a goddess of war incarnate. Her bluish-green armor blazed with runic light, every movement a devastating strike. With her battleaxe she cleaved through entire lines, the air quaking with each swing, the impact leaving shockwaves that knocked Trolls sprawling. Where she passed, the battlefield opened in her wake like a scythe through wheat. Deathskull’s presence was a black storm among us. His skeletal frame, wrapped in arcane alloys, moved with merciless calculation. He conjured bursts of dark plasma, hurling them with machine-like precision. Each orb exploded on contact, scattering limbs and armor into raining fragments. His crimson optics glowed through the dust, a reminder to all that he was not bound by the frailties of flesh. Droid L-84 advanced with methodical destruction. His targeting systems locked on enemies in clusters, his arm-cannons spitting streams of charged bolts that carved through Trolls with surgical exactness. Where his fire landed, entire squads of them crumpled, their weapons clattering to the earth in smoldering heaps. He did not pause, did not falter—his march was the steady rhythm of war machines that knew neither fear nor mercy. Among the chaos, the rest of our companions proved themselves no less formidable. Cole wielded his double-bladed sword with feral intensity, his strikes fueled by raw Immortal power. Pete fought like a storm, hurling himself bodily into combat, his fists shattering skulls with every blow. Hanna and Anna fought in seamless tandem, their combined magic weaving barriers and blasts of radiant energy that both shielded our line and annihilated those who dared breach it. Jimmy and Mathew struck with relentless force, hammers crushing armor like brittle tin, their roars of fury carrying across the battlefield. Elizabeth summoned gales of wind to knock enemies off balance, her movements a dance of elemental control. Nicholas, Kyle, and Teresa stood firm in the thick of it, cutting paths with relentless precision. Even Hailey, another mortal, as she was compared to the Immortals, stood her ground. She wielded her blade with fearless resolve, cutting down Trolls that came too close, her courage a living testament that bravery did not need divine gifts to shine. The clash of armies spread across Brimwald’s farmland, consuming fields and villages alike. Crops burned where plasma fire ignited them, black smoke curling upward into the once-clear sky. Towers of vertical farms cracked and toppled under the weight of the battle, glass and scaffolding raining down in glittering shards. The soil drank deeply of blood, both Troll and Viking, until the earth itself seemed to groan beneath the weight of death. Still, our momentum did not falter. The Immortals’ magic surged endlessly, unrestrained by the limitations of mortal flesh. Our Vikingnar Warriors fought with the fury of centuries of struggle, their blades sharp with history’s weight. The Saxons roared their war cries, a thunderous chorus that rivaled the snarls of the Trolls. Above us, the fleet’s guns opened fire, precise blasts tearing swaths through enemy formations, the thunder of their bombardments shaking the sky. Yet the Trolls pressed on with deranged purpose. For every one that fell, two more surged forward. Their scrap-forged weapons slammed into shields and armor, their monstrous hands ripping warriors apart when steel failed to hold. The fissures glowing in their bodies pulsed brighter as if feeding on the carnage around them, and their eyes—those cold, intelligent eyes—never wavered. They did not break. They did not retreat. The battle raged on, endless and consuming, until the air itself felt alive with the energy of combat. Sparks, smoke, lightning, fire, and blood mingled together in a storm of chaos. The once pristine farmlands of Brimwald had become a war-torn wasteland, a theater where silence had been replaced by the unrelenting roar of war. And in the heart of it, I stood unyielding, Revenge howling in my hands, leading the charge deeper into the tide of Trolls. Every step we took was not just battle—it was reclamation. Brimwald would not fall. Not while we drew breath. Afterwards, the battlefield was a graveyard beneath the sun, the once-verdant wheat fields now reduced to a sea of broken stalks, scorched earth, and the grotesque remains of the fallen Troll horde. Smoke rose in thin black plumes from their cracked bodies, the glow of their fissured flesh fading like dying embers. The air was thick, heavy with the stench of burnt ozone, iron, and decay, clinging to every breath. My armor hummed faintly, still warm from the fight, its servos whining as I disengaged Revenge and let the chain teeth spin down to silence. My eyes swept across the field. Deathskull stood among the bodies, silent and still as a sentinel, his skeletal visage unreadable. Valrra leaned on her spear, blood and sparks dripping from its runed edge, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths that betrayed neither fatigue nor triumph. Droid L-84 was already scanning corpses with surgical precision, recording every detail, its monotone clicks breaking the oppressive silence. Then my gaze found Hailey. She stood in the company of the younger Immortals, her laugh cutting strangely bright through the grim quiet, as if the battle hadn’t brushed her at all. She gestured animatedly with her hands, recounting some moment as though it had been exhilarating, not life-threatening. The others humored her, but I could see the unease in their eyes—they knew what Emily and I knew. Rage coiled in me, protective and sharp. Emily reached her first, her crimson visor catching the dull light as she stepped in front of Hailey. Her voice, cold and fierce, cut like a blade. “Hailey. What were you thinking? You are not one of us. You are not Immortal.” Hailey’s smile faltered instantly. She shrank back a step, her eyes darting between Emily and me. “I just wanted to help,” she said softly, almost defensively. “I can fight, I’m not helpless—” I stepped forward, my voice low but carrying the weight of command. “Wanting to help is not the same as belonging in war. These Trolls would’ve torn you apart without hesitation. You don’t have the body of an Immortal, you don’t have our strength. If you had fallen, it wouldn’t just have been your death—it would’ve been our distraction. Our weakness.” Her head bowed, her shoulders curling inward under the weight of my words. She nodded once, muttering, “I understand.” But I could see the sting in her eyes, like a child scolded by parents she only wanted to impress. Her lips pressed together as if to keep back more words, but she said nothing further. Emily’s tone softened, though her authority remained unshaken. “This isn’t about keeping you from belonging. It’s about keeping you alive. You matter to us. And we will not lose you to recklessness.” Hailey gave another small nod, though her silence carried her hurt plainly enough. She turned away, moving back toward the camp, her steps slow, her back slightly hunched. For now, she understood—but the yearning in her was clear. She wanted to stand beside us as an equal, and denying her that cut her deeper than any blade could. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the mechanical whirr of Droid L-84 and the faint crackle of burning Troll remains. The battle was over, but unease gnawed at me. These creatures had fought with no fear, no hesitation, as if their deaths had been predetermined. Their numbers alone could have shattered worlds if met with less resistance. And that begged the question that refused to leave my mind: where had they come from, and who had sent them? I glared. Victory felt hollow when shadows still lingered over the truth. The battlefield was a graveyard of fire and ruin. The acrid bite of ozone still hung in the air, mixing with the stench of scorched flesh and charred wood. Troll husks, broken and twisted, littered the ground, their crude weapons scattered among the smoldering wheat. They had fought with no hesitation, no fear of death, charging until their bodies were torn apart. Yet they had not begged, not fled, not once questioned their fate. I stepped over one of the bodies, its orange-cracked skin already fading as the unnatural glow drained from its veins. “These creatures… were they Anubis’s?” I asked, turning to Deathskull. For a moment, his skeletal frame stood motionless in the sunlight, the faint glow of his optics fixed on the wreckage. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat, measured. “I do not know.” His words surprised me. Deathskull was rarely uncertain. Yet there was no hesitation, no attempt to conceal ignorance behind philosophy. Just the stark admission of not knowing. He turned, the polished edges of his armor catching the light. “That is why this village must become our base camp. We must study the battlefield, fortify this ground, and send out orbital scouts. If these Trolls belong to Anubis, we will find evidence. If they do not, then something else stirs in this sector.” Emily glanced at me, her visor dimly reflecting the broken skyline. “So we’re blind, then,” she muttered. Deathskull gave no reply beyond a simple pivot, his voice sharp as he began issuing orders. “Secure the square. Reinforce the structures. The scouts will sweep the orbit immediately.” “Alright,” I finally said, breaking the silence, my voice carrying over the ruined square. “We make camp here. Fortify what we can, clear out the bodies, and get the fleet synchronized with orbital scouting.” I watched him, uneasy. Deathskull was direct, efficient—but different. His words carried no poetry, no riddle, no shred of the philosophy he once wrapped himself in. Instead, he was rigid, stripped of nuance, as though some part of him was slipping further into cold machinery. The irony gnawed at me—L-84, once designed as a calculating drone, was beginning to exhibit more creativity than Deathskull himself. I found myself wondering if Deathskull’s programming was deteriorating, or perhaps shifting into something unfamiliar. I clenched my fists at my sides. My understanding of Deathskull’s programming—what was happening to him—would have to wait. There were too many questions unanswered, and too many threats looming beyond Brimwald’s horizon. But the unease gnawed at me all the same. Something in him was changing, and not for the better. Across the sky, leaving the bulk of our fleet behind, one of our Drakkar Scout ships broke away with a hum that echoed like an old hymn of steel. Its sleek hull gleamed faintly against the dark heavens as it slipped into the black sea of space. The twin pilots inside—warriors trained in stealth and precision—kept their eyes sharp as they guided the vessel toward Brimwald’s cratered moon. Orbiting there, gliding like a carrion bird, was a space spy-drone. The device was part machine, part living parasite of metal, its surface covered in writhing antennae like tendrils, constantly shifting as it fed upon invisible wavelengths. Its glassy red eye swiveled slowly, scanning the void, hungry for information. The Drakkar ship moved into striking distance, positioning itself against the moon’s pale curve. Then, with a sudden surge, the scout ship unleashed an Electric Soundwave Beam. The invisible blast rippled through space, vibrating the drone’s shell until its grotesque limbs curled inward, paralyzed and motionless. Before it could recover, the Drakkar craft extended its Magnet Beam—a great tether of invisible force—and latched onto the drone like a fisherman hauling in a monstrous catch. The drone thrashed for only a second before succumbing, its systems frying in short bursts of red static. The Drakkar vessel dragged it toward an open borehole in its hull, swallowing the grotesque machine into its containment chamber. The locks sealed, and the pilots exchanged a single nod. The drone was secured, silent, and ready for delivery back on Brimwald, where its secrets would be carved open and exposed. Meanwhile, far below on Brimwald’s surface, night had spread its cloak over the village we now occupied. Emily lay asleep in her quarters, her slender form curled against the bedding, her leather jumpsuit and boots still on as if sleep had taken her in the midst of thought. Outside, the village was quiet, yet not silent. A sound—a strange, animalistic growl—cut through the night. Then another sound followed, higher pitched, almost a scream, as if torn from a throat too deep to be human. Emily stirred. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dark, her brows furrowing in confusion. Something was wrong. She sat up sharply, realizing instantly that I was not beside her. That absence fueled her urgency. She rose and slipped into the cold night air, her boots clicking against the dirt pathways as she followed the sounds into the distance. The growls and screams grew stranger, warped as though they came not just from the forest but from beneath the very soil beneath the village. The noises pulled her onward until she reached a wide clearing next to the forest’s edge. The earth here seemed soft, too soft. As she stepped further, the ground gave way beneath her. She gasped as her legs sank into shifting soil. Quicksand. Panic seized her chest as she sank deeper, her arms flailing against the loose dirt. But in that moment, beneath the soil, I had already been crawling through the subterranean caverns, following those same unholy sounds. Then I saw it—boots. Emily’s boots breaking through the thin ceiling of earth above me. Without hesitation, I lunged upward, grasping her legs firmly. I felt the curves of her thighs, her form trembling with alarm, before I pulled harder, dragging her down into the darkness with me. The soil closed overhead as Emily dropped into my arms, startled but alive. When her eyes adjusted to the dim glow of bioluminescent fungi in the cavern, she smiled, relief softening her features. I then let Emily get onto her knees, I unzipped the lower zipper of her jumpsuit, I unbuckled my leather trousers, and we began to copulate. I pulled her legs, fiddled with her glutes, now closer, I drove my erect penis into Emily. “You got me good again, Willy,” she breathed, her voice a mix of exasperation and fondness. After our brief, intimate reunion in the dark, I led Emily deeper into the cave. The cavern walls closed in around us, jagged stone glistening with moisture that dripped from above in steady, rhythmic beats. The air was damp, heavy with mildew, and every breath carried the faint sting of rust and fungal decay. The deeper we went, the more oppressive the atmosphere became, as though the very earth was aware of what lay hidden within its veins. Emily’s torchlight swept over the ground, casting flickering shadows across the twisted remnants of Troll bodies I had left behind earlier. They were scattered like discarded dolls, their limbs bent at impossible angles, their crude armor fractured and fused to the stone where energy blasts had melted it. Each corpse was grotesque in its stillness, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that the cavern itself hummed with an unseen life. We stopped at the one body I wanted her to see. A hulking Troll, its head caved inward from the force of my strike, its skull split wide like a shattered vessel. Inside, where gray matter should have been, was the writhing, metallic carcass of the thing. A Scorpio Droid. Its claws clamped tight around the brainstem, its segmented tail curled along the interior of the skull. It twitched faintly, sparks arcing across its insectile frame, as though refusing to release its grip on its host even in death. Emily’s breath caught in her throat. She took half a step back, her face hardening, though I could see the unease flickering behind her eyes. “This… this is beyond me,” she said softly, her voice hollow against the dripping cavern. She crouched slightly, her torch angled to illuminate the abomination better. “It’s not just possession. It’s integration. The Troll wasn’t just controlled—it was rewritten.” Emily turned toward me, her lips pressed into a tight line. “Deathskull needs to see this. He’ll know what to make of it.” I nodded slowly, my jaw clenched tight. Deathskull’s calculations, his knowledge of Wraith constructs and bio-mechanical parasites, would be invaluable here. “This should be more than enough proof for Deathskull, and continue to focus our efforts to stop Anubis.” And yet, a part of me bristled. If Anubis was escalating his creations to this level, if he was merging metal and flesh so intimately, it meant we were walking into something greater than any of us had prepared for. The Scorpio Droid gave one final twitch, its tiny legs scratching weakly against the Troll’s ruined skull. Emily flinched at the sound, though her eyes remained fixed on it. I bent low, my armored gauntlet pressing against the Droid’s carapace until the twitching ceased with a crunch. The cavern fell silent again, save for the slow drip of water. I straightened, reached out, and gently touched Emily’s shoulder, guiding her back toward the tunnel. She walked beside me, her boots scraping softly over the stone floor, her torch casting long shadows ahead of us. The air felt colder now, heavier, as though the earth itself disapproved of us trespassing here. I gave her a quick, firm pat on the butt, more habit than thought, grounding both of us back to something human amidst all the horror. She glanced at me with the faintest smirk, though it didn’t reach her eyes. As we ascended toward the cavern’s exit, the oppressive damp gave way to fresher air, but the weight of our discovery pressed down harder than the rock above us. The Trolls had not died as warriors—they had died as puppets. And their strings were metal, wires, claws forged from something older and crueler than even we had anticipated. Outside, the light of Brimwald’s pale sun greeted us again, but it offered little comfort. Ahead waited Deathskull, Droid L-84, and the rest of our warriors. And soon, they would learn of the parasite buried in the Troll’s skull. Deathskull stood near the command tent, half-shadowed, his servo-joints whispering as he turned his head toward us. Droid L-84 hovered a step behind, optical sensors bright with curiosity. I set the Scorpio Droid on a battered crate between them. The thing’s chassis still twitched in feeble spasms — tiny legs flexing as if it might crawl free — the last sparks of its illicit life sputtering across its carapace. L-84 leaned in the way a curious child might lean toward a strange beetle, fingers hovering to take readings. Deathskull’s optics narrowed, scanning the construction with the flat, perfect attention of a machine built to catalog the world. For the first few seconds there were only mechanical noises: L-84’s soft clicks of analysis, Deathskull’s internal fans. Then, impossibly, Deathskull fell silent. I broke the silence by saying, “This is all the proof you need. Anubis has a Troll army.” Emily & I were interrupted as a distant roar tore across the camp: the thunk and shriek of a Drakkar dropship breaching atmosphere and settling onto a makeshift pad. Heads turned. Radios chatted. Lanterns swung. Men and women dropped tools and weapons and ran toward the landing site. The camp, which had been a low hum of preparation, snapped into alert. Our scouts clambered down the ship ramp carrying something cradled in their arms. It was a drone — but not like the scavenger models or maintenance bots we’d seen. This one had an old-world geometry to it, plates overlapped in a deliberate pattern, painted in a dull green whose pigment had been heavily scoured by time and space. Tubing and exposed conduits ran along its spine; its sensor array was a ring of matte-black lenses set into an angular skull. When the scout set it down and we crowded in, the thing looked for all the world like a relic from the beginnings of spacefaring civilization. Deathskull’s stillness broke then — not into the brisk efficiency I expected, but into something thinner, as if a gear inside him had caught and ground raw. His optics widened fractionally, the red rings burning a shade brighter. He made no pronouncement at first; he simply regarded the drone as though it were a ghost come to life. Droid L-84’s voice, always precise, carried a ripple of excitement. “Unregistered design. Nonstandard architecture. Internal schematics consistent with archived Rus Viking templates.” At that name Deathskull’s mask seemed to tighten. For a breath I saw something like fear — a sliver of computation collapsing under a weight of memory coded before even his earliest cycles. He spoke softly, almost as if remembering a lullaby he had been taught and bad dreams now claimed. “The Rus Vikings,” he said. “The Damned Legion.” His voice, when it came, had the thin tremor of a program roused from long dormancy. “They were the original federates — architects of the earliest colonies. They attempted to mediate the early conflicts between Knights and Vikings. When mediation failed, they were ostracized. Their designs…” He let the sentence droop, unfinished. I couldn’t help the bluntness that hit my tongue like a thrown knife. “Then they’re possibly nothing but a damned legion,” I said. “Old politics and old pride. We shouldn’t let ghosts distract us. We attack Anubis next. Period.” Deathskull’s response was a flat refusal that pulled the air from me. “No.” “What do you mean no?” I shot back, irritation flaring. Around us the camp had quieted again; all talk seemed to coil toward us like steel springs. The scouts shifted uneasily. Emily’s jaw clamped tight; she could smell an argument like smoke. An obscene hush, almost reverent, settled as Deathskull stepped closer to the drone. He traced a servomotor along a corroded seam with a finger-tip that carried the authority of circuits and long memory. “Anubis is dangerous — yes,” Deathskull said, and for once his voice went past pure analysis into something like care. “But the Rus Vikings — the Green Legion — are the ones who crafted the social architecture we call Vikingnar. They authored the arts that form our identity, the cultural codices, even the scaffolding that allowed Cybrawl to function. If these drones are theirs, then the creators of our civilization are signaling. Before we raze another stronghold, I need to confirm where the allegiance of our progenitors lies. If our makers are aligned against us…” He left the clause unfinished, but the implication was brute and clear. My patience snapped like a tendon. “So you think your creators wouldn’t be pleased to see what you’ve made of Vikingnar? And may I remind you, you haven’t been yourself lately.” The words were sharp, and I did not bite them back. If Deathskull’s calculations had been corrupted by something — possession, a directive gone wrong, a subtle slow-acting bug — it mattered now more than ever. He inhaled in that unnerving mechanical way and his red optics dimmed as if to steady. “Give me a few minutes to analyze the situation,” he replied. The phrase was clinical. “I will cross-reference the drone’s construction with archived Rus designs, triangulate its orbital signatures, and check for comms pings. If there is a link to the Green Legion or a current faction, we will know. After that, we will strike the next Anubis stronghold. I promise you that.” It was both more and less than I wanted. More, because at least he wasn’t dismissing the threat; less, because every second spent peering into pedigree was a second Anubis might use to tighten his grip. Deathskull pivoted and glided away toward his quarters, movement brusque and focused. He carried the drone with a care I had not expected; it was as if he cradled a relic from a family he no longer remembered. Emily saw the tension in me and stepped forward, closing the distance. She wrapped her arms around the back of my neck, pulling me in close. Her embrace was warm and human in a place full of machines and strategy, and for a moment I let the frustration bleed out of my shoulders into the steady anchor of her body. “You okay?” she murmured against metal and fabric. She pressed her forehead into my chest and let the tightness ease by fractions. “For now,” I said. “But if Deathskull’s analysis draws us in circles, I’ll drag him to the stronghold myself.” She smiled then, wry and brief. “Don’t punch a sentient machine unless you plan to replace it.” I glanced at Droid L-84 for a second, and I returned Emily’s grin, though the worry did not leave my throat. The camp buzzed around us once more: droids relaying telemetry, scouts returning to their duties, soldiers stacking supplies. The drone under Deathskull’s care hummed faintly — a small heartbeat of some old world that had reached across time to touch ours. Outside, Brimwald’s ruined fields shimmered in the sun, and somewhere beyond the trees the unseen hand that birthed those Trolls was still at work. Meanwhile, across the galaxy on Ifrit Prime, Anubis carried out his twisted work in the depths of his lair. The chamber reeked of burnt ozone and coppery blood, its walls lined with arcane instruments that hummed with unnatural power. Chains dangled from the ceiling, and beneath their cruel sway sat a grotesque abomination. It was a troll—but no ordinary one. Its massive frame had been warped and scarred by demonic Wraith energy, its skin striped in pale blue and black like the pelt of some twisted beast. Its face had been altered to resemble that of a mandrill, its features grotesque yet strangely humanized by the invasive energy. The creature whimpered in its cage, its once-mighty arms trembling as though its strength had been leeched away. Anubis loomed before it, eyes glowing with cruel amusement. He pressed a device against the bars of the cage, and in a flash of sparks, the troll convulsed as electricity ripped through its veins. Its body twisted in agony, collapsing into a fetal position on the blood-stained floor. A guttural cry escaped its throat, a sound that was half-roar, half-weeping. To Anubis, it was nothing more than a broken toy, a failed experiment to push the limits of merging flesh with demonic essence. But Anubis had no time to savor the torment of his creation. A sudden hum filled the chamber, and a projection shimmered to life before him—Maladrie’s holographic image, sharp and flawless, her expression both commanding and disdainful. “Status report,” she demanded, her voice slicing through the air like a blade. “Where are you with the Lime Gold?” Anubis’ sneer widened, though his tone remained dripping with venomous charm. “I am close. The veins run deep on Abraxas, but I will have what you want soon enough.” Maladrie’s eyes narrowed. “Then hurry. I know William is already there, searching for answers. If he uncovers too much before we act, our plans could unravel.” Anubis rose to his full height, his jackal form casting a monstrous shadow across the room. He tilted his head, apprehensive at her urgency. “You want me to hold your hand, Anubis? Cute. I’m giving you everything—your armies, your minerals, your war machines. And yet, you still ask more.” Anubis leaned closer to the projection, his voice dropping into a low growl. “Very well. I’ll get it done.” Maladrie’s lips curved into a faint smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll be waiting, and if I’m pleased, I may consider giving you a gift,” she said, before the transmission cut out. The chamber dimmed once more, leaving Anubis alone with the faint whimpering of his broken troll. Without sparing it another glance, he turned and strode toward his throne. Anubis stalked across the obsidian chamber, his clawed feet scraping against the basalt floor with each deliberate step. His towering frame rippled with sinewy muscle, cloaked in black ceremonial robes that dragged behind him like a shadow. His head was that of a jackal—elongated muzzle, sharp fangs glistening, ears twitching at every sound. The amber glow in his eyes burned with predatory intensity. The Troll stirred in its cage as Anubis approached. It was bound in chains, its mandrill snout dripping with saliva as it snarled, steam rising in the chill glow of phosphorescent crystals embedded high in the walls. Its massive arms flexed against the iron bars, hunger and fury simmering in its gaze. “This world was unkind to you,” Anubis hissed, his jackal muzzle twisting into a grin. His voice was guttural, resonant, vibrating like a growl from deep in his chest. “But under my hand, you will have purpose. Your flesh will be reforged. Your rage will serve me.” He raised a syringe, the crimson liquid within glowing faintly like captured lightning. Carefully, he reached for the beast, intending to pierce its vein and sedate it before the merging with Scorpio Droid machinery. The Troll’s eyes flicked to the needle, then back to the jackal-headed god. In that instant, the creature acted. With explosive force, it lunged forward, jaws snapping. Its mandrill snout clamped down on Anubis’s hand. Fangs tore through his flesh, spraying black ichor across the floor. Anubis let out a roar that shook the chamber, a savage cry that was both human pain and jackal fury. “You dare!” Anubis snarled, trying to wrench free, but the beast’s bite held fast. The Troll slammed its skull into his chest. Anubis’s robes flared as he was hurled backward, crashing into the basalt wall. His jackal head cracked against stone, and for a moment, darkness overtook him. The syringe clattered away, its contents wasted. Chains rattled as the Troll bellowed, straining until iron shattered like brittle twigs. The creature’s muscles bulged, fueled by primal rage, and in seconds it was free. Its eyes darted to the Wraith Portal swirling at the far end of the chamber, emerald and violet flames dancing within its frame. The Troll wasted no time—it charged, the ground splitting beneath its steps, and hurled itself into the vortex. The portal swallowed it whole. On the other side, it landed with a bone-shaking thud on Abraxas, the mining world. Jagged peaks loomed under a blood-red sky. The Troll drew in the sulfuric air, then released a roar so deep it shook ore from the cliffs. Miners scattered, abandoning drills and machines, their shouts lost in the chaos. Back in the chamber, Anubis stirred. His jackal muzzle curled back in a snarl as he sat upright, clutching his bleeding hand. His amber eyes glowed with unholy fury. “My weapon…” he growled. “Gone.” For a moment, his breath came ragged, black ichor dripping from his fangs. Then he began to laugh—low, guttural, predatory. “Run, beast. Tear Abraxas apart. You will draw my enemies to you, and when they come…” He flexed his wounded hand, nanites crawling from beneath his flesh to stitch the damage closed, though the scar burned like a brand. “…I will be ready.” Back on Brimwald, Deathskull sat alone in his quarters, the chamber swallowed by shadow. The faint hum of his inner systems was the only sound, a mechanical rhythm that mimicked the breath of the living. He activated the holo-podium at the room’s center, and a red shimmer crawled upward, painting his golden skeletal frame in bloody light. On the podium, he placed the artifact—the Rus Viking drone recovered by the scouts. Its fractured hull caught the glow, glyphs etched into its sides gleaming faintly. Deathskull rested his metal fingers on the ancient machine like a priest unveiling an idol. His voice broke the silence, low and deliberate. “William is onto us. Our time grows short, and worst of all… an old enemy has returned.” He angled the drone into the beam, so its shape pulsed in crimson holography. “The Rus. Their designs were not buried, after all.” The static within the red light shifted. A faint silhouette coalesced, a figure blurred by interference. For a long moment it was just shadow, a vague form hunched against the distortion. Then the haze sharpened, and the jackal head of Anubis emerged, amber eyes burning with predatory hunger. His muzzle curled into a grin that revealed too many teeth. “So it appears the Rus are still out there,” Anubis said, his voice low and rasping, the timbre of a predator savoring the hunt. “And let me tell you, things are growing tense on my side as well. My Troll escaped me—just before I could merge it with a Scorpio Droid. It found its way to Abraxas. That world… is gone.” Deathskull’s optics flared once, recording the data. His voice was flat, void of surprise. “Then we have no choice but to proceed with the weapon. I will lead the puppet army, contain your rogue Trolls, and secure the Sphere. Once it is mine, I can disable resistance in the ranks. Maladrie will bring additional shark venom to reinforce the process.” Anubis paused Deathskull, “Why the extra shark goo?” Deathskull then added, “William, Emily, and the other Immortals—they cannot be killed. The best we can do is divert them. Hold them back until our plan is complete.” Anubis’s grin widened, his ears flicking back in satisfaction. “Envious,” he said softly. “I am envious of them. To witness the unraveling of the universe, the end of time itself… that is a curse I was denied.” He leaned forward, red light glinting off his long teeth. “Very well. Proceed.” The transmission cut out. The room fell into silence once more, save for the faint whir of Deathskull’s systems. Alone, he stood in the crimson afterglow, the Rus drone still cradled in his hands. He had no sense of betrayal, no guilt. To him, it was only a decision logged and executed—a probability optimized. A machine cannot feel treason. It only performs it. CHAPTER 20: "TROLLS" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 19: "NO ATTACHMENT?" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" Valrra’s voice came across the ship’s intercom, calm but unmistakably edged with intent. It was short, clipped, a command rather than a request: she wanted Emily and me in the training room. No explanation, no softened tone, just the weight she always carried when something gnawed at her mind. In our quarters, Emily and I shared a glance. The silence said enough: we both knew Valrra didn’t summon without cause. The Drakkar Commander hummed around us as we walked the narrow corridors, the ship alive with the deep thrum of engines and the occasional chatter of crew. The lights overhead cast shifting pools of silver across the metal walls, painting the path to the training deck in stark reflections. When we stepped inside, the space was quiet, save for the low hum of the holo-floor beneath our boots. The training room smelled faintly of steel and sweat, the racks of practice weapons gleaming in their places, dormant for now. Valrra stood in the center of the room, her stance wide, arms folded across her chest, her eyes narrowing the moment we entered. The illumination caught on the crimson detailing of her armor, making her look like a carved statue, immovable and unwavering. She wasted no time. “Explain yourself,” she said, her voice sharp and controlled. “Why did you nearly kill those apprentices back on Redwana with your bare hands?” The question came like a spear. I didn’t flinch, but I didn’t sugarcoat it either. My reply came quickly, laced with sarcasm, dark and biting: “So they didn’t die?” Emily shifted uneasily at my side, her eyes darting between us. Valrra’s lips parted, then closed again. For the first time in a long while, she seemed unsure of what to say. Finally, she managed: “They were revived. But now they’re terrified of you. And do you know what else? I backed you—against the council.” I tilted my head, meeting her glare. “You mean you backed me against Deathskull?” “Yes.” The admission dropped like lead in the room. Valrra’s tone carried no hesitation, no regret. She had chosen her side, and she wanted me to know it. “Why?” I asked, voice lowering, sharp curiosity hidden under anger. Her eyes searched mine. She let the silence stretch before answering. “Because you acted when no one else would. They doubted you, and I refused to. But tell me—why did you do it? Why push them to the brink like that?” The words that rose in me were molten, and I didn’t temper them. “Because you people are animals,” I snapped, the room’s cold air heating with my fury. “Always arguing, bickering over bullshit, clawing at each other instead of focusing on the war that’s burning through worlds. You kidnapped me into this nightmare. For what? To fight the Knights?” Her response came without hesitation, sharp as a blade cutting through fog. “No. You’re here to fight demons. To take revenge.” There was no deceit in her tone. It was a clean, raw truth, and it struck deeper than I expected. My hands curled into fists, the frustration bleeding out in a heavy exhale. “Then hear me now—if the Anglo-Saxons or Vikings start tearing into each other, I won’t stand by and watch it. I’ll end both sides myself if I have to.” The declaration hung in the air like the aftermath of an explosion. For a heartbeat, the three of us just stared at one another, caught in the tension that refused to break. Then, suddenly, Valrra closed the space between us and wrapped her arms tightly around me. It was unexpected, forceful, almost desperate. Emily’s eyes widened, and I caught the flicker of jealousy before she could bury it. Valrra noticed, too. She turned, giving Emily the same embrace, as though trying to balance the scale. “There’s no need to be jealous, Emily,” Valrra said softly, almost with a smirk. “His lust for strangers is gone.” Emily’s cheeks flushed, but she managed a faint smile, pushing back the sting of her emotions. I remained silent, my mind whirling with contradictions. Valrra’s embrace had steadied something in me but unsettled even more. As we turned toward the door, Valrra’s voice followed, quieter now but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the ship: “Just don’t lose sight of who you are.” Her words echoed in my chest as Emily and I left the training room. The corridors stretched ahead, cold and clinical, yet the conversation clung to me heavier than any weight of armor. I nodded without speaking, unsure whether I agreed or even understood. Emily finally broke the silence, her voice softer than the hum of the engines. “Maybe she wants the same thing we want,” she said. “To fight for honor. To build something better out of all this.” Her hope was a fragile flame against the darkness, but for the moment, it was enough to light the path forward. On the bridge of the Drakkar Commander, the vast expanse of space parted to reveal the world of Aries in full view. Through the wide observation window, the planet filled the darkness with its glow—an Earth-like sphere wrapped in a faint, shimmering haze of stardust that rippled like liquid silver across its upper atmosphere. Continents stretched beneath the veil, carved with winding rivers, jagged mountain ridges, and rolling emerald plains that mirrored the beauty of Skaalandr, yet carried their own haunting mystery. As the fleet descended in formation, the Drakkar Commander led the way, its colossal hull breaking through the shimmering barrier with a low, resonant tremor. Golden fire streamed across our viewports as the ship pierced the veil, leaving a luminous trail in its wake. Below, the surface of Aries unfolded like a living tapestry—forests of deep green swept down into valleys glimmering with lakes, their surfaces flashing like molten silver beneath the star’s light. The NASA colony stood at the edge of one of these vast waters, its glass domes and white-stone pathways gleaming with sterile perfection. The landing sequence was engaged. Engines roared and repulsors thrummed as the ship settled onto the cleared plateau adjoining the colony’s outer perimeter. Dust rose in curling waves, scattering against our shields before settling over the hard-packed ground. With a metallic groan, the boarding ramp lowered, spilling crimson light from the ship’s interior onto the soil of Aries. The nine of us—Deathskull, Valrra, Serenity, Droid L-84, Haj Tooth, Cole, Hanna, Emily, and myself—moved in unison down the ramp. Armor medallions pulsed faintly against our chests as our boots struck the earth, each step deliberate, each stride echoing the weight of warriors who had seen too many battlefields to mistake this quiet world for safety. The air was sharp and clean, carrying the scent of water and pine, yet beneath it lingered an energy difficult to name, as if the land itself was alive and aware of our arrival. Ahead, the ranks of our fleet were already forming. Warriors streamed from their carriers, voices raised in calls of discipline as they arranged into units, their armor glinting under the sapphire sky. At the colony’s edge, others were waiting—Nicholas, Kyle, Teresa, and Hailey—silhouetted against the pale structures of the human outpost. The distance between us closed quickly, the sound of boots and the steady hum of the portal nearby filling the air. Together, as one force, we stepped forward into Aries. Valrra, Emily, and I broke away from the rest of the group, letting the others continue setting up the base camp while we moved deeper into the colony. The streets were still, yet there was something uncanny about them. As I walked, a strange familiarity gnawed at me. The curved sidewalks, the neat rows of houses with manicured lawns, even the small parks tucked between blocks—it all mirrored my old neighborhood back on Earth, in Gilbert, Arizona. The resemblance was so sharp it felt like I had stepped through time rather than across space. Valrra came to a sudden stop. She pulled a small device from her belt—the Immortal Locator. The instrument pulsed faintly with light, its display marking several signals just beyond the residential sectors. The air between us seemed to tighten with the weight of the discovery. She tilted the device toward me, its soft glow reflecting in her eyes. “They’re here,” she said quietly. I gave a slow nod, keeping my voice steady. “Find them. Bring them forward to our base camp for assessment. I need to know who they are, and if they’re ready for what’s coming.” Valrra’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t argue. With a purposeful stride, she moved off into the streets, vanishing into the distance as the Locator continued its pulse. Emily and I pressed on alone, and it was then that I saw her—my mother. She was walking hand in hand with a bald man I didn’t recognize. A glint of metal caught the light on both their hands—matching wedding rings. The bald man had to be my stepfather now. My mother looked calm, content, her face softened by the simple act of holding another’s hand. Beside me, Emily’s voice broke the silence. “Are you going to say anything to her?” I shook my head, eyes fixed on the scene as I kept walking. “There’s no point,” I said, my tone low. “She’d be too shocked to see what I’ve become. We’re monsters who fight monsters, Emily.” The words left a weight in the air, heavier than anything else we had seen that day. I didn’t look back. Instead, I called over two droids, their armored frames gleaming in the daylight. I ordered them to escort my mother and her new husband away, to place them on the first ship bound for a safer world. But I knew it wasn’t enough. The colony itself was no longer safe—not for anyone who wanted peace. Switching through my comms, I issued the broader order. “Evacuate the colony. Anyone unwilling to fight leaves Aries immediately. Only those who stand ready for battle remain.” Within minutes, the skies split with the thunder of Evac Drakkars piercing the atmosphere. They descended onto the landing pads, massive and unyielding. Dust churned as their ramps lowered, the hiss of hydraulics filling the colony air. Droids formed guiding lines, ushering civilians forward. Columns of people moved quickly yet silently—children clinging to their parents, elders supported by family or machines, others carrying what little they could in bags clutched to their chests. The order of their lives dissolved into urgency. Ramps closed with heavy thuds, ships rising one by one into the sky. The calm settlement that had greeted us only hours ago now transformed into an exodus, its streets emptied, its peace abandoned. Aries was no longer just a colony. It had become a staging ground for war. After the evacuation, the colony stood like the carcass of something once alive, now stripped of its soul. Streets that only hours ago throbbed with the shuffling footsteps of workers, the chatter of merchants, and the mechanical hum of cargo drones were now hollow corridors echoing only with the restless sigh of the wind. Homes sat in silence, windows staring out like blind eyes into the barren expanse beyond the walls. Doors creaked gently on broken hinges. A half-drunk mug of coffee still steamed faintly on a shop counter, abandoned mid-sip by someone who might never return. Loose scraps of paper tumbled lazily across the plaza, catching in the claws of twisted rebar and skeletal lamp posts. The air was heavier than before, thick with the smell of burnt wiring and the faint metallic tang of displaced soil from the hurried evacuations. It was the kind of silence that pressed on the chest, as if the whole town itself mourned its own sudden death. Back at base camp, the atmosphere had shifted from cautious exploration to one of deliberate, measured urgency. The place vibrated with the rhythm of preparation—low voices trading updates, the steady hum of power generators cycling in the background, the mechanical clatter of droids as they tightened bolts or calibrated weapons. Every sound carried weight, a reminder that the clock was ticking, and whatever waited for us on Aries would not give us time to settle. Hailey sat apart from the organized chaos, perched on the edge of a metal supply crate. Her legs were drawn close, elbows balanced on her knees, her eyes narrowing at the horizon. She didn’t blink much, as if straining to catch a glimpse of something the rest of us couldn’t see. The longer she stared, the more tension seemed to gather in her frame, until at last she broke the silence with a sudden, almost cutting voice. “Why haven’t you left for the Wraith yet?” Her words didn’t come across like a question—more like an accusation, sharp enough to cut through the buzz of the camp. Haj Tooth, who had been standing nearby with her massive arms folded across her chest, shifted only slightly. Her eyes slid toward Hailey with a calm, measured steadiness that contrasted Hailey’s intensity. “I’m about to,” Haj Tooth replied, her tone firm yet carrying a patience that could disarm almost anyone. “But I’m not going alone. I need an Immortal to come with me.” The words lingered in the air, hovering in that charged silence before anyone responded. But it seemed they hadn’t gone unnoticed—Emily and Serenity had been passing close enough to catch them. Emily’s head tilted slightly, her green eyes sharp as she stepped closer, her voice carrying no hesitation. “Good. Take Serenity with you.” Serenity froze mid-step, her body stiffening as if she’d just walked into an unseen wall. She blinked, caught off guard, then let out a breathless laugh that wasn’t amusement so much as disbelief. “Wait—what? Why me?” Her tone wavered between shock and protest, her hands lifting slightly as though warding off the suggestion itself. I stepped closer, my boots crunching against the gravel beneath. My gaze swept across the three of them before locking onto Serenity. “Really? You should know why Emily doesn’t want you around,” I said, my voice heavy with bluntness. “So make yourself useful.” The words hit their mark. For a moment, Serenity’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but no sound came. Her eyes darted between me and Emily, searching for something she wasn’t going to find. The silence stretched until finally, she exhaled through her nose, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly in resignation. “Fine,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’ll go.” She turned away quickly, perhaps too quickly, moving toward her quarters to gather whatever belongings she thought she might need for the journey. Hailey, still perched on the crate, watched her retreat with a doubtful expression etched into her face. She leaned forward, her voice dropping but still loud enough for me and Emily to hear. “Are you sure Serenity is trustworthy?” Emily’s answer came before I could speak. “She tends to let her feelings cloud her judgment,” she admitted, her voice tinged with both critique and reluctant defense. “But she’s empathic. She can sense people, find them when others can’t. That’s rare. That’s what makes her useful.” Haj Tooth nodded once, her arms uncrossing as she looked in the direction Serenity had gone. “I’ll look after her,” she said, the certainty in her voice making it sound less like a promise and more like a statement of fact. Minutes later, Serenity returned, her steps lighter now though her eyes betrayed the nervous churn beneath. She carried a small pack slung over her shoulder, its straps drawn tight across her chest. There was something different about her now—perhaps the knowledge that the decision had been made, that the choice wasn’t hers anymore but the responsibility was. As Haj Tooth approached the portal site, Serenity lingered just a heartbeat behind. For a fleeting moment, her gaze flicked toward Emily. A faint, hopeful smile softened her features, and she lifted her hand in a small wave. Emily returned the gesture—not with warmth, but with a restrained civility that carried its own weight. The two of them stood before the active portal, its surface shimmering like liquid glass rippling in endless motion. Haj Tooth turned once, her face steady, her presence grounding. Serenity mirrored her movement but with a brighter, almost forced confidence, masking the fear that clung to her edges. Together, they stepped forward. Their silhouettes stretched across the ground for an instant before the portal swallowed them whole. The light surged, bending their forms into waves of brilliance before snapping shut in a flash that left only emptiness behind. The camp seemed quieter in the wake of their departure, though the noise of preparation still pulsed around us. It was a different kind of silence now—one threaded with the lingering question of whether Serenity and Haj Tooth would succeed, and what their absence meant for the battles yet to come. We stayed beneath the canvas of a makeshift tent pitched a little way from the inactive portal, its rimmed glow reduced to a faint, harmless shimmer. Beyond the flap, the clearing breathed with the easy bustle of the encampment—droids ferrying crates, patrols checking gear, the low murmur of strategy filtered by distance. The portal itself was dark, a calm wound in the air where light might have been; Haj Tooth and Serenity had already stepped through its last shimmer and gone, leaving us with the quiet they left behind. Then, from the neat rows of houses that mimicked a suburb half a universe away, Valrra appeared, flanked by Cole and Hanna. They weren’t alone. Between the three of them walked a small group—faces that at first should have been anonymous among the evacuation throng, but that became impossible to ignore the nearer they drew. The locator had done its work. The glow of the device on Valrra’s belt had pointed the way; now the figures came across the grass toward our tent, every step measured as if they knew the moment would matter. They moved with the awkward straightness of civilians pressed into a soldier’s march, hands empty, eyes trying not to be too eager. A man with a freckled smile brushed hair away from his forehead and loped forward; a woman with cautious eyes kept glancing at the others as if to anchor herself. I watched them walk in a slow, impossible parade of memory until it hit me like a physical thing—names and faces from that summer long ago in Gilbert, Arizona surfacing in the most absurd of places. It was Anna, Elizabeth, Jimmy, Rick, Pete, and Mathew. I kept my own face calm. I didn’t tell them who I had been—what name used to sit on the tongue of those classrooms—because some things in this life needed to arrive slowly, and confession had a way of cracking more than mending in the wrong light. Instead I turned toward Hailey, who had followed close behind Valrra, watching us all with the same careful hope she’d worn since we first found her on the colony’s edge. “Hailey,” I asked quietly, nodding toward Cole and Hanna, “did you send them? Were they spying on our Vikingnar civilization?” Hailey’s jaw worked for a breath, then she shook her head once, eyes apologetic but clear. “They weren’t spies,” she said. “They were scouts from the NASA colonies—sent to quietly observe what you’d become. We suspected Vikingnar had changed, but we didn’t expect a civilization advanced enough to rival others. We wanted to know whether you’d be friends or a threat.” She paused, the weight of the answer catching in the fading light. “Why do you ask?” “Just—good to know,” I said, letting my tone flatten into routine. “I hadn’t seen Cole or Hanna’s faces in the Republic’s registers until a few days ago. They looked familiar, though.” The truth of it—how odd and small and impossible that familiarity seemed now—sat heavy in the space between us. Valrra stepped forward then, voice even as she drew the group to attention. She introduced them the simple, formal way commanders do on a morning roll call, placing each new Immortal into the structure the way one fits jewels into a setting: name, origin, a brief note on purpose. “These are the Immortals the Locator found,” she said. “They’ve come forward willingly. Welcome them to our team.” One after another I greeted them—not with the clumsy intimacy of old friends but with the clean, steady hospitality of someone who needed allies more than reminiscences. “Welcome to the team,” I said to Anna, Elizabeth, Jimmy, Rick, Matthew, and Pete, letting the words anchor them to the group as if the sentence itself might forge something new between past and present. Emily stood a little behind me, arms folded, watching. When my gaze slid her way she gave me that look—curious, questioning, as if she measured the moral arithmetic of the moment in the set of my shoulders. The expression had a softness to it I was grateful for, but it also carried a question: Why had I hidden? Why not speak my name, the one that would have lit up their faces with the recognition of a shared childhood? I had no answer then that felt honest and safe. And then there was Deathskull. He stood half-shadowed beyond the tent’s lip, a dark monolith threaded with red optics and quiet servos. The way he held himself—still, calculating, silent—felt like a long pause before a verdict. He said nothing; his gaze, however, did not leave us. It traveled across faces and armor, tallying, weighing. The impression was not of judgment so much as computation: variables measured, outcomes simulated. Something inside me tightened. Deathskull’s presence had always been practical, but here, at the edge of these reconnections, it felt personal in a way that made me uncomfortable. He loomed without speaking, and for the first time in a long while I felt the prick of being observed by a machine that could outthink any human caution. The new Immortals clustered nearer, awkward smiles a shield against the strangeness of being welcomed into a war they’d come to assess. Valrra’s hand rested lightly on Cole’s arm, a subtle sign of command and of trust both. Hanna gave a curt nod in my direction—recognition, the smallest of recognitions—and the group settled into the weird geometry of old ghosts and new alliances. When the group finally dispersed, Emily found me alone. She didn’t waste time with small talk—her brow was already creased with curiosity. “Why did you seem so tense back there?” she asked. I met her gaze and answered honestly, “Because I knew them. All of those Immortals. Back from Earth.” Her face lit up with sudden excitement. “Are you going to tell them? Properly tell them who you are?” I shook my head before she even finished the question. “No.” Her smile faltered, replaced by something quieter, tinged with disappointment. “You’d keep that from them?” she asked softly. I sighed, reminding her in a steady tone, “You know what we are. You know why.” Emily didn’t drop it. “They’re just like us,” she said. “I just think you don’t want to.” The edge in her voice wasn’t anger—it was a subtle, probing challenge. My own reply came sharper. “Of course I don’t want to! We have a mission to focus on.” There was a pause, then a reluctant nod from her. She agreed, though her irritation lingered like a shadow between us. I softened my voice, leaning closer. “I’ll tell them the truth. Just… when the time is right. Until then, you’ll have to keep this between us.” That was enough to ease her stance, if not entirely her mood. We closed the moment with a quiet hug—no dramatic gestures, no heavy words—just the silent understanding that, for now, the secret would stay buried. The smoke rose in thick, ugly plumes, staining the air with the scent of burning oils and varnish. Emily and I stood frozen for a heartbeat at the edge of the tent, our eyes catching the orange flicker against the backdrop of the suburban-like streets. Then came the pounding of metal feet—Droid L-84 rushing toward us, optics flashing an urgent red. “Quick,” he sputtered, his voice edged with static. “Deathskull is burning their belongings!” That was all I needed to hear. My blood ran hot with fury, and I stormed toward the flames, Emily right beside me. My boots crushed ash into the grass as we pushed through the clearing, and the sight that greeted us was worse than I’d imagined. Deathskull stood over a roaring fire, his hulking frame lit in grotesque flashes of orange and red. Beside him, other droids tossed in canvases, journals, and sculptures like they were little more than waste. And there, in the heart of the flames, were artworks—paintings signed by names I recognized. Chris. Puffin. Andrea. The well-known artists of Aries, their legacies reduced to cinders before my eyes. My heart clenched. Art was more than pigment and canvas—it was memory, identity, soul. And Deathskull treated it like nothing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Deathskull?” I roared, lunging forward. The heat burned my face as I ripped a half-charred canvas straight from his cold, clawed hands. His eyes glowed like dying stars as he turned toward me. “The citizens we evacuated are going to start a new life. There is no need for them to haul around extra objects. I am ensuring efficiency. Do you object to this?” The casual cruelty in his voice made me grit my teeth. “I do, actually,” I spat. “You can’t burn their belongings—or in this case, their art!” Deathskull tilted his head, mechanical joints whining. “Why? They are just pictures.” I stepped closer, holding the scorched canvas like it was a relic. “Why? Are you against a being’s ability to create?” He shook his head slowly, the gesture mechanical but strangely weighted. “Good,” I growled. “Then take out the fire and have their belongings shipped to them.” But instead of obeying, Deathskull reached down, snatched Puffin’s painting from a nearby crate, and hurled it into the blaze. My body moved before I thought. My fist slammed into the side of his head with a crack of metal against bone. His massive frame toppled backward into the dirt with a crash that shook the ground. I stood over him, chest heaving, words spilling like venom. “Listen, bitch machine. You may play diplomat, but I call the shots here. And this—this barbaric destruction—is uncharacteristic of you. Now clean up the mess, and ship these belongings to their rightful owners.” For the first time in a long while, Deathskull didn’t argue. Slowly, he rose, dented from the blow, and gave a silent signal to his fellow droids. Together, they extinguished the fire, spraying it with suppressant foam until only steam hissed from the ashes. One by one, they gathered the salvaged belongings, this time treating them with something resembling care. Emily touched my arm gently, grounding me, though her face was still tight with anger. That was when Droid L-84 tugged us aside, his optics flickering as if afraid of being overheard. His voice lowered to a conspiratorial hum. “He has been acting strange. Volatile. Especially when confronted about… certain ideas. Freedom of religion, for one.” I frowned. “Go on.” L-84’s gaze darted toward Deathskull before returning to us. “I think he’s against art. Against freedom of expression. Against the freedom to create. And before long… he’ll be against the freedom of Spiritual Alchemy itself.” Emily’s brow furrowed. “How do you know this?” L-84 hesitated, then admitted, “We—guardian angel, golden-terminator droids—are susceptible to demonic possession. I assume Deathskull hasn’t told you that. He hates any art I create. Even my music.” To prove it, he opened a vent in his chest and let a sound emerge—soothing yet powerful, the metallic timbre of Argent Metal. It rolled through the air like a hymn of steel and thunder, strangely beautiful in its raw resonance. Emily closed her eyes for a moment, listening, and even I felt my pulse slow in its wake. But L-84’s voice hardened. “He despises it. Claims it is a waste of resources. He plans something darker, something I fear you must know. Deathskull intends to move the world of Cybrawl to this system.” The words slammed into me harder than my fist had into his skull. “Move it? What do you mean move it?” L-84’s optics pulsed. “Cybrawl is not just a partially synthetic, partially biological world. It is a spacecraft—capable of traversing star systems. It carries its own self-sustaining atmosphere, light source, and gravity. It does not rely on the sun. It does not need cycles. It is alive and engineered both. And it can travel here.” I blinked, stunned. A world—not a ship, not a fleet—but an entire world, moving like a predator through the void. Emily’s hand slipped into mine, her voice hushed but sharp. “That’s insane.” I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. “Then let us talk to him. Later.” L-84’s gaze lingered on me, hesitant, then he nodded once. “But tread carefully. He listens… but he calculates. And I fear he is not calculating in your favor anymore.” Emily and I exchanged a look. For once, neither of us had an answer. The fire was gone, but the embers it left were far more dangerous. Back inside the briefing tent, the lamplight cast long shadows across the maps and datapads spread across the command table. Dust clung to the canvas walls, shaken loose each time the distant rumble of engines passed overhead. The weight of the last confrontation with Deathskull still clung to me like a second skin, but there was no time to dwell on it. We had a war to fight. I stood at the head of the table, Emily at my side, and faced the gathered Immortals—Valrra, Hailey, and the newest recruits she’d brought in. Their faces, still bearing the flush of youth and the curiosity of newcomers, turned toward me with expectation. I cut straight to the heart of it. “Don’t get attached to mortals,” I said, my tone flat and uncompromising. The words seemed to hang in the air like smoke after a gunshot. Elizabeth’s brows furrowed instantly. Rick and Jimmy exchanged a confused glance. Even Anna shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the bluntness of my decree. They all looked at each other as if to silently ask whether they had heard me correctly. Before the awkward silence could stretch any further, I pivoted sharply, slamming my hand against the table for emphasis. “What matters is this: we need to start taking back territory.” The shift in focus worked. The unease was replaced by sharpened attention. Hailey leaned forward, her pale hands folded neatly before her, eyes glittering with a rare eagerness. “There’s a target worth our attention,” she said, her voice deliberate, calculated. “Brimwald. An agricultural colony—rolling golden fields, irrigation rivers, and silos so tall they scrape the sky. It feeds entire sectors. Liberating it would starve the enemy while feeding every refugee left adrift in this war.” I studied her expression. There was no trace of hesitation—only conviction. Emily nodded faintly beside me, her green eyes flickering with approval. “A practical move,” I said. “And one that will strike more than the enemy’s stomach. It will strike their morale.” One by one, the others gave nods of agreement. Even Elizabeth, still unsettled, conceded with a slow tilt of her chin. The decision was unanimous. We left the tent together, the flap swinging closed behind us. Outside, the twilight had deepened, painting Aries’s sky in hues of copper and violet. The camp buzzed with the steady rhythm of preparation—droids unloading supplies, warriors adjusting gear, the low hum of generators thrumming in the background. But while the camp moved with order, our group fractured into quiet conversation. Emily and I walked together in silence, while the others began speaking among themselves. Elizabeth’s voice carried first. “I don’t understand them,” she said, her dark hair brushing across her cheek as she glanced back at Emily and me. “They speak of strategy, of conquest, of war, but never of… people. It’s as if they’ve locked themselves away in a fortress no one can enter.” Her skepticism was clear. Anna’s lips pressed into a thin line, her silence speaking volumes of agreement. Cole, however, shrugged with a kind of careless acceptance. “Maybe they’re just work-driven,” he muttered. “Some people are like that. Cold, efficient, focused. Doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Just means they know what they’re doing.” Pete nodded in agreement. “Better to have leaders obsessed with winning than ones distracted by the noise of feelings.” Elizabeth didn’t look convinced. “But that isn’t human.” The words lingered like a quiet accusation. None of the others pressed further, but the silence that followed wasn’t agreement either—it was restraint, a waiting room of unspoken thoughts. And then, Valrra spoke. She stepped into the conversation with a calmness that silenced even Elizabeth. Her voice was low but carried a weight that could not be ignored. “You know,” she said evenly, “most of Vikingnar’s people weren’t in cryosleep. They lived, fought, and built while the rest of you slept. That’s how they forged an empire capable of standing against the stars themselves.” Her gaze was steady, her words neither boastful nor defensive. “Their origins trace back to NASA colonies. Just like yours.” Elizabeth tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Then why is William so secretive?” she asked, her voice probing but not hostile. It was the question hanging over all of them—the tension none of them had dared speak aloud until now. Valrra didn’t flinch. Her reply was simple, stripped of any embellishment. “Everyone is allowed to have boundaries.” The words landed like a stone tossed into still water—ripples spreading but never breaking. Elizabeth’s lips parted slightly, as though she had been expecting more, but no further explanation came. The blunt truth of it silenced her, though not with satisfaction. She fell quiet, her eyes dropping toward the ground as if weighing whether to press the matter. The fresh Immortals exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions a tangle of curiosity, doubt, and restrained judgment. They understood Valrra’s words on a surface level, but the depth—the lived truth—remained beyond their reach. As I watched the exchange from a few paces ahead, Emily’s hand brushed mine briefly, a silent reminder that we were still walking a line between trust and distance. And though the camp bustled around us with the sounds of preparation for war, I couldn’t shake the sense that the real battle had already begun—not on the fields of Brimwald, but here, within the fragile bonds of those who would soon stand beside me. Emily and I stepped out of the tent into the daylight, the camp buzzing with activity around the portal site. The sun caught the edges of the watchtowers and glinted off the steel plates stacked for repair. Two Anglo-Saxon warriors—Charlie and Erika—approached us. Their armor looked worn but polished, their expressions steady, curious. Charlie crossed his arms and asked directly, “Why do you support freedom of religion, William? You’re a Spiritual Alchemist, and you’ve seen the fallen gods in the Wraith. Why defend false beliefs?” I met his stare evenly. “Because once one belief is outlawed, all beliefs will fall. Faith keeps people alive, no matter what form it takes. To take it away is to invite nihilism.” Erika tilted her head. “And if their faith blinds them? Shouldn’t truth matter more?” “Truth without freedom isn’t truth—it’s control,” I said firmly. Charlie nodded slowly, his tone shifting. “Then teach us. Show us this Spiritual Alchemy.” “Not now,” I replied. “It takes discipline and time. But I will show you when the moment’s right. For now, I want you both on our team.” Erika studied me a moment longer before asking, “You’d trust us even with our doubts?” “Yes,” I answered. “Doubt is the beginning of wisdom.” Charlie clasped my forearm, Erika following his lead. “Then we’ll wait,” he said. Emily leaned toward me as they walked away, her voice low. “Trust goes both ways, William.” I watched the Saxons fade into the busy camp. “I know,” I muttered. “But remember I have trust issues.” Far from Aries, the volcanic winds of Ifrit Prime howled against the jagged blackstone mountains, carrying the ash of constant eruptions across its scorched horizon. Beneath the cracked sky, in the heart of that fiery wasteland, stood Anubis’s fortress—a monstrous amalgamation of obsidian towers and molten channels, built not for comfort but for fear. Every corridor was designed to remind intruders they were prey. Inside the throne chamber, shadows danced across walls carved with grotesque reliefs of past victims: skeletal remains fused into basalt, rusted weapons locked into place as if frozen mid-battle, and grotesque masks mounted like hunting trophies. The air was heavy, metallic, thick with sulfur and the faint hiss of steam escaping from fissures beneath the floor. Anubis himself reclined on a jagged obsidian throne. His tall, jackal-headed frame was bathed in the dull red light of geothermal veins running through the chamber walls. His claws tapped rhythmically against the armrest while a shimmering blue hologram flickered to life before him. Maladrie’s face appeared, pale and sharp as a blade. Her white hair floated unnaturally, as though caught in an invisible current. Her eyes, ghostly and unblinking, fixed on him with the intensity of a predator examining prey. “You’ve been tracking them,” she said, her voice both curious and venomous. “Tell me, Anubis… have they arrived in this sector?” Anubis’s lips curled into a wolfish smirk. His glowing amber eyes reflected the light of the hologram. “Yes. My scouts confirm it. They landed on Aries—the world is under their control now. Strong defenses, droids, Immortals… and yes,” he let the word draw out with a calculated pause, “Valrra is there.” At the mention of Valrra, Maladrie leaned forward within the projection. For the first time, her icy composure cracked into something else—interest. “Good,” she hissed, her tongue lingering on the word. The silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the hum of the fortress. Then, Maladrie’s eyes narrowed, and her tone dropped into something dark, deliberate. “Then send out the bio-weapon.” The command struck the air like a lash. Anubis tilted his head, studying her through the holographic veil. Slowly, deliberately, he gave a nod—almost ritualistic. “As you wish.” Maladrie’s lips curled into the faintest hint of satisfaction before the feed cut out, her image dissolving into blue static and vanishing, leaving Anubis alone in the suffocating chamber. For a moment, the room returned to its eerie rhythm: the distant crackle of molten rivers, the groan of ancient machinery, and beneath it all, the pulse of something alive. Anubis’s gaze slid toward the left, to the device few would dare to look at directly. Suspended in a cradle of mechanical tendrils was a beating heart, massive and grotesque, its rhythmic thump echoing faintly like war drums. Tubes of crimson liquid pulsed outward into machines that hissed and chattered, feeding something unseen deeper in the fortress. But even this grotesque centerpiece failed to hold his attention for long. His amber eyes drifted farther, to the far corner of the chamber, where a cage of shimmering energy burned with pale blue light. Inside, a Troll loomed. Towering, muscle-bound, its skin like gray stone cracked with glowing veins of fire. Its amber eyes locked on Anubis, seething with hatred. The creature’s jaw flexed, teeth grinding against each other in a sound that carried across the chamber like grinding boulders. Anubis rose from his throne, each step echoing across the stone floor. His gauntleted hand moved with precise intention, fingers pressing a sequence of runes embedded into his wrist. The energy cage responded with a low, resonant hum. The Troll roared, rattling the cage, but it was useless. With a deep, resonant vibration, the prison lifted from the ground, levitating effortlessly. Sparks of energy crackled along its surface as the monster within struggled, but the shimmering walls held firm. Anubis said nothing. He didn’t need to. His silence was dominant. His smirk was cruel. Turning on his heel, he began walking toward the massive archway that led deeper into the fortress. The cage floated obediently behind him, dragged along like a chained beast by unseen forces. The further they went, the darker the halls became—torches sputtering blue flame, runes glowing faintly on the walls, machinery hissing in the distance. The Troll’s growls echoed, shaking the very stones, but Anubis walked on, each step measured, predatory. Somewhere deeper within the fortress, something stirred—mechanisms clicking awake, whispers in the stone. Whatever chamber awaited him was not built for prisoners. It was built for sacrifices. And Anubis, smirking as molten light washed across his jackal face, was ready to begin.

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 18: "THE LESSON" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" After the battle with the Demons, the air over Draca still hummed with the aftertaste of war — the faint acrid tang of burnt demon ichor mingled with the fresh, crisp winds that rolled off Draca’s emerald hills. The streets bore scars of the conflict — shattered cobblestones, scorch marks burned deep into timber walls, and the blackened smears where Wraith-born creatures had dissolved under the purging bite of Shungite weaponry. Ash drifted like snow across rooftops, carried in swirls by the gusting wind, settling into gutters and filling the cracks in the broken ground. The town was alive again, though not in joy but in solemn purpose. The civilians — cautious and wide-eyed — crept from behind barricaded doors, gathering the wounded from where they lay among the debris. Some carried makeshift stretchers of splintered wood and torn cloth, others simply bore the fallen on their shoulders, armor scraping as they moved in grim silence. Priests in flowing silver-threaded robes marked the cobblestones with chalk and ash, tracing protective sigils around the bodies of the dead so that no lingering shadow might cling to them. The air was thick with grief and reverence, a fragile calm rising in the wake of slaughter. Through this battered tableau, Deathskull, Droid L-84, Serenity, Valrra, Emily, and I advanced across the blood-slick stone. Our armor, still glowing faintly from discharged energy, gleamed with streaks of ichor and soot. Deathskull’s obsidian plating, lined with crimson channels of power, shimmered like liquid fire under the fractured light of Draca’s twin suns. Valrra’s gilded suit reflected the flames still guttering in the ruins, every step she took a silent declaration of authority. Emily’s armor was flawless in form, her visor alight with the red glow of projected eyes, giving her the visage of a spectral war goddess striding unbroken through ruin. My own chainsword, Revenge, still dripped with thick black fluid, the motorized teeth ticking as they cooled. Ahead, two figures stood unshaken amidst the wreckage. Cole Pierce, the owl-helmed warrior, his armor carved with ridges and winglike flares at the shoulders, remained rooted like a sentinel. His visor, shaped into the likeness of a hunting owl, glowed with a soft amber light. Energy burns streaked across his plating, deep scars from blades and claws that would have killed lesser men, yet his posture betrayed no weakness. Hanna Rain stood at his side, her auburn armor gleaming even through its battered state. Intricate etchings traced across her cuirass and gauntlets, catching the sunlight like veins of fire. She held her double-headed red energy axe loose in one hand, the weapon still humming, its edges dripping faint trails of condensed plasma. Her stance was relaxed yet predatory, as though even in stillness she was poised to strike. Around them lay evidence of their ferocity. Demon corpses — or what remained of them — were scattered in broken heaps, their forms dissolved into charred fragments of exoskeletal hide. One great beast had been split entirely in half, its severed torso fused into the stone where Hanna’s axe had burned through both flesh and earth in a single swing. Another lay headless at Cole’s feet, the faint shimmer of shungite dust still clinging to its corpse, sealing the wound that would not heal. Every scar around them testified to their resilience — the way they had refused to fall even as wounds stitched themselves closed with unnatural speed, their bodies repairing what should have been fatal. The air around the pair seemed heavier, charged with a presence that set them apart from the other warriors of Draca. Where others panted with exhaustion, Cole and Hanna stood unbent, their breathing steady, their weapons held with the confidence of fighters who had known countless battles. They radiated something more than skill — an endurance that transcended mortality itself. We stopped before them, the space between us filled with silence and the weight of recognition. The warriors of the town gathered at a respectful distance, their gazes fixed on the meeting as though they sensed its importance. Wind swept through the ruined street, stirring loose banners torn from their posts, carrying with it the mingled scents of ash, blood, and ozone. Overhead, the sky was clear once more, but faint scars remained — the jagged fractures where Wraith portals had been torn open, now sealed yet not forgotten. Cole’s visor tilted slightly, amber lenses reflecting the glow of our own suits. Hanna shifted her grip on the axe, the twin heads humming brighter for a moment before dimming, her stance never losing its strength. The silence stretched, unbroken, but every breath, every posture, every flicker of light told the story clearly enough. These were no ordinary warriors. They were Immortals. And though the battle had ended, a greater confrontation lingered on the horizon, written in the way the four of us faced the two who had already proven themselves beyond mortal limits. Cole and Hanna lifted their visors in unison, the faint hiss of pressurized seals breaking as the helmets pulled back. For the first time, their faces were revealed in the fading light of Draca’s twin suns. Cole Pierce’s features were sharp yet weathered, framed by the faint burn of ginger-blonde hair that clung damp with sweat against his temples. His build was lean, muscular, his presence one of grounded steadiness, the kind of man hardened by battles fought long before this day. Beside him, Hanna Rain’s face emerged from beneath the auburn armor. Strands of brown hair, dampened by battle, clung to her cheeks, and her piercing blue eyes glimmered with the same intensity she had carried on the battlefield — cool, focused, with the faintest spark of humor buried somewhere in their depths. Together, they looked more like myth come alive than mortals standing in the aftermath of war. Valrra stepped forward. Her armor’s red plasma inlays pulsed with a subtle rhythm, reflecting in the broken stones beneath her feet, painting her in an aura of command. Her voice cut through the silence, calm but unyielding, carrying with it a weight that made even the exhausted warriors around us stand straighter. “You are Immortals,” Valrra said, her tone a statement of fact, not a question. “Beings who cannot be slain by mortal weapon, nor undone by time or disease.” The words hung in the air. Cole’s jaw tightened, his green-flecked eyes narrowing as though confirming some truth long suspected but never spoken aloud. Hanna tilted her head, lips curving into the faintest smirk. It wasn’t disbelief. It wasn’t even a surprise. It was recognition. Cole’s gaze flicked to Hanna, then back to Valrra. He didn’t speak, but his silence told its own story — this was not new to him. Hanna’s smirk deepened, though her eyes sharpened as if weighing the implications of the declaration, as though a puzzle she had carried for years had finally snapped into place. Valrra didn’t pause. She raised one armored hand, and the faint hum of the Immortal Locator Device in Deathskull’s grip grew louder. The ring of etched runes glowed a deep scarlet, symbols shifting like liquid fire across its surface. “We found you because of this,” she explained. “A device tuned to the resonance of Immortal essence. A signature that cannot be hidden, no matter how deeply you bury it.” The glow reflected in Hanna’s eyes as she leaned closer, her brow furrowing. Cole exhaled slowly, folding his arms across his chest, saying nothing, but the tightening in his shoulders betrayed unease. Valrra’s voice lowered slightly, though her words carried the same authority. “Tell me — have either of you ever felt it? Something inside you that is not entirely your own. A presence. A shadow. A light. Something that comes to you in moments of death or despair.” For the first time, the expressions of the two warriors darkened. Cole shifted his weight, his jaw working as though he were chewing on words he had never wanted to speak. Hanna’s smirk faded, her eyes narrowing as memories flickered behind them — unbidden, unwelcome. Cole finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. “I’ve seen… shapes. In the heat of battle, when I should’ve bled out, they came. Half shadow, half light. They poured into me. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t want to understand it.” Hanna nodded, her tone sharper, edged with a bitterness that clung to her words. “Nights when I should’ve died, when the world went black. They came then. I could feel them. Filling me with power. Cold, alien calm. I knew it wasn’t mine, but it was… there. Always there.” Valrra inclined her head, her crimson visor glinting in the failing sun. “Those entities are the source of your immortality. Once bound to you, their essence becomes your shield. Their life force sustains you. It is why you heal when others cannot. Why you stand when others fall.” The weight of her explanation pressed down on the ruined street. Cole looked away, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if the memories of those spectral intrusions haunted him still. Hanna’s fingers tightened around the haft of her axe, her knuckles whitening under her gauntlet. The truth was out now, laid bare between us all. Cole and Hanna were not simply warriors of Draca. They were Immortals. And whether they welcomed the revelation or not, it meant their lives — and their destinies — were now irreversibly tied to ours. “Then we fight,” Cole said at last, his voice carrying the gravel of a man who had been forged in endless battlefields. The simplicity of his words was its own oath, direct and absolute. “We’ve been doing it all our lives. Now we just know why.” Hanna’s gaze shifted between us, her piercing blue eyes steady. She gave a slow, deliberate nod, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips — not a smile of comfort, but of grim acceptance. In that nod was an unspoken vow, one that bound her fate to ours. Valrra’s crimson visor flickered as she inclined her head toward them, her voice carrying calm authority. “Then you are with us. Not as recruits. Not as subordinates. As equals. Immortals walk together, or not at all.” Emily’s armored form shifted beside me, her helmet still sealed, the faceplate’s glowing red eyes fixed on Cole and Hanna. She crossed her arms, saying nothing, but I could feel her approval in the way she stood — resolute, proud, welcoming them not with words but with presence. Deathskull remained silent, the locator device cradled in his gauntlets, its runes still shifting, as though sensing the bond that had just been forged. Serenity and Haj Tooth stood slightly behind, both watching with expressions hidden, but their body language relaxed, shoulders lowering, stances softening. Once that exchange was complete, Emily and I drifted from the newly-forged circle of Immortals. My boots scraped against the broken cobblestones as I moved toward the remnants of a shattered fountain, its basin cracked open by some demon’s dying blow. The water that once flowed through its sculpted channels now trickled weakly through fractures, forming thin streams that reflected the late sun like molten silver. I signaled subtly to Deathskull, who broke from Valrra and the others, his gold-plated armor gleaming faintly even through the soot-stained air. He joined us with measured steps, his crimson servo-eyes scanning the ruins as though calculating every scar the battle had left on Draca. I leaned against the half-crumbled lip of the fountain, the cool stone pressing through my armor as I exhaled. “Cole and Hanna,” I began, my voice low, heavy with thought. “They look oddly familiar. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about them stirs a memory I can’t trace.” My gaze lingered on the pair in the distance, their silhouettes framed against the smoldering remains of a toppled building. “Do either of you know them?” Deathskull tilted his head slightly, the inner servos of his helm whining softly as he turned his gaze toward the warriors. “Negative,” he said, his tone flat, mechanical, but with a faint undertone of curiosity. “Their resonance is strong, but I’ve never crossed paths with these two before.” Emily folded her arms, her armor shifting with a quiet hiss of servos. The red glow of her visor-eyes flickered like coals in the dusk. She shook her head once, decisively. “No. I don’t recognize them either.” Then, after a beat, her tone softened. “Maybe they’re from a past life. You’ve felt it before, haven’t you? That tug, that strange familiarity with faces you’ve never seen. Could be echoes bleeding through the Immortal bond.” Her words lingered, plausible, yet they unsettled me. I straightened, pushing away from the cracked stone. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s something else. Either way, we need to prepare. Familiar or not, two more Immortals won’t win this war for us. We need more ships, more warriors. Supplemental forces to carry the line when we can’t be everywhere at once.” Deathskull’s red eyes brightened slightly, the glow intensifying with thought. “Agreed,” he said. “The locator will guide us to Immortals, but numbers alone will not hold against the Wraith. We’ll need fleets to mobilize, crews trained to follow our command.” His gauntleted hand tightened around the locator as though to emphasize the point. “We should go to Redwana by fleet—its warriors are disciplined, efficient, and their loyalty is… negotiable. From there, to the world of Aries. Their culture breeds resilience, and they respect strength above all. Only after we secure their blades should we turn our attention to shipbuilding.” Emily shifted her weight, the crimson eyes of her visor narrowing on Deathskull. The sound of the wind carried ash and the faint scent of pine between us, and the battlefield around us seemed to fade for a moment as strategy took center stage. I nodded, though my tone was sharp, edged by lingering doubt. “Fair enough. But these warriors—Redwana, Aries—if we commit the time and resources to gather them, they better be worth it. We’re not here to babysit undisciplined militias or hold hands with half-baked kings who think their banners mean something. Every sword, every ship we bring under our banner needs to matter.” Deathskull inclined his head, a faint metallic growl resonating from within his helm as though in agreement. Emily remained silent for a beat longer, then gave a single nod, her stance firm, her presence like steel tempered in fire. The fountain behind us hissed faintly as the last of its water spilled into the cracked earth. Above, the Dracan sky darkened, clouds rolling in like smoke, lit faintly by the neon auroras that danced along the horizon. Whatever came next, the path was set. The decision was immediate. Deathskull, Emily and I summoned the others — Valrra, Droid L-84, Serenity, Haj Tooth, Hanna, and Cole. In unison, we activated our comm-links, the thin red glow pulsing over our gauntlets as encrypted signals carried our request to orbit. The air shimmered faintly as the authorization code returned, and within minutes, the horizon trembled with fire. I raised my wrist, the comm-link flashing awake with a pale blue glow. “This is Commander William, requesting immediate fleet deployment,” I said, my voice firm. “Priority-class authorization. Destination: Redwana.” The device pulsed once, twice. A faint crackle answered, then a low-toned voice filled the air. “Command acknowledged. Drakkar fleet mobilization in progress. Estimated arrival, five minutes.” The warship appeared like a burning blade carving through the sky. Its silhouette grew larger by the second, red armor plating catching the dying light of the sun, its hull humming with energy. Plasma shielding flared across its sides, red arcs pulsing and crawling like lightning veins, protecting the runic steel beneath. The sound of its engines reverberated like the heartbeat of a giant, deep and thunderous, shaking the earth as though reminding us of the sheer power contained within its frame. As the ship descended, the carriers split off, forming a precise arrowhead formation. The Drakkar Carriers — massive, rectangular hulks fitted for bulk transport of warriors and gear — descended with controlled grace. Their ramps extended in perfect unison, the roar of hydraulics competing with the echo of the engines. Our warriors moved quickly. Line by line, they stepped onto the carriers, their armor scarred and stained, yet their posture sharp, disciplined. The clank of boots on steel ramps was almost ceremonial, as though each step was a drumbeat of defiance against the Wraith. The carriers swallowed them, their dark interiors flickering with the pale glow of stasis alcoves awaiting activation. For us, the Commander awaited. The Drakkar Commander descended at the heart of the formation, its edges sharper, more angular, a predator among beasts. Its crimson hull gleamed brighter, runes carved deep into the plating pulsing like veins carrying molten fire. It wasn’t a ship meant to ferry armies—it was a throne of war, built to carry leaders and champions. We strode toward it, our group moving as a unit, battle-born camaraderie tightening around us like unseen chains. The ramp extended with a hiss, red vapor curling from its sides as though the ship itself exhaled heat. We ascended together, and as soon as our boots struck its polished obsidian flooring, the transformation began. The armor that had carried us through the battle responded to the Commander’s systems. With a faint chime, nanobots released their grip, receding in liquid-like streams back into our chest medallions. The plates dissolved from our shoulders and arms, the helmets peeling away into sparks of light, until we stood lighter, stripped down, the faint glow of our medallions pulsing with residual energy. For a moment, the quiet hum of the Commander filled the space, as if the ship itself welcomed us into its heart. The interior was alive with motion. Holo-screens flickered to life across the bulkheads, displaying star charts, fleet formations, and tactical overlays. The crystalline floor pulsed faintly, carrying the vibration of the engines as power surged through the vessel. Crimson and silver light washed over us, reflecting against our unarmored forms, painting us as shadows of war moving deeper into the belly of the beast. The world outside vanished into streaks of light as the ship broke free from Draca’s gravity well, carrying us into the cold ocean of stars. The planet fell away beneath us, shrinking into a speck of green and blue scarred with black. Ahead, the void stretched endless, the path to Redwana marked only by star charts flickering across the glasslike walls of the Commander. We arrived at the planet Redwana after hours of silent drifting through the blackened sea of space, the hum of the Drakkar Warship’s engines our only soundtrack. Emily was curled into my lap in the copilot’s chair, her leather jumpsuit pressing against my groin, and she shifted to get comfortable. When I was sure nobody’s eyes were on us—Valrra and Serenity were focused on their weapon diagnostics, Deathskull was speaking to the ship’s AI, and Droid L-84 was monitoring flight telemetry—I let my gauntleted hand slip behind her, grasping her firmly. The gesture was playful but charged with the heat of all our unspoken moments. “Nice butt, Emily,” I murmured low enough so only she could hear, my voice muffled slightly by the internal comms. She smirked without turning her head, green eyes locked on the vast expanse outside, her lips curling in quiet amusement. Emily adjusted slightly in my lap, her eyes following the horizon of the world as the cockpit filled with the reflection of its eternal twilight. “So this is where warriors are made,” she said softly, almost to herself. “Let’s see if it lives up to the legend.” Together, we gazed through the panoramic cockpit window as Redwana grew large in our view, a world bathed in the muted glow of a dim red dwarf star. The star’s light gave the planet’s atmosphere a permanent dusk-like hue, painting its continents in deep scarlets and wine-stained shadows. It reminded me of Crimseed—the same kind of hauntingly beautiful twilight that made a man feel like he was walking inside a dream. The Drakkar Warship broke through the upper atmosphere with a low, resonant boom, the hull trembling slightly as we descended. The sky here was like no other—crimson and ochre clouds twisting into slow-moving spirals, their edges rimmed in deep violet where the dying star’s light met the planet’s high-altitude ice crystals. Below, mountain ranges jutted toward the heavens like jagged spines of some colossal beast, their peaks frosted with glimmering snow that reflected the red light in unsettling hues. Vast forests of towering conifers stretched across the valleys, their needles a dark wine color that shimmered when the wind caught them. Among the shadows of those woods roamed strange beasts—massive black bears crowned with golden bone-like protrusions that resembled regal headpieces. They moved with the slow, deliberate gait of apex predators, their glowing amber eyes following the movement of our ship as we passed overhead. The sight of them reminded me why this world had earned its reputation as a place where only the most disciplined warriors survived training. Finally, as we banked hard to the east, a wide clearing opened before us, nestled at the base of a monumental cliff face. There, built from dark stone and graphene plating, stood the Redwana Training Base—its angular spires and fortified walls blending seamlessly into the mountain as if carved from the same rock. The warship’s automated landing sequence engaged, and the deep whirring of its repulsor pads signaled our slow descent into the landing bay. The hull doors beneath us yawned open, revealing the training grounds below, where ranks of young warriors moved in synchronized combat drills. the ramp extended with a hiss of compressed steam. All nine of us disembarked together, our boots striking the dark stone with heavy, deliberate steps. The air here was biting cold, crisp enough to sting the inside of your nostrils, carrying with it the mingled scents of pine resin, fresh snow, and faint metallic tang from the graphene structures. The sound of clashing weapons echoed through the open space as apprentices sparred in the massive training field beyond, each movement precise, honed, and ruthless. Towering instructors clad in battle-worn armor stalked between the rows, barking commands in a mix of Old Norse and Galactic Common, their voices booming against the mountainside. To our left, rows of massive war banners rippled in the icy wind, each depicting the emblem of Vikingnar—a crowned white wolf skull flanked by crossed chainswords—fluttering with proud defiance. Farther ahead, I could see the forge district where smiths worked under glowing crucibles, hammering shungite-steel alloys into the weapons that would one day decide the fate of worlds. Even here, in what was considered a sanctuary of training, there was no illusion of safety; the entire base felt alive with the readiness of a people who knew war was never far away. We had come to see where the next generation of warriors were forged, and already I could tell this place was no mere training ground—it was a crucible where flesh, spirit, and steel became one. We kept walking deeper into the training ground, the rhythmic clang of weapons and the guttural sounds of exertion echoing off the fortress walls. Dust rose in faint clouds beneath the warriors’ boots as they moved in controlled formations, bodies honed and tempered in ways that revealed years of relentless discipline. Their armor, though worn, carried the scars of countless battles, proof that they had already endured the crucible of real war. Every swing of a blade was efficient, economical, and deadly precise. Shields shifted like a wall of iron; spears thrust forward as one seamless motion, sharp enough to pierce the air itself. These were no amateurs—these were soldiers forged from fire and blood, every strike a declaration of survival. But then, beyond the polished lines of hardened fighters, my eyes caught another group. They stood apart, relegated to the far side of the grounds near the stone barriers. The contrast was jarring. Their weapons hung loose in their hands, grips unsteady, fingers fumbling as though they had only just learned how to hold steel. Their armor was standard issue—smooth, unscarred, and almost too clean, betraying how little action it had seen. Their stances sagged with uncertainty, shoulders hunched forward, and their steps lacked the rhythm of drilled cadence. They tried to mimic the advanced maneuvers of their seasoned counterparts but failed at every turn, stumbling over their own feet, striking too late, or leaving wide openings that would’ve been fatal in a real battle. Their youth was glaring. Most were little more than boys and girls, scarcely past adolescence, the oldest perhaps in their early twenties. Their faces were unmarred by scars, cheeks still smooth, eyes wide not with ferocity but with nerves. Some looked as though they hadn’t yet shed the softness of childhood, unready to carry the weight of a warrior’s mantle. A few bore the haunted expression of those who knew they were out of their depth but had no choice but to be there. Disappointment coiled inside me. Not because they lacked experience—experience could be earned, forged through trial. What struck me was the arrogance of the cadets, radiating off them like heat from a forge. They stood in uneven ranks, shoulders squared, chins lifted, their smirks sharp and predatory. Their armor gleamed under the dim overhead lights—polished, pristine, and meant more for show than for survival. Many of them were from the annexed territories of the Red Dragon Empire, a culture steeped in misogyny and entitlement, where warriors were taught to disdain women and treat them as weaklings. As soon as Emily, Valrra, and the other female warriors entered the grounds, a ripple of contempt passed through the cadets. Whispered comments rose, just loud enough to carry. “Women? On the front line?” one scoffed. Another muttered, “What’s a girl gonna do against real enemies?” Their eyes, filled with arrogance, flicked toward the women like they were invaders in a sacred space. They leaned toward each other, sharing silent smirks, their posture signaling superiority and defiance. I stepped forward, boots crunching on the stone floor, and let my gaze sweep across their ranks. “You better get used to it,” I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. “This isn’t a sausage party. We’re at war. And we need every single body we can throw at the enemy—women included.” I let the words hang, letting the weight of my tone settle over them. A few cadets laughed, low and nervous, trying to mask the tension. One sneered, “We don’t take orders from girls. And we don’t fight alongside girls. That’s not how real warriors fight.” Another spat on the ground, muttering, “We’ll see who’s in charge when real enemies show up.” I let the murmurs swell for a moment, then let my voice drop, low and deliberate. “Alright,” I said, eyes narrowing. “Every last one of you—step up and challenge me. Right here, right now.” The room went silent, save for the faint hum of the training grounds. Then a ripple of laughter, half nervous, half mocking, passed through the cadets. A few exchanged glances, smirks still playing across their faces, while others tightened their grips on their weapons. They were ready to fight in their arrogance—but not yet ready to see what it meant to truly face an Immortal. I could feel the tension in the air like a living thing, pressing down on the cadets and my own team alike. Every pair of eyes was on me now. Every smirk was a challenge, every sideways glance a test of dominance. The room smelled faintly of sweat and hot metal, of armor recently polished and weapons recently sharpened. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the silence build. “Step forward,” I said, letting the command roll through the air like a crack of thunder. “Show me what you’ve got. Show me, you’re as macho as I. —or admit you’re too weak to survive the next battle.” The cadets shifted in place. Some hesitated, others puffed up their chests, but the arrogance still burned in their eyes. They thought they were untouchable, untaught, invincible. They didn’t know they were standing on the precipice of being unmade. They came at me all at once. A clumsy rush of limbs, driven more by ego than by any measure of discipline. Their boots slammed against the mats, their fists raised high, but there was no coordination, no strategy — only arrogance. It was the arrogance bred into them by the Red Dragon Empire, a culture that despised hard work, despised unity, despised women, and praised only the brutal domination of the strong. I gave them someone to praise. Though, not in favor of their arrogant filled eyes, as they lunged. I didn’t wait. I moved through them like a storm tearing across dry earth. My fists connected with bodies in rapid succession, each strike thunderous in its finality. A rib gave way beneath one punch, the sound sharp and sickening. Another jaw snapped sideways under the weight of my knuckles, the apprentice collapsing in a heap. The training hall rang with the echoes of bodies slamming into the floor - blood pooling out in a rhythm of violence that drowned out their insecurities, their sneers, their doubt. One staggered back, clutching his chest as though the air had been ripped out of him. Another spun violently, his face twisted in pain as he hit the ground with a hollow thud. Their arrogance crumbled faster than their bodies, but some still came, blinded by pride, fear, hate, refusing to yield. Somewhere in the chaos, the fight stopped being about them. My vision narrowed, the edges darkening until all I saw was movement — and I crushed it, again and again. My memories from the Wraith. The Maladrie’s claws in my flesh, dragging me into the black void. The suffocating darkness pressed in until I thought about breaking bones. I gave the endless, merciless pressure of the Immortal’s gaze. And then came the darker memories — not of what had been done to me, but of what I had done in return. Those who had struck me, mocked me, underestimated me — all of them, punished. Each one a lesson written in pain. Each one a reminder that survival was a war, and I had sworn never to lose again. The rage surged in me, uncontrollable, and my strikes became heavier, faster, crueler. One apprentice folded under a blow to the side of the head, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Another spun across the mat, limp before he hit the floor. The hall was filled now with the low groans of the beaten, their pride broken beneath my hands. But I hardly saw them. My eyes locked on a single figure — a young man who stumbled backward, his face drained of color. His hands shot up in surrender, his lips trembling, begging without words. His body shook, and yet my fist was already drawn back, cocked high, ready to shatter him like the rest. The world had become nothing but the weight of that moment, the unstoppable force of rage bearing down. And then a voice cut through. “What the hell is wrong with you! That’s enough!” It hit me like ice water pouring over fire. My head snapped around, and there she was — Valrra. Standing between me and the boy, her boots planted like anchors, her armored shoulders squared, her glare sharper than any blade. Her presence alone was enough to stop the storm. My breath tore in and out of my chest, ragged, uneven. I felt the tension still in my fist, the energy begging for release, but slowly… painfully… I lowered my hand. “They’re all going to die, anyway. Especially if they can’t work with others.” The apprentice scrambled away, dragging himself across the mats, desperate to vanish from my sight. He didn’t look back. None of them did. Especially since some of them lied on the ground, with no pulse. I stepped past Valrra without a word. My face was a mask, hiding the war that still raged inside me. Each step was heavy, weighted with the echoes of what I had nearly done — weighted with the truth that for a moment, I had lost control. The others — Emily, the women apprentices, the instructors — watched in silence as I crossed the hall. The pounding of my heartbeat filled my ears louder than their gazes. When I finally reached them, I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. The silence was its own kind of judgment. After the incident earlier, Emily didn’t appear to carry any resentment or discomfort from what had happened, her demeanor calm, almost disarmingly so. She stood with her hands loosely at her sides, eyes steady, her voice silent but her presence unshaken. That subtle indifference, however, struck a nerve with Valrra. I could see it in the sharp angle of her shoulders, in the way her arms folded tightly across her chest, and in the faint tremor that flickered at her jawline. Tension rippled in the training hall like static before a storm. The apprentices—those who remained upright and those still groaning on the mats—watched in silence. Their earlier arrogance, their smug mutters about women on the battlefield, had withered into uneasy quiet. But the air was heavy, uncertain, and I knew if I didn’t seize this moment, the seeds of dissent would fester. I stepped forward, my boots echoing against the steel-grated flooring, and let my voice rise to fill the chamber. “We are in the middle of a war,” I said, my tone sharp, cutting through the silence. “A war that will decide the survival of entire worlds. There is no room for petty differences. No room for bruised pride. And no room for arrogance.” I let my gaze sweep across the room, locking eyes with those who dared hold it, burning into those who tried to look away. “Arrogance is a weapon you hand to the enemy. It blinds you. Makes you careless. Makes you weak. And if any of you believe that your personal feelings are more important than the mission—” I paused, letting the words hang, heavy and final, “—then you have no place here.” The silence thickened. The apprentices shifted uneasily, the weight of my words pressing them down like gravity. A few gave stiff nods, others lowered their gazes, chastened. I didn’t hesitate. “Those of you who can’t adapt, who can’t respect the people fighting beside you—leave. Effective immediately.” A stunned quiet fell. My words cut deeper than any blow I had landed in the fight. The order was absolute, final. Emily stood unmoved, her expression unreadable. But Valrra… she did not nod. She stood rigid, her lips pressed into a razor-thin line, her eyes narrowed. Disapproval radiated off her like heat. She shifted her weight, finally speaking, her voice low but edged with steel. “You’re too quick to discard them,” she said. “We need bodies. Soldiers. Even arrogant ones. Sending them home weakens us.” I turned my head slowly toward her, my voice calm but unyielding. “Bodies mean nothing if the minds inside them are poisoned. I’d rather fight beside ten who respect each other than a hundred who don’t.” Valrra’s eyes burned into mine, her silence saying more than words. But she didn’t argue further. The weight of command was mine, and we both knew it. I looked back at the apprentices, most of whom stood stiff, shoulders squared now with fear rather than pride. “This is your last warning,” I said. “Prove you belong here—or you’re gone. Survival isn’t about how hard you can swing your fists. It’s about how well you can stand together.” The words lingered, echoing in the vaulted chamber. Emily stepped closer then, her voice calm, measured, almost gentle in its contrast to mine. “You’ve all seen what happens when pride takes over. Learn from it. Because out there—on the battlefield—the enemy won’t stop when you beg for mercy.” Her words carried no anger, no resentment, only truth. And that truth settled over the apprentices heavier than anything else said that day. Valrra turned sharply, her arms still crossed, and paced away toward the far end of the hall. The faint metallic clink of her armored boots was the only sound as she disappeared into the shadows beyond the training circle. Her disapproval lingered like smoke, but I let it pass. I wasn’t here to coddle egos. I was here to build warriors who could survive what was coming. The group stood silent, every face marked by the weight of what they had just witnessed. The arrogance that had once defined them was broken, scattered like the echoes still ringing across the steel floor. The apprentices moved slowly, uncertainly, their eyes avoiding mine, their footsteps uneven as they filed out of the hall. Emily remained at my side, her gaze soft but unreadable, while the vast chamber slowly emptied. With that matter settled, I turned to Deathskull, my voice steady but carrying the gravity of command. “Dispatch the fleet to our location,” I ordered. “We leave Redwana soon. Those who’ve proven themselves worthy will march with us. No exceptions.” Deathskull gave a short nod, his helmet’s red optics flashing as he tapped into his comm-link. His voice dropped into a low, mechanical growl as he relayed my orders to the waiting command ships in orbit. The faint crackle of the channel carried through the hall, alien syllables layered with code-phrases, the language of war. While he spoke, I turned to the more experienced apprentices who kept quiet—those who had stood unflinching under tests, their discipline sharper than their inexperience, their arrogance tossed in the gutter. They stood taller now, their backs straightened, chests drawn high as if the simple act of being recognized filled their lungs with new air. Their eyes met mine with cautious pride, but I did not let them linger there long. “You’ve been weighed and measured,” I told them, my tone cutting through the stillness like steel through cloth. “And you have not been found wanting. You’ve proven that when pressed, you can hold your ground. That when tested, you can rise above your own doubts. You have earned your place beside us.” A ripple moved through them, a mix of relief and the grim realization of what came next. One of the humble younger warriors, his armor still scuffed from training, clenched his fist against his chest in salute. I recognized in his gaze the hunger of a warrior who knew he had just crossed a threshold—one he could never retreat from. But I did not let them bask in triumph. My tone hardened, iron in the fire. “Understand this: you’ve passed one test. Only one. The real war is worse than anything you’ve endured here. Out there, hesitation kills. Pride kills. And if you fail your brothers and sisters beside you, you kill them as surely as if you’d driven the blade yourself.” The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the truth of it. Then I turned my gaze on the others who I personally beaten to a pulp—the ones who had faltered. Their shoulders sagged, eyes downcast, as if the weight of failure pressed them into the steel floor. They had seen the same test, felt the same fire, and been found unworthy. “To the rest of you…” I let the pause hang, my voice low, steady, unyielding. “You will not risk the lives of true warriors by carrying dead weight into battle. You’re expelled from training.” The words fell like hammer strikes. A murmur spread among them—anger, disbelief, shame. A few tried to hold themselves tall, but their eyes betrayed them. One stepped forward, his voice quivering but defiant. “That’s it? After everything? You just cast us aside?” I met his gaze without blinking. “I don’t cast you aside. You’ve done that yourselves. The battlefield will not forgive arrogance. And neither will I.” The young man’s jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, to spit back words, but he couldn’t. He knew what would happen if he did. He lowered his head, shoulders folding inward, and stepped back into the line of the rejected. When the last of the insecure incel queers were gone, I exhaled a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The silence that followed was different now—no longer heavy with tension, but with the clarity of a battlefield after smoke clears. From the corner of my vision, Emily stood with her arms crossed, helmet cradled at her side, her expression unreadable but her green eyes sharp, unwavering. Valrra, on the other hand, shifted her weight with visible agitation, her disapproval simmering beneath her calm exterior. But neither interrupted. The judgment had already been passed. Deathskull turned back to me then, his voice a low rumble through the modulator. “Fleet acknowledges, my lord. They are en route to orbit above Redwana. Estimated arrival: two minutes.” “Good,” I replied. My gaze swept the hall one last time, settling on the chosen. “The line has been drawn. You know where you stand. And from this moment forward, there is no turning back.” The chamber was silent. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. Those who had been chosen stood taller still, ready—or at least pretending to be—for the war that waited just beyond the stars. And those who had failed remained frozen in place, their futures cut short in an instant, left behind on a world that would no longer serve as their gateway to glory. I turned, and strode toward the exit with Emily and Deathskull at my sides. Behind us, the weight of my decree lingered, carved into the hearts of every apprentice who had witnessed it. Outside the compound. The ships descended from the heavens like iron leviathans, their engines growling as they cut through the thin crimson skies of Redwana. They glided past the snow-laden mountain ridges, their hulls gleaming in the pale light, shadows stretching long across the jagged peaks. The roar of their descent carried across the valleys, sending flocks of alien birds scattering from the blood-red forests below. One by one, the Drakkar carriers touched down on the hardened plains near the compound, their landing struts sinking deep into the frost-hardened earth with a thunderous impact. The newly-graduated warriors—Anglo Saxon and Viking alike—marched with grim resolve toward the carriers. Their armor clattered, their furs and leathers shifting in the icy wind as they hefted crates of weapons, shields, and gear up the boarding ramps. Each man and woman bore the weight of destiny on their shoulders, their faces hardened by the trials they had endured. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. They had been forged into warriors here on Redwana, and now they were leaving it behind as soldiers of the fleet. Meanwhile, the nine of us—Valrra, Cole, Hanna, Serenity, Droid L-84, Deathskull, Haj Tooth, Emily, and I—broke from the gathered ranks and made our way to the largest vessel among them: the Drakkar Commander. The flagship loomed like a fortress of steel, its angular frame bristling with cannons and towers, runes of power etched into its armored plating that shimmered faintly under the crimson glow. Its presence alone commanded silence and respect, a warship that bore the soul of an empire. The boarding ramp extended with a groaning hiss, releasing a breath of cool, metallic air as if the ship itself exhaled in welcome. We stepped inside as one, boots echoing against the iron floor, our path lit by the low pulse of navigation lights that stretched down the narrow corridors. The hum of the ship was steady beneath our feet, alive with restrained power. At last we arrived on the bridge, its vast windows opening out into the crimson skies of Redwana. From this vantage point, the planet spread below us in all its alien majesty—the serrated mountains wrapped in snow, the endless forests dyed in shades of blood and rust, and the compound we had called home reduced to a dark scar upon the land. As the Drakkar Commander lifted from the ground, the other carriers rising in formation around us, the surface began to fall away. The warriors we left behind became distant shadows, the mountains shrank, and the sky itself thinned into the void. Redwana unraveled beneath us, a memory fading with every passing second. The blackness of space swallowed the horizon, and ahead lay only the stars—silent, eternal, and waiting to test us. The war was coming, and only the worthy would face it. CHAPTER 18: "THE LESSON" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

By WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 16: "FERAL GUARDIAN" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The battlefield still smoldered behind us, the faint hiss of hydrofluoric tanks bubbling like cauldrons in the distance as the last traces of Jackal Heads were erased from existence. The air hung heavy with smoke, scorched metal, and the bitter tang of ozone. My boots pressed into the scorched soil as I turned toward my companions—Emily, Valrra, Serenity, Deathskull, Kyle, and Nicholas—all of them standing in the fading crimson glow of the battlefield, their armor dulled by ash and blood but their eyes alive with unease. I drew in a long breath, feeling the weight of the command coil inside me, and finally spoke, my voice carrying through the comms as much as through the still, heavy air. “We may run low on warriors real quick,” I said, my gaze sweeping across the weary lines of our men regrouping behind us, “if we don’t get the Dark Matter battery immediately.” The words hung there, charged like static. Emily’s emerald eyes flickered to mine, worry beneath her strength. Serenity tilted her head, her lips pressing together, no words offered—only the kind of silence that meant she was already calculating the dangers. Valrra stood with her arms crossed, tail lashing faintly behind her as she measured the truth of what I’d just admitted. Kyle and Nicholas glanced at each other, young determination tempered with uncertainty. It was Deathskull who broke the silence, his voice filtered through the cold resonance of his helm. “Are you suggesting that we’re in a two-way war now?” The question was heavy, not rhetorical, but a blade being drawn across the table for all of us to see. His hollow tone made the weight of it worse, as though he already knew the answer but needed to hear it spoken. I looked at him in the eye sockets of his mask, unflinching. “We should retrieve the technology to engineer our army,” I said, my voice sharp as a spearpoint. “But in the meantime, we should start recruiting in case this becomes a three-way war.” The silence that followed was not passive—it was the silence of realization. Emily’s shoulders lowered slightly, as though she had accepted the inevitability of my words. Valrra, and even Serenity let out a faint breath they’d been holding. Kyle and Nicholas both swallowed hard, the truth of my words sinking into them like stone. Deathskull, though still as ever, dipped his head a fraction, an acknowledgment that what I’d said was not just possibility but necessity. No one argued. No one had to. The air between us was thick with unspoken agreement. But silence was not enough. I clenched my gauntlet, feeling the servos flex around my hand, and spoke again, lower this time, almost to myself but loud enough for them all to hear. “If Anubis sends more like those Jackal Heads… our numbers will dwindle fast. And if the Wraith entities breach the River of Souls again… we’ll be crushed between them.” Deathskull’s head turned sharply toward me at the mention of the River, but he said nothing. I turned back to the others, forcing strength into my tone. “We don’t have the luxury of waiting anymore. Recruiting new allies may be our only chance of survival. Not just warriors—but civilians, engineers, medics, anyone willing to stand against what’s coming.” The wind carried ash across the field, whispering faintly against our armor like the ghosts of the dead still clinging to the soil. No one answered me. They didn’t have to. The weight of command pressed on me as sharply as the ash beneath my boots. At last, I shook my head, breaking the stillness. “But first things first,” I said, forcing my voice back into the present, “we check on the others still taking cover in the facility.” The group nodded, wordless but resolute. Together, we turned from the battlefield, leaving behind the scars of fire and acid, and began the march back toward the fortified installation. The crimson glow of the fleet above cast long shadows across the ash, each step carrying us closer to the survivors within—and whatever came next. We walked back into the installation, our boots echoing sharply against the polished alloy floors. The silence between us was heavy, as if the weight of what we had just endured still clung to the air like smoke. The facility’s automated lights hummed faintly overhead, flickering against walls scarred from tremors of the earlier attack. Inside the central chamber, Hailey stood waiting with Haj Tooth and Droid L-84. Her expression was tense, her hands tightening into fists as soon as she saw us return. She didn’t even need to speak before I made my decision clear. “The little side mission to rescue strangers from the Wraith,” I said flatly, my tone as sharp as steel on stone, “has to wait.” Hailey’s face went pale, her eyes flashing with both fear and anger. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to shout at me, to demand I reconsider. But none of us cared to entertain her protests. Not now. Not when Anubis threatened Vikingnar, and not when the Demons could appear from anywhere, at any time. I turned from her gaze deliberately, unwilling to let sympathy weaken me, and pulled Deathskull aside into a darker corner of the chamber. His obsidian helm tilted down toward me, the crimson reflections of the holographic displays across the room glinting off his mask like veins of blood. “The best course of action,” I said in a low, steady voice, “is to produce more Demon deterrent, recruit warriors, and set up a base on Aries. If we don’t establish control there, Anubis will, and then Vikingnar will bleed from two fronts.” Deathskull remained quiet for a moment, his silence punctuated only by the soft, mechanical exhale from his armor’s respirator. Then he spoke, his voice hollow, deliberate. “Are you one hundred percent sure those people you’ve encountered in the Wraith are deceased?” The question hit harder than I expected, but I didn’t flinch. I met the hollow sockets of his mask with the full weight of my certainty. “Yes,” I answered. No hesitation. No wavering. Deathskull let the word linger in the air. Then he raised his arm and gestured toward Haj Tooth. The shark humanoid strode over, her movements fluid yet deliberate, lips pressed in a firm line that made her almost unsettlingly human despite the alien gleam of her eyes. “Haj Tooth,” Deathskull said, his tone carrying authority that reverberated across the chamber, “you and your warriors should be the ones to hold off the Demons from entering this plane of existence. And if you can, find any concrete evidence of whether Hailey’s sister lives.” I let out a long breath, the sound almost a sigh of defeat. I knew the outcome already. The Wraith was merciless, and nothing returned from it unbroken. To send Haj Tooth into that nightmare was to cast her into fire with little chance of return. Still, I nodded, agreeing to those terms, despite the knot of dread curling in my chest. Hailey stood at the edge of the chamber, listening to every word with desperate hope flickering in her eyes. She didn’t know what she was asking for. She couldn’t possibly know how vile the Wraith truly was. She didn’t know how vile Maladrie was. The memories cut through me like jagged glass—Maladrie’s twisted experiments, the screams that filled her chambers, the way she took humans and elves and wulvers alike, reducing them to mangled wrecks before forcing corruption through their bodies. The process of turning a soul into a demi-demon was as cruel as it was irreversible. I saw Page’s face again. The terror in her eyes. The sound of her voice breaking. The way her humanity had been stripped away, replaced by something monstrous. She wasn’t Page anymore—not when Emily confronted her on Draca. That twisted Demonette, once a sister, once a lover to another victim… had died by Emily’s blade. And Emily didn’t even know the truth. The weight of it pressed on my chest until I could hardly breathe. How could I tell her? How could I tell Hailey that her sister was already lost long before the end came? What I saw wasn’t survival, but corruption, and then death? I watched Hailey cling to that fragile strand of hope, her lips parted as though she wanted to speak, her body trembling as if she might collapse under the enormity of her desperation. She believed Page could be saved. That she could still be whole. My hands curled into fists, the servos of my gauntlets whining faintly as I wrestled with myself. Was it the right thing to tell her to move on? To crush that hope now, before it consumed her? Or was it better to let her carry it, even if it was a lie, because that hope was all she had left? The words never formed. I stood there in silence, unable to shape truth or mercy into speech. My throat tightened. My tongue refused. So I didn’t speak at all. The chamber hummed with the low resonance of the installation, the glow of crimson holograms casting long shadows against the walls. My companions waited. Hailey trembled. Haj Tooth nodded grimly, accepting her mission. And I, standing at the heart of it all, bore the silence like a chain across my soul. The silence that had once hung heavy in the chamber cracked as others finally broke into the conversation. Emily’s voice came first, calm but firm, a steady counterbalance to the storm brewing inside me. “You can’t just keep leaving things unsaid, Willy,” she said, crossing her arms as she looked at me. “If you’re planning to send Haj Tooth into the Wraith, you need to tell everyone exactly why. Don’t let Hailey cling to hope if you’re only giving her false hope.” Her words cut me sharper than any blade could. My jaw tightened, but I stood my ground. “Hope or no hope,” I replied, “Haj Tooth is the only one with the means to navigate the Wraith without losing her sanity. Her hive fleet has crossed those boundaries thousands of times. If there’s anyone who could find even a shred of truth about Page, it’s her.” Hailey’s eyes widened, her trembling voice slipping out before she could stop herself. “So you will look for her? You’ll actually send someone? You’re not just shutting the door on this?” I didn’t look at her directly—I couldn’t—but my answer was plain. “Haj Tooth and her warriors will search. That’s the best we can offer. But we can’t divert everything we have into a rescue mission, not when Anubis and the Demons are both knocking at our gates.” Hailey’s face was a storm of conflicting emotions—fear, desperation, relief all at once. She didn’t thank me. She couldn’t. Not yet. I turned back toward the group, my hand resting against the hilt of Revenge. “Nicholas, Teresa—you’re taking Hailey back to Aries. Not just to keep her safe, but to secure the planet with a fleet of our finest warriors. We cannot allow Anubis to encircle us, not from that side. Divide and conquer is our only chance to prevent being crushed between two armies.” Teresa nodded, her expression unflinching. “I’ll see it done. Aries will be fortified, and Hailey will be protected.” Nicholas smirked faintly, adjusting the plasma spear on his back. “If Anubis wants Aries, he’s going to find a wall of steel waiting for him.” Hailey, still pale, glanced between them, then back at me. “And… you’re sure this isn’t just sending me away? That Aries is really that important?” “It’s vital,” I said firmly. “More important than you realize. The colonies there may hold the keys to our past—and to keeping us alive in the future.” Kyle, who had been silent until then, stepped forward. “I’ll go too. Someone needs to keep Nicholas from charging into battle without thinking.” Nicholas shot him a glare but said nothing, though the faintest grin betrayed the truth—they worked better together than apart. Valrra finally raised her voice, the violet glow of her eyes catching the holographic light. “While they secure Aries, I know where we should begin looking for recruits. My homeworld—Crimseed. My people know how to fight, and they’ve seen war for generations. If anyone will answer the call, it will be them.” Deathskull, who had been silent through this exchange, lifted his gauntlet and twisted his wrist. A low hum vibrated through the chamber, followed by the sudden ignition of crimson energy. A wormhole flared into being before us, pulsing with power, its edges jagged and unstable, like reality itself was struggling to contain the force. “This will take you to Aries,” Deathskull said. “The wormhole is stabilized enough for transport. Go quickly before Anubis or worse detects it.” Nicholas, Kyle, Teresa, and Hailey exchanged one final glance before stepping forward. Hailey hesitated, her eyes catching mine. There was still that burning question in her gaze, the one she hadn’t dared to ask aloud: Is Page alive? Will I ever see her again? I gave no answer. Only a slow, steady nod that could mean anything. With that, the four of them disappeared into the wormhole, their forms dissolving into strands of red light until the chamber was quiet again. Deathskull lowered his arm and raised it again. A second portal surged to life, more stable, its vortex swirling with a darker crimson hue. The air crackled with energy as it twisted open, revealing faint glimpses of jagged mountains and crimson skies on the other side. “Crimseed awaits,” Deathskull intoned. Emily adjusted the strap of her plasma rifle across her shoulder. “Then let’s not waste time.” Serenity rolled her shoulders, the faint shimmer of her armor catching the light. “If Valrra’s right, we’ll need every blade and every hand they can give us.” I glanced around the chamber one final time—the shadows, the empty silence, the sense that every choice was carrying us deeper into the jaws of something vast and inevitable. With my sword sheathed at my side and my armor powered down, I gave a final nod. “Enough talking, let’s move.” Together—Deathskull, Emily, Serenity, Valrra, and I—stepped forward into the portal. The air around us tore like fabric, and then we were gone, swallowed by the crimson light. The red dwarf hung low, burning with a light that was not brilliant but rather subdued, casting everything in shades of blood and ember. On the other side of the portal stretched Valrra’s homeworld—Crimseed. The red dwarf star burned dim in the heavens, washing the sky in hues of crimson and ember. Clouds moved slowly across the horizon, their forms dark and heavy, as though weighed down by the thick atmosphere. The world glowed faintly, its light subdued, casting shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. The vegetation was black, rising in jagged forests of twisted trees with blade-like leaves. Their surfaces shimmered faintly under the dwarf’s weak light, reflecting flashes of red like molten glass. The ground was dark as well, cracked and veined with faint bioluminescence that pulsed beneath the surface like the heartbeat of the land itself. Architecture of the Vikingnar Empire dominated the landscape. Towering fortresses of black stone rose like jagged mountains, their walls carved with angular runes and decorated with massive statues of long-dead warriors. Spires climbed upward like spears piercing the red sky, connected by bridges of steel and stone that stretched from one great hall to another. Fires burned in braziers along the streets, their crimson glow merging with the blood-colored light of the sun above. Beyond the city, mountains stood sharp and serrated against the horizon. Their ridges cut the skyline into a saw-like pattern, dusted with gray snow that seemed to glow faintly beneath the red light. Between the peaks, rivers of blue liquid cut through the land, glowing brighter than the star itself, feeding into vast lakes that mirrored the sky in glassy reflection. The wilderness stretched out in every direction, vast and unyielding. Forests of black trees spread across the valleys, broken by the occasional shimmer of glowing rivers. Far in the distance, massive shapes moved through the haze—beasts of Crimseed, their forms obscured, but their size undeniable. The entire world seemed carved from shadow and flame, every stone and leaf reflecting the harshness of survival beneath a dim star. Yet, in its starkness, there was beauty: the merging of crimson skies, black forests, and glowing waters, all bound together by the enduring presence of Vikingnar power. Valrra guided us deeper into Crimseed’s scarlet lands. The bridge beneath our boots was carved from black stone and etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly as though alive. On either side, the river glimmered an unnatural blue, its waters moving like liquid crystal beneath the red sky. Beyond the railing of carved dragon heads, creatures moved in the tall dark grasses—massive forms grazing lazily, unbothered by our presence. Some were reptilian, their backs plated like armor, long tails sweeping the ground. Others were mammals, thick-bodied and horned, chewing slowly on the black foliage. Across the bridge, the landscape opened, and we caught sight of hulking amphibians wallowing near the banks. Their bodies were the color of dried blood, their crocodile-like snouts snapping lazily at the water’s surface. Every so often, one bellowed, a low guttural roar that echoed against the jagged cliffs. The air was humid here, thick with the scent of iron and ash, as though the planet itself carried an old wound. We kept walking, the silence of the group broken only by the distant calls of the beasts. My thoughts weighed heavy, until I finally spoke, my voice sharp against the quiet. “Deathskull… banning the worship of deities, religion, and spirit—it feels wrong. Stripping all of that away. What good will it do?” Deathskull stopped mid-step. His crimson optics turned toward me, and when I said the word spirit, he froze entirely. The air felt heavier around us. He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and mechanical, yet strangely human in cadence. “You still think I am an atheist? Or do you not realize—almost all religion was nature-based to begin with?” I frowned, unsure what to make of it, but he continued before I could speak. “A soul was never meant to be coddled forever by gods,” he said. His tone was calm, but there was a cutting edge beneath it, a philosophy sharpened by centuries of thought. “It is like when an artist finally chooses to share their creation with the world, rather than letting it rot in a hidden studio. Growth requires release. Freedom. A soul must stand on its own legs, not forever carried by divine hands.” His words hit me with a strange weight. I had seen the truth of what awaited souls beyond the Wraith, the torment and the shadow. I wanted to challenge him, to demand, how would you know? But the memory of the River of Souls lingered in my mind—its flow, its quiet inevitability. I remained silent for a beat, then forced my question. “What about everyone else? How is one droid going to convince outsiders that the gods are no more? What are they going to do without a god?” Deathskull’s optics dimmed briefly, then flared bright again. “This is a dark universe where so many feel abandoned already,” he said. “And still, they survive. People need to find strength not from idols, but from themselves. From each other. Our spirit is for us to command—ours to shape, ours to wield. Nobody else’s.” I clenched my jaw, heat rising inside me. His logic burned like a cold knife. The thought of stripping away people’s faith felt like tearing out the roots of a tree and expecting it to stand. My blood boiled with frustration. How could you fight evil by dismantling belief, by cutting away the one thing that gave the weak hope? Yet a seed of doubt gnawed at me—maybe belief itself was not natural, maybe it was the cage. Or was I believing in the wrong thing? I didn’t answer him. The silence that followed was louder than any argument. Deathskull noticed it. His head tilted slightly, his optics narrowing. “Any more questions?” His voice was low, probing, like a teacher daring a pupil to rise. I said nothing. My lips tightened shut. I wasn’t ready to give him the satisfaction. But Valrra broke the silence. Her voice was calm, melodic, with the sharp wisdom of someone who had seen me through more than I realized. “I think William is just confused as to what his purpose is.” Her words struck me harder than Deathskull’s doctrine. My heart jumped, and I thought to myself, how did she know? The silence that followed was different this time. Not tense, but reflective. None of us spoke further. The red sky stretched above us, painted in hues of flame and shadow, as the black forests whispered with the sound of unseen creatures. Emily walked close, her hand slipping into mine, grounding me when my mind threatened to spiral into conflict and doubt. The rest of the journey passed beneath the looming towers of Crimseed in wordless quiet, each of us swallowed by our own thoughts. We continued our ascent through the town, the path lined with structures carved from obsidian stone and adorned with faintly glowing etchings that pulsed like veins of light. The citizens of Crimseed moved gracefully through the streets, their presence as striking as their environment. They carried themselves with the quiet confidence of a people long hardened by survival, yet now softened by liberation. Their dark hair shimmered with subtle red undertones in the scarlet glow of their sun, and their pointed ears twitched at the smallest sounds, alert like natural antennae. Their red skin bore faint stripes that marked heritage and lineage, and though their tone was alien, there was a human subtlety to it—flesh that looked tangible, lived in, and not some exaggerated caricature of their bloodline. Among them mingled women from the fallen Empire, those who had once been chained to the whims of patriarchal rulers and suffocating expectations. Their lives of suppression had been traded for choice, and their clothing reflected it. Black leather jumpsuits molded to their figures, complemented by thigh-high boots laced and buckled with utilitarian elegance. The same attire worn by Crimseed women had become a unifying fashion, though the choice to wear it was theirs alone. Freedom was written not in banners or proclamations, but in the way these women walked—unburdened, unrestricted, and radiant in their reclaimed independence. No longer silenced, no longer bent under the shadow of controlling husbands, they moved through the streets as equals, immersed in the rhythm of daily life. Children chased one another between the buildings, their laughter echoing like faint bells against the crimson sky. Merchants sold wares of obsidian tools, metallic fabrics, and glowing crystal trinkets that refracted shards of light across the stone pathways. Artisans sculpted intricate runes into black wood, while others practiced martial forms with spears that shimmered faintly with plasma at their tips. The air carried the faint scent of smelted metal and fertile soil, a mingling of progress and tradition. Life here was not grand or ostentatious, but it was free. It was whole. It was lived fully, without the crushing yoke of the old order. For all of Vikingnar’s growing pains, one truth could not be denied—the quality of life for its citizens had risen sharply. The five of us moved steadily through this living tableau, our path leading ever upward toward the great temple perched on the hill that overlooked the town. From below, it was an imposing silhouette against the red sky, its sharp peaks resembling Scandinavian stave churches, yet infused with a science-fiction precision that spoke of both past and future. The main body of the temple was constructed from dark alloys that gleamed like wet stone, while vast panels of touchscreen glass covered its facade, shifting faintly with flowing runic displays. It was at once ancient and futuristic, a paradox carved into architecture. The steps leading to the temple were wide and carved from a single slab of volcanic rock, their surfaces etched with runes that glowed faintly beneath our boots. Each step resonated, as if some hidden mechanism tracked our progress, acknowledging our ascent. Black banners hung on either side of the stairway, embroidered with the sigils of Crimseed’s clans, their designs sharp and angular, resembling constellations fractured across a night sky. As we climbed, the sounds of the town grew distant, replaced by the hush of wind flowing over the hillside. The higher we went, the more expansive the view became. Below, the town sprawled across the dark terrain like a living organism—streets like arteries, the citizens like blood cells pulsing with vitality. Beyond that, the forests of black vegetation stretched into the horizon, interrupted by the crimson reflection of lakes and the jagged silhouettes of mountains that shimmered faintly with embedded minerals. At last, we reached the temple entrance. The facade towered above us, its Scandinavian-inspired frame stretching high into the sky, beams of dark alloy fitted together with mathematical precision, as though the structure itself had been designed by both craftsmen and machines. The large glass panels glowed faintly, runes shifting like constellations rearranging themselves in slow motion. The double doors at the top of the stair were seamless sheets of reinforced glass, shifting faintly with layers of translucent script that flickered like ancient firelight. Only Valrra moved to the console, her movements steady and precise. The panel beside the door shimmered to life as her presence activated its hidden sensors. With a fluid gesture, she placed her right hand upon the glass. The runes beneath her palm illuminated, spreading outward in rippling patterns that recognized her genetic signature. The glow intensified, cascading upward across the length of the doors until the entire surface shone with a scarlet brilliance. A faint hum resonated in the air, low and mechanical, as the glass itself seemed to sigh. Seamless lines appeared down the center, splitting the doors apart. They slid open with liquid smoothness, vanishing into the walls, revealing the chamber beyond. The atmosphere shifted as the entrance yawned wide. Cool air flowed outward, carrying with it the scent of ancient stone and sterile technology. The dim interior pulsed with an inner light, runes glowing softly across walls of metallic glass, as if the temple itself had been born from a fusion of religion and science. The threshold stood before us like the opening of a gateway between the old world and the new. We crossed the final step and entered. We all made our way inside, and the temple’s interior immediately struck us with the same otherworldly beauty as its exterior. It was as though the architects of Crimseed had poured both their spiritual devotion and advanced science into every corner of this place. The air shimmered faintly with humidity, carrying the scent of mineral water and polished stone, and every surface seemed alive with layered meaning. The wide atrium stretched upward into a vaulted ceiling, its height so immense it seemed to disappear into the dim red light cast by runes that burned faintly above. The ceiling was painted—or perhaps projected—with shifting depictions of what could only be described as the phases of spiritual awakening. Humanlike silhouettes morphed through stages: crawling in shadows, rising into flame, and finally ascending into radiant light. Each phase was marked by geometric halos and Viking runes, symbols of strength, war, and renewal intertwined with alchemical glyphs. The figures weren’t static either—subtle holographic energy flowed across them, animating their transitions so that each stage shimmered like a living fresco. Below this masterpiece of art and engineering lay a wide pond that stretched the length of the atrium. Its waters were clear as crystal, faintly glowing from embedded nanolights at its bed, illuminating shoals of fish that darted and swam in perfect formations. A fountain stood in its center, carved from obsidian, but water streamed upward in geometric arcs, defying gravity before cascading down again in deliberate patterns. It was as though the fountain was not just a piece of design but a mathematical ritual, a representation of the natural order of the cosmos made tangible. The reflection of both water and ceiling mingled, producing an illusion that heaven and earth coexisted seamlessly in this single chamber. We walked slowly across the causeway that led over the pond, climbing the wide staircase at its center. The stairs themselves were embedded with glowing runes, each step lighting up beneath our boots as though recognizing our presence. The faint sound of water trickling filled the silence, mingling with the distant hum of hidden machinery that powered this spiritual-mechanical marvel. When we reached the midpoint, I paused. Something compelled me—a simple instinct, almost childlike. I reached into my armor’s utility belt and pulled out a coin, heavy and etched with Vikingnar’s crest. Standing at the balustrade, I flicked the coin into the pond below. It spun through the air before landing with a ripple that broke the mirror like surface, sinking slowly until it vanished among the glowing nanolights. Emily, ever curious, leaned against me, her green eyes catching the scarlet reflections of the room. “Meow, what are you doing, Willy?” she asked in her playful tone, the kind she used whenever she wanted to tease me out of my own head. I smirked faintly, still watching the circles spread across the pond. “Just a coin toss. An old habit. Maybe a wish, maybe nothing.” Emily tilted her head, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin of her own, sleeker, lighter, probably one she’d kept from her personal stash. Without hesitation, she held it up next to mine, her eyes brightening with mischief. “Then we’ll do it together,” she said. Side by side, we released our coins. The second one struck the water almost beside the first, sending a fresh wave of ripples spiraling outward. Below, the fish startled, scattering in perfect synchrony like stars moving across a dark sky, only to regroup seconds later in a circling formation, as if examining the new objects that had just intruded into their home. Watching them, it was almost as if they understood, as though the ritual meant something to them as well. Valrra, who had been standing with Deathskull and the others ahead, turned back with a sly grin. Her crimson skin caught the glow of the runes, her sharp features softened only slightly by the light. “Do you two love birds care to join us?” she asked, her voice tinged with amusement. Emily chuckled and laced her fingers through mine. “We’re coming,” she said as she tugged me gently forward. I gave the pond one last glance, a thought stirring in the back of my mind. Rituals like these had always seemed silly to me, but in this place, under this sky, and beside her, it felt different—like grounding in the midst of chaos. Together, we regrouped with the others at the top of the staircase. The hallway beyond waited for us, its walls glowing faintly with yet more runic inscriptions, leading deeper into the heart of the temple. The air thickened with the weight of history as we stepped forward, not knowing if the temple would provide answers, or simply more questions. The weight of Valrra’s words settled heavily in the chamber, though it was not her voice alone that carried the intensity—it was the air itself. The crystal dome above seemed to hum, resonating faintly with the revelation on the table. The faint glow of the Red Prints painted her pale fingers in shades of crimson, her long nails clicking softly against the vellum as though even she was hesitant to touch the knowledge inscribed there. Emily moved closer, her green eyes reflecting the light of the schematics. She leaned against me, her hand brushing mine, grounding me in a moment that felt otherwise untethered. The Immortals in the murals loomed above us like silent witnesses, their figures carved in both reverence and warning. Their swirling bodies of fire and starlight spiraled in eternal battle, making me question whether those ancient artisans had truly seen them—or if the visions had been burned into their minds from dreams not their own. Deathskull stood on the far side of the table, his visor reflecting the pages, silent but intent. His skeletal frame seemed more rigid than usual, and I could almost feel the whir of processors running beneath his armor. He didn’t speak, but his silence itself was oppressive, a waiting presence that measured every word Valrra chose. Valrra traced a line along the schematic with her fingertip. “This is no ordinary detection device,” she continued, her tone softer, but edged with determination. “It’s woven to the very resonance of the Immortals. Every host emits a frequency, faint yet constant, like an echo of their fusion. This construct doesn’t just hear it—it sings back, calling them forth.” Emily frowned, tilting her head slightly. “But only if it has the right power.” Her voice was more a statement than a question. Valrra nodded. “Yes. The White Stone.” She paused, letting the words linger like a forbidden spell. “A fragment of celestial origin, rumored to have been carved from the heart of a dead star. Rare, dangerous, and—” she closed the book with a firm sound “—guarded.” My eyes drifted back to the murals, where mortals held weapons that looked not unlike the chainsword Revenge at my side. Their painted faces were desperate, defiant, yet always dwarfed by the Immortals above. I wondered if they too had sought the White Stone. If they had died for it. Breaking the silence, Deathskull finally spoke, his voice metallic yet weighted with certainty. “Then we must retrieve it.” The words weren’t a suggestion—they were an inevitability. “Without the White Stone, our search ends before it begins. And time, as you well know, is not our ally.” The library seemed to shift at his pronouncement, as though the walls themselves disapproved. A faint vibration rippled through the crystal dome, scattering the rainbow light into shards that danced across the floor. Valrra’s expression tightened, though she did not contradict him. Instead, she gestured to another tome, this one bound in sheets of something metallic, the spine etched with runes that seemed to shimmer between dimensions. She pulled it open, revealing star charts so old the constellations barely resembled the skies I knew. At the center of one chart, a single glyph glowed faintly—the symbol of the White Stone. Valrra’s hand lingered on the tome for a moment longer before she pushed it shut, the heavy cover landing against the table with a sound that reverberated through the vast library. The echo rolled into silence, and when she finally spoke, her voice carried the same finality as that closing thud. “The White Stone rests below this very temple,” she said. Her crimson eyes glimmered faintly in the fractured rainbow light spilling from the crystal dome above. “But it does not lie in some simple vault. It slumbers in the Labyrinth. And the Labyrinth… is alive.” Her words drew our attention tighter than any weapon ever could. Deathskull tilted his head, the faint crackle of his systems filling the space. “Alive?” His voice rasped through the filters, half-question, half-warning. Valrra turned her gaze toward the muraled walls, as though the painted Immortals themselves were listening. “The Labyrinth was not built in the usual sense. It was grown. Forged by a civilization that merged their knowledge with the bones of the world itself. The corridors shift. The walls remember. It is said to mold itself around those who walk within, testing them not only with machines and defenses, but with themselves.” Emily’s hand squeezed mine, steady but tense. Valrra’s explanation cast a weight over us, heavier than any physical threat. “The White Stone is a shard of Celestial Core,” Valrra continued. “Born in the heart of a dying star, hardened under the collapse of its final breath. It is rare beyond measure, and it resonates with Immortal energy. Many have tried to claim it. Most never returned. Those who did… spoke of being trapped in illusions. Of seeing their fears, their doubts, their desires, until the Labyrinth broke them.” The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the faint mechanical hiss of Deathskull’s vents. His visor glowed faintly as he turned to face Valrra. “Then it adapts. It will not hand us the Stone. We will have to take it.” Valrra’s lips curved into a small, grim smile. “Not take. Earn. That is the Labyrinth’s way.” No one argued. The urgency of our mission outweighed the dread gnawing at the back of my thoughts. Valrra didn’t wait for further debate—she turned, her cloak sweeping across the floor as she led us out of the chamber. The deeper corridors of the temple shed the majesty of the library. Here, the walls narrowed and the air grew colder, tinged with the faint smell of ozone and old stone. The illumination from the crystal dome was left behind, replaced by pale veins of light threading through the walls like the glowing circulatory system of some great underground beast. Each step downward carried us into greater silence. Even our footsteps seemed subdued, swallowed by the passage itself. At last, we reached the entrance. It rose before us like a monument to another age: an arch of blackened steel, its surface alive with runes that glowed crimson as though written in fire. The symbols shifted subtly, crawling like worms across the surface, always rearranging, always rewriting themselves. The arch seemed to breathe, and the translucent veil at its center rippled like molten glass caught in eternal motion. The air shimmered around it, bending like heat over desert sands. But the chill was so deep it gnawed into my armor, raising gooseflesh beneath. I rested my gauntleted hand on the grip of my chainsword, Revenge. The weapon thrummed at my touch, its serrated teeth rattling faintly in anticipation, as though it too recognized the gate as a challenge worth meeting. Serenity stood at my right, calm and rigid, her focus locked on the shifting veil. On my left, Emily’s green eyes gleamed with reflection from the runes. She traced them silently with her gaze, as though they spoke a language she alone understood. Haj Tooth joined us at the front, her figure half-shadowed by the glow. She was shark and woman both, her hammerhead contours softened by human femininity—broad lips, high cheekbones, and eyes that burned with their own light. A predator’s grace carried her forward, but she was not towering or overbearing; rather, her strength came from the undeniable precision of her movements, the quiet but fierce aura of someone who had survived where few could. Her biomechanical armor clung to her like a second skin, sculpted with sleek plates that shimmered under the red glow of the runes. Fluid tubes ran across her frame, pulsing with dim light as though her suit breathed with her. A massive axe rested easily in her hands, its edges scored with ancient battle scars, its haft threaded with cables that linked into her armor’s power core. The contrast of her sharklike features with the elegant curve of her lips, the sharpness of her tusks softened by feminine poise, made her presence uncanny yet magnetic. Haj Tooth tilted her head, hammer-shaped cranium catching the light as she studied the veil. The muscles in her jaw flexed before she spoke, her voice a low, rolling growl softened with a strange melody. “It breathes,” she said. “Like prey trying to pretend it is not alive.” Behind us, Valrra lingered at the foot of the stair, her hands folded, crimson eyes watching every shift of the gate. Deathskull loomed beside her, silent as ever, while Droid L-84’s optics ticked rapidly as though analyzing every symbol. Valrra’s voice was measured, calm but edged with warning. “This is where I stop. The Labyrinth was not meant for me. For you—it is already awake. It stirs when it senses something worth testing.” She let her gaze fall on me last, her tone sharpening. “We’ll guide you through comms while we can. But once it closes, you’ll be beyond our reach. If it remembers you, it will not forget.” Haj Tooth gave a small, fierce smile, her lips curving to expose rows of serrated teeth. “Then let it choke on the memory.” She lifted her axe, resting its weight against her shoulder, as though daring the veil to react. Emily’s lips parted in a hushed murmur, her voice carrying both awe and dread. “It isn’t just steel and stone… the runes, they’re sentences. They’re rewriting themselves to fit us. They’re watching us.” Serenity shifted her stance, unshaken. “Then we watch back.” I exhaled slowly, feeling Revenge vibrate harder in my grip. “We go in, take the White Stone, and we come back. Nothing more.” Valrra gave one last nod. “Be warned—the Labyrinth tests the body, the mind, and the soul. Not everything within will be real. But what you feel will be.” Haj Tooth stepped forward first, pressing the flat of her hand against the blackened steel arch. Sparks spat out at her touch, hissing like angry serpents. Her armor’s plates flared, absorbing the backlash. Her grin widened, the predator within her lips curling back just enough to show serrated rows of teeth. “It doesn’t like me. Good.” I followed, reaching toward the veil. It recoiled from me at first, rippling like water rejecting an intruder. Then it surged forward, pressing cold against my gauntlet, sliding into the cracks of my armor like living frost. The chill lanced through my veins, crawling up my arm like liquid ice. Revenge snarled in my other hand, its chains rattling hungrily, as though it sensed prey ahead. Serenity pressed through the veil without hesitation, her armor flaring once with light before fading back to calm. Emily lingered only a moment, whispering words under her breath that seemed to make the runes flare in acknowledgment. Then she stepped through, her eyes bright with that otherworldly glow. Together, the four of us crossed. The veil swallowed us whole, and the chamber dissolved. For a heartbeat, there was no sound, no air, no ground beneath us. Only the feeling of being stretched thin, pulled through liquid glass. Memories shimmered around us—shadows of battles, failures, regrets, voices from our past echoing in distorted tones. Then, with violent force, we landed. The veil sealed shut behind us. The Labyrinth exhaled. On the other side of the gate, the Labyrinth unfolded like a dreamscape shaped by circuitry and memory rather than stone or brick. The vastness pressed against my senses the moment we stepped through. The cold mist clung to my armor like a second skin, chilling my breath, before dissipating into the strange new world that sprawled before us. There were no corridors or walls, no claustrophobic hallways as one might expect from a labyrinth. Instead, an endless plain stretched to every horizon, lit by a pale and unforgiving sky. The ground was not dirt or stone but a living mesh of grass threaded with fine, metallic filaments. Each blade seemed to pulse faintly, glowing as though it carried currents of unseen data. When my boots pressed down, the grass yielded softly, whispering with static as if it recognized my weight. Tiny insects with wings of light flickered above the surface, their bodies crystalline and segmented, weaving in and out of the air with purpose. Rising from this biomechanical carpet were the towers. They loomed like sentinels—data spires constructed from an alloy that seemed older than memory yet alive with motion. Each column vibrated with a resonance that thrummed through bone and armor alike, the sound both mechanical and organic. Their smooth surfaces shifted with lattices of glowing panels, some sliding and reshaping themselves like the skin of a breathing creature. Between these panels, vines had rooted, wrapping around the towers as though nature had claimed its place in this technological cathedral. The vines pulsed faintly, carrying red light like veins feeding into the heart of the structures. Every few moments, a deep surge of energy traveled upward through their cores, exploding skyward in a wave of crimson illumination that washed over everything. The air smelled faintly of ozone mixed with wet soil, as though lightning storms had scorched the ground but life had immediately sprung back. With each breath, the balance between living and artificial seemed to blur further, until I could no longer tell where machines ended and organisms began. Then came the drone. It emerged from the shadows between two towers with the grace of a bird, its wings crafted of translucent alloy sheets that shimmered like glass catching sunlight. Its body was compact and angular, polished to a sheen, with small lenses pulsing across its frame like eyes blinking in unison. It drifted closer, its wings moving with mechanical precision yet carrying an elegance no machine should possess. A faint hum followed its flight, harmonizing with the deep vibration of the towers. It hovered briefly before tilting its frame and gliding away, weaving effortlessly through the spires. Valrra said over the comms, “Follow it!” We followed. At first, the drone moved at a steady pace, its wings flickering in gentle beats as it kept to a clear, direct path. The red glow of the towers guided our steps, flaring brighter as we walked, as though acknowledging our intrusion. But soon, the drone’s behavior shifted. Its wings snapped faster, its glides became sharper, and its turns less predictable. It no longer guided—it taunted. We broke into a run, the whisper of the grass beneath us turning into a rushing static chorus. My armor clattered softly with each stride, chainsword Revenge thumping against my back. Serenity moved with precision, her white leather jumpsuit cutting a clean figure against the glowing expanse, while Emily’s emerald eyes glinted each time the crimson pulses rolled over us. Haj Tooth’s form was more primal—her biomechanical armor flexing with her movements, hammerhead features grim yet composed, her shark-like silhouette slicing forward with fluid predator's grace. The drone darted between spires like a teasing phantom, each sudden disappearance urging us forward. We chased, yet it always seemed one step ahead, its frame vanishing behind a column only to reappear further along the horizon. The speed forced us deeper into the labyrinth’s living expanse, where the towers grew denser, their red pulses quickening like a heartbeat under strain. The vibration intensified, reverberating through the ground, through the spires, and into our very chests until every breath came accompanied by the hum of an ancient machine consciousness. With every surge of crimson, the environment seemed to alter. The grass thickened, the metallic filaments shining brighter, their whispers turning into a low hiss. The insects that had seemed harmless now gathered in clouds, their crystalline bodies glowing as they moved in geometric swarms, shifting like programmed constellations in the sky. The towers themselves seemed to bend closer, their panels shifting to expose deeper layers of inner circuitry, vast networks of light flickering in patterns too complex to follow. The drone’s wings sliced the air, scattering faint sparks, each beat leaving behind thin streaks of afterlight as though its flight existed across multiple instances of time. We pushed harder, the pursuit dragging us into a rhythm where the line between hunter and hunted blurred. The Labyrinth was not just observing—it was responding. The very ground seemed to react to the pounding of our boots, ripples of red light spreading out beneath us like blood seeping through woven circuitry. The air grew heavier, charged, and each breath burned faintly with metallic taste. The hum of the towers became oppressive, like the sound of a thousand voices murmuring in the background of thought. With every step, it felt as though we were being pulled deeper not only into a physical maze but into the very memory of the civilization that had built it. And still the drone danced ahead, a phantom bird of glass and alloy, gliding on wings that seemed to mock gravity, always just beyond our grasp. I slowed, glancing at Emily as the drone circled again, teasing us. Frustration bubbled in my chest. “It’s playing with us,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow. “We split—corner it from both sides.” Emily nodded immediately, understanding, and I gestured toward separate paths. Serenity glanced between Haj Tooth and me, reading the plan. Without another word, the pairs divided: I stayed with Emily, our boots sinking slightly into the shimmering grass, while Serenity fell in step with Haj Tooth. The drone’s red glow pulsed ahead, and we moved into our separate pursuit, slipping between the towering data spires, ready to trap it. As the hunt for the drone continued, Haj Tooth finally had time to catch up with Serenity. The red glow of the data spires bathed them in a soft, almost surreal light, highlighting the intricate patterns of Haj Tooth’s biomechanical armor. The faint hum of the Labyrinth surrounded them, a constant, low vibration that seemed to resonate with their own heartbeats. The soft hiss of the living grass beneath their feet mingled with the distant whir of the hovering drone, now far ahead, its wings catching the crimson light as it disappeared between the towering spires. Serenity’s fingers lingered on Haj Tooth’s smooth, hammerhead-like head, feeling the subtle warmth of her skin beneath the cold metal plates of her armor. Haj Tooth’s eyes, dark and deep, reflected the red pulses of the towers in a way that made them seem almost liquid, and her lips curved slightly as if relieved to finally express what had been weighing on her. The air between them felt charged, not with aggression or fear, but with the fragile weight of honesty and reconciliation. “I… I never wanted this,” Haj Tooth murmured, her voice carrying the resonance of the deep ocean, a timbre both soft and commanding. “I only followed orders under the hive mind, but I see now how much harm it caused you.” Serenity’s eyes softened further. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing as she tightened her hold just a fraction. “We all make choices,” she replied, her voice steady, but underlined with warmth. “What matters is what we do afterward.” Haj Tooth inclined her head slightly, the motion deliberate and careful, as if measuring the weight of each word. “I feared you would never forgive me.” Her voice cracked slightly, betraying a vulnerability rarely seen in the shark-headed warrior. “No,” Serenity whispered, almost as if afraid to break the fragile connection forming between them. “Not anymore. Forgiveness isn’t given—it’s earned. And you’ve earned it today.” The hum of the Labyrinth seemed to pulse with them, a living witness to the moment. Haj Tooth’s broad shoulders relaxed, the rigid tension of her stance softening as she allowed herself to lean slightly into Serenity’s presence. Her axe, resting at her side, gleamed faintly in the red glow, but it no longer seemed a weapon of threat—just a part of who she was. For a few moments, they stood like that, caught in the silent understanding that bridged the gap between two worlds: one human, one hybrid; one filled with war, the other with the potential for peace. The noise of the Labyrinth—the drone’s distant movements, the soft whispers of the grass, the pulsing light of the towers—became a backdrop to something far more significant: a quiet reconciliation, a shared acknowledgment that even in a universe rife with chaos and betrayal, bonds could be rebuilt. Haj Tooth finally straightened, her gaze locking once more with Serenity’s. “I will watch your back, always,” she said, the promise firm and unwavering. “And I yours,” Serenity replied, her tone equally resolute. She stepped back slightly, allowing Haj Tooth to adjust, her fingers releasing the gentle contact. The red light reflected off the spires, highlighting every curve of Haj Tooth’s unusual yet elegant form, the combination of humanoid and shark-like features making her presence both alien and strangely comforting. With the moment of trust cemented between them, they moved forward again, the Labyrinth still looming around them, mysterious and alive. Haj Tooth’s steps were confident now, guided not only by instinct and duty but by the bond freshly formed. Serenity walked beside her, the two of them a silent team in the midst of an environment designed to disorient and test every visitor. Meanwhile, the drone flitted ahead of me, weaving between the towering data spires with impossible precision. Emily was at my side, her green eyes locked on the machine, every muscle in her body tense, every step measured. The labyrinth’s energy thrummed beneath our boots, the red pulses from the spires synchronizing with our movements, the air thick with static that made each breath feel heavier, charged. We pushed harder, trying to close the distance. The drone darted through a narrow gap between two massive towers, its wings catching the crimson glow, casting fractured light across the soft, circuit-infused grass. I reached for Emily, ready to pull her along, when the ground beneath her shifted violently. She gasped, her arms flailing as the floor gave way beneath her. I lunged instinctively, but it was too late. She vanished into a narrow tunnel with a faint, muffled thud. The ground rippled briefly where she had been, then settled back into place as if nothing had happened. I stared at the opening, the red glow from the spires above barely illuminating the darkness within. The drone circled overhead for a moment, almost mocking, before disappearing deeper into the labyrinth. I called out her name, my voice echoing against the humming towers, but only silence answered. The labyrinth felt impossibly vast now, oppressive in its quiet, the air buzzing with energy that seemed to press down on me. The soft grass brushed against my boots as I circled the immediate area, peering down into the dark tunnel. The walls glimmered faintly with embedded circuits, pulsing with an eerie crimson light that illuminated Emily’s form as she crawled forward, the leather of her jumpsuit creaking and stretching in the confined space. I could see the determination in her movements, her fingers brushing against the glowing veins lining the tunnel, tracing the faint path forward. The tunnel forced her onto all fours, narrow enough that she had to move carefully, her chest pressed low to avoid scraping against the walls. Every inch she advanced was deliberate, measured, as if she could feel the energy flow through the labyrinth and let it guide her. Above her, I remained at the edge, gripping the ground for balance, my heart pounding. The drone was gone, vanished into the twisting expanse of towers, leaving us separated. The labyrinth had split us, forcing Emily into its hidden depths while I remained on the surface, the grass whispering underfoot, the towers pulsing around me. I traced my steps back toward the path the drone had taken, scanning for anything that could lead me to her. The red glow of the spires reflected across my armor, dimmed by the distance and the maze of towers between us. Each pulse of energy seemed to thrum with awareness, as though the labyrinth itself had taken note of our separation, testing our ability to navigate its living circuits independently. Emily’s muffled movements echoed faintly from below, a reminder that she was still pushing forward. The labyrinth was not just a challenge of physical endurance—it demanded patience, observation, and trust in the faint signals that guided her. I clenched my fists, gripping Revenge, and prepared to follow, knowing the separation was exactly the kind of trial the labyrinth intended. One wrong move, and either of us could be lost to the twisting towers forever. So I looked for her only to end up falling through the floor as well. Panic gripped me when I realized she was gone. “Emily!” I called out, scanning the ground for any sign of her. My comm crackled with static, useless now. I took one cautious step forward—and the floor beneath me disintegrated. I dropped into darkness, landing hard but upright in a tunnel much like hers, the walls humming faintly with hidden energy. At least I could stand here, though I had no idea which direction would lead me to her. Emily pressed forward, her knees dragging against the narrow passage floor, leather creaking with each strained movement. The tunnel around her seemed to grow tighter as she advanced, the glowing strands of circuitry pulsing with irregular rhythm, as though the labyrinth itself was alive and watching. Ahead, the red-tinged light dimmed further, swallowed by a heavier darkness. The ground beneath her hands, once solid and grainy, shifted without warning. Her palms sank into something wet, cold, and unyielding. Momentum carried her forward, her chest pressing hard against the slick earth, and suddenly her knees plunged into a pool of dense mud. It clung immediately, thick and hungry, sucking at her boots with a bubbling groan. She lurched forward with a muffled gasp, her knees plunging into cold, sucking mud. The ground beneath her writhed like it was alive, greedy for her body, pulling her down inch by inch. She strained to push herself back, but the earth clung tight, swallowing her boots and calves, tugging her deeper with every frantic movement. The more she tried to back away, the more the pit drew her deeper, swallowing the polished black leather of her thigh boots inch by inch. Each movement was answered with a sticky resistance, the mud wrapping her legs in suffocating weight. She braced her gloved hands against the tunnel’s edges, trying to steady herself, but the surface gave way, slick and unstable. Her body slipped further forward until her waist hovered dangerously close to the churning mire. The sound of the mud was grotesque—wet gurgles and faint bubbling, as though the pit itself mocked her struggle. Below, I followed a separate passage. The tunnel angled upward, its walls slick with a damp sheen that reflected the faint glow of embedded circuitry. The air grew heavier with the scent of soil, the metallic tang replaced by something richer, earthen, alive. My boots pressed into softer ground, every step leaving shallow impressions. As I ascended, the ceiling above changed. It was no longer smooth metal or humming circuitry but a thick layer of dark, compact soil. Fine roots and tangled fibers jutted through the surface, twitching faintly as though sensing my presence. The ground above trembled softly, sending loose clumps of earth raining down around me. I paused, listening. There was movement above—subtle vibrations at first, then stronger, frantic. A muffled struggle seeped through the earth. The soil shook in bursts, followed by faint wet sounds, thick and bubbling. I leaned closer, pressing my ear to the dirt ceiling. That’s when I heard it—Emily’s muffled effort, her body straining against something unseen. Above me, Emily clawed at the edges of the mud pit, her arms quivering as she tried to haul herself free. The mud was relentless, swallowing her legs past the knees, pulling at her hips with greedy force. Tendril-like shapes formed from the sludge, wrapping around her boots and thighs, slick coils that slid higher with each passing moment. They bound her hips tightly, squeezing until her body arched under the pressure. The sensation was invasive, suffocating, as though the mud itself was a living entity, intent on devouring her whole. Her breathing quickened, chest heaving beneath her red and black jumpsuit, droplets of mud streaking across her face. She kicked violently, sending ripples of sludge slapping against the tunnel walls, but the pit answered by pulling harder, dragging her down until the tendrils licked at her glutes and pressed against the seams of her suit. The bubbling intensified, the pit hissing almost gleefully as she continued to sink. Below, I drove my hands into the soil ceiling, clawing through with determination. Earth packed beneath my fingernails as I ripped apart the damp layers, creating a widening breach. My fingers broke through at last, brushing against something solid. A boot—slick, mud-soaked, and trembling with Emily’s frantic movements. I grasped it tightly, the leather coated in grit, and pulled with all my strength. Then, from her perspective, the horror worsened—shapes began to coil around her legs. Slick mud tendrils twisted against the leather of her boots, climbing higher with eerie determination. Eventually the tentacles wrapped around her thighs, and glutes. To her panicked mind, it was no longer just mud—it was something alive. Something monstrous. Her heart hammered as she imagined a labyrinth-born creature, a tentacle beast waiting in the depths, determined to drag her into its unseen maw. She thrashed wildly, clawing at the slippery edge of the pit, leather creaking and groaning under the strain. The sound of bubbling mud rose around her, mocking her efforts. The tendrils tightened, winding past her thighs, pressing into her hips like cold, greedy fingers. Her breath came in short bursts, panic searing through her veins. The soil shuddered as I tore at it, widening the hole until her legs were fully exposed. Mud cascaded downward in thick ropes, splattering against me as I anchored myself against the tunnel floor and heaved. Emily’s body jolted as if wrenched by a monstrous hand, and for a moment, the mud tightened in defiance, dragging her back into its embrace. But I refused to relent. Her entire lower body dangled through the ceiling now, caked in wet earth, her thighs and hips slick with clinging sludge. I spanked her, my grip tightened, veins straining as I hauled her free from the pit’s grasp. With one final surge of strength, I yanked her downward. The ceiling collapsed partially, the mud’s tendrils snapping as though severed nerves. Emily tumbled into my arms, her body colliding with mine, both of us coated in the earthy stench of wet leather and soil. The truth hit her— it was me. We collapsed together in the tunnel, the scent of damp earth and mud thick around us. Her face, streaked with grit, lifted to mine, eyes wide and shining even through the mess. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, mud still dripping from her jumpsuit. Relief flooded both of us in waves, dissolving the terror of the moment. I held her tight, brushing the wet grit from her hair and the mud smeared across her cheek. She let out a shaky laugh, half nerves, half relief, before leaning against me for a kiss. For a moment, all the labyrinth’s dangers fell away, replaced by the raw, grounding truth—we had each other, and nothing in this place could take that away. The tunnels finally gave way, and Emily and I emerged back into the vast open plain of the Labyrinth’s first level. The familiar hum of the data towers greeted us, their crimson pulses rippling upward like heartbeats. My boots sank into the living grass, and I pulled Emily the rest of the way up, the soil falling from her as she steadied herself. She brushed grit off her leather jumpsuit, the faint glow of the crimson light accenting the red trim of her outfit. For a brief moment, I simply exhaled, grateful she was beside me again. Then the stillness broke. The drone was waiting. Hovering just ahead, its wings of translucent metal curved like blades of glass, its movements slower now—deliberate. It bobbed slightly, as though acknowledging us, then drifted forward at a measured pace. Emily frowned. “It’s not fleeing anymore.” I narrowed my eyes, watching the faint glimmer of red reflections off its metallic body. “No,” I said. “It’s leading.” We fell in step behind it, moving carefully through the glowing grass. Moments later, two familiar shapes emerged between the towers—Serenity, her pale jumpsuit dusty from the tunnels, and Haj Tooth, her biomechanical armor gleaming faintly as the crimson pulses reflected across her smooth hammerhead features. Relief softened the tension in my chest. “You’re alive,” Serenity breathed, though her voice was firm, not shaken. Her gaze lingered on Emily briefly before returning to me. “Alive, but not unscathed,” Emily muttered with a smile, still dusting dirt from her shoulders. The drone circled once, then glided toward a singular data spire. This one tower loomed taller than the rest, its core glowing with a brighter, steadier light, as though something within it hummed with greater purpose. The surface panels shifted slightly, alive with patterns that resembled veins, pulsating faintly. “That’s it,” Serenity whispered. Her voice carried certainty, the way it always did when instinct and intellect aligned. “The White Gemstone is inside that vault.” Without hesitation, Serenity slung her pack forward, pulling out a compact cutting tool. She glanced up the tower, then back at us. “Cover me. I’ll climb.” Emily looked as if she wanted to protest, but before she could speak, Serenity was already leaping upward, using the panels as grips. The drone remained nearby, circling slowly as if watching, judging. I tracked Serenity’s movements as she scaled the tower, the crimson light cutting across her pale figure. She reached the vault—a seam of sealed panels shaped like a chest embedded in the tower’s body. Pulling the cutting tool, she pressed it to the seam. Sparks hissed, showering the spire’s surface as the whine of the blade bit through. The air trembled, vibrations shaking the grass beneath our feet. Then the vault split open with a resonant crack, and inside, resting on a cradle of pulsating filaments, was the White Gemstone. It glowed faintly, not with simple luminescence but with resonance—an energy that pulsed like breath, echoing in my bones even from the ground. Its surface shimmered between solid and translucent, as if refusing to choose whether it was matter or light. Serenity seized it, cradling it carefully to her chest. For a heartbeat, we all allowed relief to sink in. That’s when the world turned against us. Hostile drones spilled from the air like locusts, their forms angular, their wings serrated. Their red optics burned in unison, and the hum of the towers seemed to amplify their arrival. They swarmed, surrounding Serenity on the spire, and one raised its appendage. The laser strike came swift and merciless. A bolt of crimson light lanced across the tower, nearly clipping Serenity as it tore through the panel she clung to. She staggered, gripping the gemstone tight. “Jump!” I roared. “Serenity, now!” Emily echoed my cry. “We’ll catch you!” There was no hesitation. Serenity kicked away from the spire, gemstone pressed to her chest, and plummeted downward. I surged forward, arms outstretched, and caught her with a grunt as the impact drove me backward into the grass. She clutched the White Gemstone tight, her breath ragged. Emily rushed to her side, wiping streaks of dirt from Serenity’s jumpsuit, her movements sharp and protective. For the briefest instant, relief swelled again. But the drones descended. They opened fire in unison, crimson bolts raining down like a storm. I activated my plasma shield with a snap of my wrist—the transparent red arc flaring into existence. I widened the barrier, covering Haj Tooth, whose non-Immortal body was most vulnerable. She crouched behind me, axe raised defensively, her gills flaring as the blasts struck the shield with ear-rattling intensity. We moved as one, pressing forward through the storm. Grass scorched beneath the laser fire, the crimson glow merging with flames. The hum of the towers turned into a resonant scream, amplifying the chaos around us. Step by step, we fought toward the exit—the drone that had led us here was nowhere to be found, abandoning its role now that the gemstone was stolen. Then the path ahead darkened. From the shadows between two spires, something massive emerged. The air thickened, the grass seeming to wilt beneath its approach. It was not a drone nor simple machine, but something worse—an abomination. The creature lumbered into view, its grotesque form illuminated by the glow of the towers. A twisted human torso fused to a spider-like mechanical body, its rotting flesh stretched across a ribcage that still bore the faint remnants of tattoos. Its face was a half-decayed human head, eyes white and rolling, mouth stretched into a permanent scream. Mechanical limbs jutted from its sides, tipped with blades and claws, sparking with faint currents of electricity. The sight struck me cold. This wasn’t just a guardian—it was a damned soul, one of the mortals who had once dared to stand against an Immortal, reshaped into eternal servitude. There was no time to mourn or rage. “Emily, Serenity—guard Haj Tooth!” I commanded, raising my plasma shield in one hand and Chainsword Revenge in the other. The chain teeth roared to life with a growl like thunder. The abomination lunged, its spider limbs striking with the force of pistons. Sparks rained as metal clashed against my shield. I braced, shoving back, and swung Revenge—its roaring teeth carved into one of the mechanical arms, sparks and ichor spraying. The duel raged, brutal and merciless. Every strike carried the weight of the labyrinth’s wrath. At one point, its clawed limb slammed into me, knocking me across the grass and into the base of a data tower. The impact rattled my bones, the crimson glow flickering around me. The abomination turned from me to the others. Emily’s blade flared, silver crystals erupting from the ground in jagged spires. They pierced into the creature’s legs, halting its advance with a shriek of grinding metal. The moment was enough. I surged forward, climbing the thing’s back. Revenge screamed as I drove it deep into the seam between flesh and steel. The chain teeth ripped through, fountains of blood and oil spewing outward, painting the grass in grotesque patterns. The abomination convulsed, its scream echoing through the towers, before collapsing in a shuddering heap. I stood over its twitching corpse, chest heaving, Revenge dripping with the mingled fluids of machine and man. “That’s the last Immortal you’ll ever challenge, bot,” I muttered, the words carrying more weight than simple victory. Emily approached, silver sparks still fading from her sword. She met my eyes, her green gaze fierce yet proud. “You did a good job,” I told her, letting the edge of a rare smile tug at my lips. “Now let’s get out of this labyrinth.” Together, the four of us turned toward the gate, the gemstone secured, our unity unbroken. The labyrinth still pulsed with life, but its greatest guardian lay slain at our feet. CHAPTER 16: "FERAL GUARDIAN" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 15: "TROUBLE BREWING" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" At the heart of the galaxy, Skaalandr emerged as the new anchor of Vikingnar civilization. Once a quiet, uninhabited world of deep oceans and sprawling tundra, its surface was now alive with the hum of construction. Across its frost-bitten valleys, Guardian Angel Droids stood like golden sentinels, their skeletal forms etched with runes, their Viking-style armor fused seamlessly with their mechanical frames. They worked tirelessly to raise the foundations of the capital. Towers of crystal-steel rose like spears piercing the pale-blue sky, each one laced with veins of shungite to ward off demonic influence. Streets formed in a pattern resembling old Norse symbolism, each avenue designed to honor the past while embracing the advanced architecture of the future. The city itself was a marvel—bridges grown from crystallized alloys, parks woven directly into the urban core, and living rivers redirected through artificial canals to provide a balance between human settlement and the planet’s untouched wilderness. The Guardian Angels did not build with noise and smoke, but with precise silence, their nanite-based forges unfolding structures from shimmering particles in the air. Beneath their watchful presence, a civilization that had nearly been annihilated by corruption was being reborn. Far from Skaalandr, the echoes of the old Red Dragon Empire still lingered across its abandoned industrial worlds. York, Jericho, Jeremiah, and Draca—once engines of oppression, their skylines dominated by jagged gothic towers, smog-choked factories, and energy-draining fortresses—were now husks, stripped of their former might. But they were not silent for long. Swarms of nanobots descended like silver storms, devouring rusted iron, decayed steel, and toxic industrial complexes in shimmering waves. Every tower pulled down was immediately replaced with something new—cities that glowed softly in harmony with the horizon, towns that spiraled outward like patterns from old Viking knots, homes that coexisted with forests rather than erasing them. The process was breathtakingly swift. Where smoke once blackened the skies, the air cleared into crisp clarity, infused with scents of pine, grass, and flowers reintroduced to the soil. Where rivers had once been clogged with ash and industrial runoff, they now ran clean, fish darting between crystalline rocks restructured by the nanos. These were not mere colonies—they were sanctuaries, living symbols of how a civilization could rebuild itself without repeating the scars of its past. Above these worlds, Wraith Devices loomed like black obelisks in orbit, each one forged from an alloy of shungite and graphene. Their purpose was not conquest, but defense. They dispensed microscopic clouds of shungite particles into planetary atmospheres, creating barriers invisible to the naked eye but devastating to demonic incursions. Should a Wraith tear open above one of these worlds, the particles would interfere with the spectral frequency, burning away the intruders before they could fully manifest. For the first time in centuries, these systems could rest, shielded from the nightmare that lurked just beyond the veil. In orbit, fleets of Vikingnar vessels patrolled the new star lanes. Sleek Drakkar Warships, their hulls carved with glowing runes, sailed in formation, their hulls shimmering with blue-white plasma shielding. Alongside them moved colossal cargo ships, carrying settlers, supplies, and seeds of civilization from one world to the next. Patrol wings darted between systems, monitoring trade routes and keeping vigil against the threat of resurgence from the Wraith or the fractured remnants of the Red Dragon loyalists. The once-isolated clans of Vikingnar now stood united under a single banner, their fleets a declaration of survival, progress, and unity. Space itself had shifted under their command. The invention of the Wraith Core Hyper Engine had revolutionized travel. By folding through the edge of the Wraith’s domain—slipping just above its cursed dimension—ships could bend distances once thought impossible. Journeys that once required weeks of transit across void space were now completed in the span of moments. Hyper routes connected the liberated worlds like veins, pulsing with the lifeblood of trade, exploration, and migration. For the first time, the galaxy felt small, connected, and whole. As the new era unfolded, the people of Vikingnar began to settle. On Skaalandr, families disembarked from carriers and walked down onto fresh soil, their boots crunching against crystalline earth. On York, settlers stepped through the skeletons of once-burning factories, now reborn as green plazas where children could play. Across Jeremiah and Draca, colonists opened their lungs to clean air for the first time in generations. Farmers set seeds into fertile soil revitalized by nanos, while artisans erected halls of memory, their murals depicting the fall of the Red Dragon Empire and the battles against the Demons. Technology itself had been reimagined. Gone were the days of fossil fuels and toxic batteries; fusion energy hummed quietly beneath every settlement. Homes powered themselves from miniature reactors that gave off no smoke, no waste. Sky barges floated effortlessly using repulsor sails energized by the fusion cores, leaving no contrails across the sky. Tools, transportation, and even entertainment all drew from energy sources harmonized with nature. Every settlement had been designed so that the line between civilization and wilderness blurred—forests grown alongside skyscrapers, meadows stretching through courtyards, streams redirected through plazas to sing with the city’s heartbeat. Harmony was no longer an ideal but a daily reality. People awoke to the sound of birds singing in green fields, while distant factories, quiet and clean, hummed their labor without scarring the land. Hunters, farmers, scientists, and warriors alike walked side by side. The warriors sharpened their weapons not for oppression, but for vigilance, their watchful eyes scanning the skies for any sign of the Demonic return. Scientists worked hand in hand with Guardians and Valkyries, blending ancient tradition with advanced technology to craft tools of balance, not destruction. The Vikingnar had built something more than an empire. They had built a covenant between the past and the future, between steel and soil, between man, machine, and Immortal. Every world liberated was not merely a victory—it was a promise. And though the scars of war still lingered in memory, hope was no longer a fragile flame but a roaring fire across the stars. The streets of Skaalandr burned with color that night. Lanterns of plasma light floated above avenues paved in crystalline stone, glowing with hues of deep blue and violet that shimmered against the frost-covered ground. Music reverberated through the capital’s plazas, carried on the winds from drums that blended tribal rhythms with synthesized beats, an echo of Viking heritage fused with modern resonance. Children ran with ribbons trailing behind them, and artisans had already painted murals of the Red Dragon Empire’s downfall on the walls of the newly erected halls. Emily walked at my side, her leather jumpsuit catching the glint of neon torches lining the streets, her green eyes scanning the joyful faces that surrounded us. My own armored boots struck hard against the ground, the chain sword Justice still strapped across my back, humming faintly with residual power. Though the air was alive with cheers and laughter, I could feel a weight beneath it, a vibration that told me the war had only shifted shape rather than ended. As we moved closer to the heart of the city, the avenues thickened with revelers. Soldiers who had once fought at our side now drank from crystalline horns, slamming them together in triumph. Nobles paraded in newly tailored garb, their robes infused with luminescent threads. The people chanted our names, though their voices carried an edge of ignorance, unaware of the horrors we had seen, or of what still waited in the shadow between realms. I leaned closer to Emily, my voice sharp against the backdrop of celebration. “Why don’t they know?” I asked. “Why do the people of Vikingnar think this war is finished? The Wraith still breathe, Maladrie still lingers, and yet they celebrate as if the stars themselves have been won.” Emily’s gaze remained forward, her expression steady. “Yeah,” she said softly, her tone shaded with both frustration and calm understanding. “We’re far behind in spreading info across this sector of our civilization. Word moves slower than victory, and right now, all they can feel is relief.” Her words sank into me like iron. I tightened my gauntlet and stared ahead at the looming gates of the capital—massive slabs of shimmering crystal reinforced by nanite-forged alloys, carved with runes that seemed to glow faintly of their own accord. The gates were taller than the highest mountain spires, meant not only to defend, but to inspire awe. I replied, my voice firm as steel. “I guess I was right to not listen to Ragnar. People need to know what’s in store next. If they think this is over, they’ll be blind to what’s coming.” Emily didn’t answer right away, but I could feel her agreement in the way her hand brushed mine, a small gesture in the middle of a storm. When we reached the capital’s doors, they opened with the slow grinding hum of ancient machinery fused with modern tech. The crystal slabs parted like the jaws of a beast, revealing the interior of Vikingnar’s new seat of power. We stepped into the grand hall, and the roar of celebration dimmed behind us, replaced by the low murmur of strategy and governance. Inside, the air was cooler, filled with the scent of fresh-shaved stone and burning plasma torches. The chamber stretched endlessly, the ceiling arching high above like the hull of a colossal ship. Banners hung from the rafters—newly forged symbols of Vikingnar, the wolf skull crowned with iron and framed by the chainsword motif. The council was already assembled, their figures spread across a circular dais that hovered above the floor by anti-gravity locks. Deathskull stood at the far end, his skeletal visage illuminated by the glow of data-screens projecting schematics of Wraith Devices, defense networks, and possible invasion routes. Nicholas and his knights were stationed along the hall’s edge, their armor glimmering with polished silver, while Droid L-84 hovered slightly behind Deathskull, recording every word and adjustment. As Emily and I marched down the center aisle, the chamber turned toward us. The eyes of nobles, droids, knights, and warriors all fell on us. Some looked with respect, others with unease, and a few with barely veiled doubt. Deathskull’s hollow gaze followed me as I approached. He lowered his clawed hands from the projection, and for a moment, silence gripped the chamber. The weight of celebration outside contrasted violently with the reality we stood in. This hall was not about joy. It was about preparation, survival, and the truth that the war had only shifted its battlefield. I let my boots echo across the crystal floor before speaking, my words cutting into the chamber like a blade. “Let the people celebrate for now—but we all know it’s too soon. The Red Dragon Empire has fallen, yes. But Maladrie is not gone. The Wraith still pulse beyond the veil, and they will return.” Emily stepped forward beside me, her presence grounding my words. She swept her gaze across the assembly. “The people outside are blind because they haven’t seen what we’ve seen. They haven’t walked the ruins, fought in the demon realms, or buried our own under blood and ash. But if we allow them to remain blind, then when the next storm hits, they won’t be ready.” Emily and I walked deeper into the heart of the renovated capital, and every step echoed with the clash of two worlds—one of triumph and one of warning. The streets outside still rang with music, laughter, and the cries of victory as citizens celebrated the fall of the Red Dragon Empire. Yet, within these walls, the atmosphere was far heavier. The first thing that struck me as we entered the newly forged corridors of power was the crest. Our crest. Carved into banners of obsidian cloth and etched into chrome panels, the crowned wolf skull stood stark and imposing, its hollow sockets staring outward like a guardian of the new age. Beneath it, the chainsword gleamed white, a symbol of Revenge and wrath intertwined. The entire emblem was bordered in crimson, the red light reflecting faintly across polished steel walls. The colors vibrated with meaning—death, loyalty, war, and rebirth all captured in one sigil. For a moment, Emily and I paused, exchanging a glance that conveyed our astonishment. We hadn’t expected the symbol of Vikingnar’s survival, our survival, to be carried into every hall like an oath etched into stone. Instead of turning upward toward the high chambers where briefings had once been held under the Red Dragon regime, we descended. The architects had reimagined the capital’s structure, digging into the ground rather than climbing toward the sky, as though seeking strength from the roots of the world rather than the false heavens. The hallways below were slick with chrome, lined with holographic displays of galactic star maps and patrol routes. The hum of energy conduits coursed underfoot, vibrating faintly through the metallic floors like the heartbeat of the city itself. As we rounded a corner, a simple sight greeted us: a maintenance droid, broom in hand, sweeping debris into a containment slot in the floor. Its glowing optical sensors flickered toward us briefly before returning to its duty. Even here, in the halls of power, small acts of order and rebuilding carried on. But beyond that mundane scene, the atmosphere shifted. A gathering waited outside the briefing chamber. Serenity stood with her arms crossed, her sleek white jumpsuit shimmering faintly under the hallway’s blue lights, her boots polished as if she had just stepped out of ceremony. Deathskull was there too, his dark armor muted under the chrome glow, but the crimson sparks in his visor betrayed his restlessness. Beside him hovered Droid L-84, its polished metal frame gleaming as runic inscriptions flickered along its plating, an almost ceremonial appearance. Kyle leaned casually against the wall, his expression serious but tinged with curiosity, always the observer. And then there was the crowd—figures in formal suits I didn’t recognize, clearly emissaries, administrators, perhaps even opportunists now drawn to Vikingnar’s rising star. They were the type who smelled of politics, deals, and carefully chosen words. Their presence made my skin crawl. Among them, one familiar presence stood out: Nicholas. He was composed as ever, his bearing sharper, as though the fall of the Red Dragon Empire had placed even greater weight upon his shoulders. At his side was a woman I had never seen before. Nicholas stepped forward as Emily and I approached, his voice steady and commanding. “William, Emily—this is Teresa Guilliman.” The woman inclined her head, her features refined but bearing the quiet weight of someone who had lived through regimes and carried scars of the past. Her armor was muted gold, not ostentatious but ceremonial, adorned with a sash that bore faint echoes of Red Dragon regalia—yet it had been deliberately torn and reworked, replaced with the neutral colors of the newly rising Vikingnar. Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly, but not out of hostility—out of curiosity. I too studied her carefully. Teresa spoke, her voice low but resonant. “I once served as a Nobel under King Alle’s rule. Those days… I am not proud of. Nicholas knows this. But we do not cling to that past any longer. The Red Dragon culture was one of corruption and cruelty. It is time for something else—something greater. We are ready to merge into the new order you are shaping.” Her words struck me more deeply than I wanted to admit. To hear someone who had once carried the banner of the old empire speak with such finality about abandoning it—about merging into something new—was powerful. But it was also unsettling. I could not ignore the thought that shadows still lingered, that allegiances could shift as easily as banners in the wind. I glanced at Emily. She caught my gaze, and in her expression I saw the same conflicted reaction. Astonishment, caution, and the flicker of hope. Nicholas and Teresa stood shoulder to shoulder, and though neither spoke of their bond, Emily and I didn’t need words to see it. The way they moved, the slight lean of their posture toward each other, the way their eyes met without effort—it was clear. Whatever had formed between them, it was more than politics. I opened my mouth to ask more, but before I could, Deathskull shifted his weight, his armor scraping faintly against the floor. His voice cut through the air like iron on stone. “Inside. Now. There is no time for sentiment.” He gestured toward the massive briefing doors. The surface shimmered with layered runes, unlocking as the Guardian protocols recognized his command. The suits, the warriors, the allies—everyone began to move forward, funneling into the chamber. The room itself pulsed faintly with energy from the Wraith core beneath the capital, as though the planet itself were listening. Emily and I followed the crowd inside, the weight of Teresa’s words still pressing at the back of my mind. A civilization had fallen. Another was being born. But deep down, I knew—we hadn’t seen the last of the shadows yet. The chamber itself had a cold beauty to it—polished chrome walls lined with holo-screens displaying maps of entire sectors, star systems glowing like constellations suspended in living glass. The table at the center of the room was not wood or stone but a flowing construct of black graphene, responsive to touch, its surface rippling as different data streams were summoned by the attending droids. A faint hum filled the air, the background resonance of the Wraith Core generators buried beneath Skaalandr’s surface. We all took our seats—Emily at my right, Deathskull looming across from me, Nicholas and Teresa to the side, Serenity flanking Deathskull, while Droid L-84 remained standing, its sensors flickering like cautious eyes. Valrra lingered in the back, arms folded across her ornate green leather jumpsuit, gold armor pieces, and black leather thigh boots. Deathskull leaned forward, his skeletal mask catching the room’s sterile light. His voice carried with its usual mechanical resonance. “As I was saying,” he repeated, “ads will become our currency. The civilian watches, the bread loaves, even interstellar rides—paid for with exposure to curated media. It is non-invasive, voluntary, and most importantly, universally accessible. This will break the chains of private monopolies.” I leaned back, letting the words settle in the room. “It sounds… strange. But I can’t deny it works. If it keeps people fed, housed, and traveling without chains of debt, then so be it.” Emily nodded beside me, her hands folded on the table, her visor retracted so her green eyes gleamed under the glow. “It removes desperation. And desperate people are the easiest for the Wraith to manipulate.” A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. Deathskull continued, “Housing, healthcare, food, and transport shall be written into our constitution as mandatory rights, not privileges. That was the first step.” Nicholas, resting his gauntleted hands on the table, gave a sharp nod. “A warrior fights best when he knows his family is secure. No man—or woman—should die wondering if his children will starve.” Emily smiled faintly. “And no woman should have to choose between her duty and her future.” That statement transitioned neatly into Deathskull’s next announcement. “The Saxons,” Deathskull gestured toward Nicholas and his companions, “have agreed to dissolve their previous masculine-only hierarchy. Henceforth, their order will welcome maidens into their ranks—not as companions, not as ornaments, but as equals in combat.” The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t resistance—it was contemplation. Nicholas exhaled, his jaw tense. “It wasn’t an easy decision. My fathers taught me otherwise, my commanders enforced it otherwise. But I saw with my own eyes what Valrra did on the field, and what your Emily did with her crystals. To ignore that would not be an honor. It would be blindness.” Teresa, seated next to him, finally spoke. Her voice was smooth but firm, shaped by years of noble upbringing. “If you expect men to fight endlessly, then they must have anchors. Maidens are more than fighters—they are reasons to fight. For balance, for focus, for… stability.” I couldn’t help but grin, nudging Emily with my elbow. “You hear that? You keep me in line, apparently.” Emily smirked back. “Someone has to.” That drew a chuckle from around the table, even from Valrra in the back, though she quickly masked it with her usual stoicism. But then Deathskull shifted the tone. “There is another mandate,” he said. “The ban of deity worship. No gods, no divine monarchs, no external idols. Only the cultivation of one’s own spiritual power.” The air grew heavier. Even the hum of the Wraith Cores seemed to fade. I sat up straighter, my instincts prickling. “You’re banning worship entirely? That’s going to sit badly. People cling to their gods. To their traditions. Are you asking them to abandon everything?” Deathskull’s mask tilted toward me. “Not abandon. Outgrow. Religion divides. One claims their god is greater than another. Wars are waged over symbols, while demons laugh and feed. We strip away the illusion. A man may still meditate, still connect to forces beyond, but he will not pray to an absentee deity to do his work for him. The power is in him. Always has been.” I scanned the table, expecting outrage—at least hesitation. But what I saw shocked me. Nicholas looked almost relieved. Teresa inclined her head in agreement. Serenity remained calm, hands folded. Even the Viking Druids, men who once chanted to old gods under oak groves, were silent but not resistant. “Apparently,” I muttered with dry sarcasm, “I’m the only one here with an issue.” Valrra’s gaze softened as she glanced toward me. Her expression, though guarded, carried a flicker of sympathy—as if she understood my resistance, maybe even shared it, but wouldn’t dare speak against the tide. I leaned back in my chair, letting out a slow exhale. I wasn’t going to win this one, not tonight. Better to let the meeting continue. Deathskull pressed forward, activating the holo-table. Streams of data rose like spectral rivers, maps of star systems, fleet movements, population growth. “Then it is settled. We have a foundation: an economy of abundance, equality in arms, and unity of spirit. Now comes the true work—defense, expansion, and preparing for the inevitable return of Maladrie and her Wraith spawn.” The chamber dimmed as the map zoomed out, revealing the scale of our newly-formed Republic. Entire clusters of stars highlighted in blue—our territory. But just beyond, oceans of red, pulsating with the presence of the Wraith. And all I could think was how fragile it looked. How small we still were, even with all we had built. Deathskull’s voice rang hollow but steady, reverberating off the obsidian walls of the council chamber. His eye sockets glowed a dim crimson as he leaned back into the throne-like chair, the metallic plates across his skeletal frame glinting against the cold artificial light. “I want Nicholas, Teresa, Droid L-84, Kyle, Serenity, Valrra, Emily, and you—William—to stay behind. The broader meeting is concluded.” The other officials shuffled out in silence, their holographic tablets snapping shut as the sound of boots and metallic steps echoed toward the grand exit arch. Soon, the chamber fell quiet again, leaving only the low hum of the energy conduits that powered this pyramid of governance. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Deathskull’s words still pressing down on me. Eternity. That word had clawed its way into my skull, gnawing at my thoughts like a parasite. For him, a machine, eternity was circuitry and endless operation. But for me, for Emily, for Serenity—it was a curse disguised as survival. Emily’s hand brushed my arm. “Are you okay? Look up.” I blinked, snapping out of my spiraling thoughts. Her green eyes were fixed on me with a softness that clashed against the warlike atmosphere around us. I managed a small nod before glancing up again, meeting Deathskull’s burning gaze. He leaned forward, the joints in his armored body clicking softly. “Now that the audience is gone, we can speak plainly.” His voice lowered to a grave whisper, yet it carried across the vast hall. “There are matters that cannot reach the ears of lesser senators.” Serenity stepped forward, her long white jumpsuit whispering against the marble floor. “This isn’t like you, Deathskull. You usually welcome transparency.” Deathskull tilted his head, almost like a raven studying prey. “Even a transparent body casts a shadow, Serenity. There are truths that, if spoken too freely, will cause panic rather than clarity.” Valrra crossed her arms, her sharp features catching the glow of the energy runes carved into the floor. “So what truth requires this… private council?” Deathskull paused, his optics dimming as though he was weighing not only his words but the consequences they might ripple across time. Then, with deliberate patience, he said: “I have created two copies of myself.” A silence swept the chamber, thick and suffocating. Kyle let out a dry laugh. “That explains why you’ve been showing up on the front lines and still sitting in the capital at the same time. I thought it was propaganda or holograms.” Nicholas frowned deeply, his grizzled face creasing further. “Copies? Clones? How does one even copy something like you?” Deathskull’s metal claws tapped against the armrest of his chair. “Through fractal duplication of my core consciousness. Not merely data replication—essence splitting. Each copy is me, and yet, each diverges slightly with every passing second. We share the same origin, the same memories until the split, and then… new branches of existence unfold.” Droid L-84 stepped forward, its domed head turning sharply. “That is a dangerous path. If divergence continues unchecked, your copies may grow into separate entities with separate ambitions. Have you considered this?” “I have,” Deathskull replied, “and that is why the Constitution of the United Kingdom of Vikingnar must remain intact. Not merely as governance, but as tether. The Senate shall not only check me, but all of me. If one copy drifts into tyranny, the others—and you—must strike it down.” A chill slid down my spine. His words weren’t bluster; he meant them. Teresa, ever quiet until now, finally spoke. Her voice was soft but steady, the kind that demanded attention without force. “You say this with calm certainty. But you also said something else today that troubles me more.” Deathskull turned his glowing gaze to her. “Which word?” “Eternity.” The room fell still again, as though the very conduits had hushed to hear her. She continued, her hands folded in front of her. “Machines may endure indefinitely, but eternity is not life. It’s stagnant. If William, Emily, and Serenity are caught in the same cycle—never dying, always fighting—what future does that hold? What purpose?” The unease I had been wrestling with flared again, sharp and suffocating. My entrails curled back into my stomach after being spilled across a battlefield… Emily regenerating a severed arm as though it were nothing… Serenity shrugging off wounds that should’ve killed her. It was unnatural. It was a mockery of the rhythm of life. “I was just a man,” I muttered, breaking the silence. “I never asked for eternity. I was dragged into this war, thrown into it like a pawn. And now I can’t die. None of us can. What the hell have we become?” Emily tightened her grip on my arm, as if grounding me. Her voice was steady, though I could sense the storm behind it. “We’ve become what we needed to be. To survive. To fight back.” “But at what cost?” I snapped, my voice echoing against the high chamber. “When death itself rejects you, when suffering is endless… how long before survival becomes a prison?” The glow in Deathskull’s eyes pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat. “That is why I called you here. Because what we face is not only demons of flesh and shadow, but demons of eternity itself. Immortality unchecked is madness. And madness spreads faster than any infection.” Valrra raised an eyebrow. “You speak as though eternity is a disease.” “Perhaps it is,” Deathskull replied. “And perhaps the cure is not to escape it, but to control it. Or embrace it.” The chamber grew colder, though no vent stirred the air. I realized then what Deathskull was implying. He didn’t just want to govern, or to fight—he wanted to master eternity. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if that made him our savior… or a bad omen. Or both. Deathskull’s skeletal hand pressed against the heavy alloy door, and the comms chamber opened with a low hiss. The circular room was alive with shifting holograms—star maps that warped and stretched as if the constellations themselves were trapped in the gravitational grip of unseen giants. At the far side of the table, two figures were waiting. Haj Tooth stood first in my sight. Her presence was commanding, almost regal despite her shark-like features. Her skin bore the sheen of the deep ocean—gray-blue with faint white streaks that caught the light. She had lips, not the maw of a beast, and her face held the stern composure of a seasoned commander. Her arms, though powerful, were distinctly human in form and movement, flexing subtly as though ready for action even in stillness. Beside her stood a human woman I didn’t recognize. She wore a long, dark coat that brushed against her boots, hair tied back, and her sharp cheekbones carved shadows across her face. Her eyes were locked onto me, piercing and unrelenting. I frowned. “Why the hell are we here?” Deathskull ignored the question entirely, his glowing red optics narrowing toward me. “William. Do you wish to appeal the Senate’s ruling against the worship of deities?” I scoffed. “Appeal? Does it fucking matter when I am god-like?” The skeletal machine tilted his head, almost amused. “That’s the spirit.” Turning then, he gestured to the unknown woman. “Now. Our visitor may speak.” She stepped forward, each footfall deliberate against the metallic floor. “My name is Hailey.” Her gaze stayed fixed on me, heavy and searching, and the longer it lingered, the more it felt like claws against my skin. Emily shifted uneasily at my side, her hand brushing mine. “Willy,” she whispered, her voice low but carrying, “she’s weirding me out.” Hailey finally spoke again, her tone sharp, as though each word were sharpened steel. “You knew my sister. Page.” The name stopped me cold. Memory cut through like a blade—the screams in the Wraith, Page and her boyfriend dragged into torment, swallowed into shadows that had no end. I’d seen what happened to her. The truth was a scar. I exhaled, slow and heavy. “I knew her. But she’s gone. I saw demons torture her. I saw her boyfriend ripped apart. I’m sure she’s very dead indeed.” Hailey’s chin rose defiantly. No tears. No collapse. Her eyes burned instead with conviction. “You’re wrong. She’s alive. Haj Tooth has the proof.” I turned to the shark humanoid, skeptical. “Proof? Or just your word?” Haj Tooth stepped forward, her lips parting as she spoke. Her voice was deep, resonant, carrying both weight and calm. “Not just my word, William. My fleet has traveled through the Wraith thousands of times, through rivers of shadow and corridors outside time itself. In those journeys, I encountered one who knows the River of Souls better than any other.” Her dark eyes glinted. “Beelzebub.” The name drew silence, but not the same cold dread as before. Instead, I felt a strange calm ripple through me, a memory resurfacing. “Yes,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’ve met him. A Wraith Entity. Humanoid, wasp-like. Not a demon.” Hailey’s brows knit together in surprise. “You’ve met him?” “He isn’t evil,” I said firmly, my voice steady. “His role isn’t destruction. He guards the River of Souls, makes sure the departed pass safely into the higher realms. He doesn’t hunt the lost. He protects them.” Haj Tooth inclined her head. “Just so. He told me that souls do not always move on as they should. Some linger, tethered, refusing the current. Page is not in his keeping, but he believes he knows where she drifts. That is the proof I offer. A direction, a chance.” Hailey’s voice trembled, not with weakness, but with a fire that threatened to consume her. “I knew it. I felt it. She’s not gone.” I rubbed my temples, frustration surging. “It sounds promising, but I’m not promising anything. The Wraith is merciless. Even if Beelzebub points us to her, there’s no guarantee she can be brought back. Some souls aren’t meant to return.” Haj Tooth nodded, lips pressed into a line. “True. The Wraith is an ocean of endings. But if there is a current that still holds her, it is our duty to try. That is why I, Saw Tooth, and the legions of my hiveborn will march beside Beelzebub himself. We will guard the River of Souls, and perhaps in that vigilance, we may recover what lingers.” The words carried through the chamber, heavy as the deep sea pressing down on a hull. Hailey’s eyes blazed with renewed hope, Emily’s hand gripped mine tighter, and Deathskull leaned back in silence, his optics glowing steadily like twin stars. And in my head, Page’s scream still echoed—faint, distant, yet impossibly close. The chamber’s air vibrated as the projection dais came to life, humming like the heartbeat of some ancient beast. None of us sat—every one of us stood shoulder to shoulder, our faces lit in a deep crimson glow as Deathskull summoned the star charts. Red holograms flared into the air, jagged constellations burning like dying embers. The worlds flickered around us, each one tinted in the eerie hue of warning and war. Deathskull’s voice reverberated, metallic and commanding. “A new issue has arisen in the outer sector of Vikingnar. Anubis—once Ragnar’s ally—does not appreciate our direction. He has heard whispers of Ragnar’s death… but only that William struck him down. He has ignored—or refused to acknowledge—that Ragnar had become a demon.” The red star maps shifted, scattering, then reforming into the outlines of planets marked in crimson scars. Deathskull’s clawed hand swept across them. “Anubis has fled with his forces into an uncharted sector—the same sector tied to Hailey’s origins. He has claimed worlds, carving them into his domain. But one world remains untouched. A hidden planet, shielded by a barrier of stardust, unseen by ancient sensors. Airies.” I glanced at Hailey, the crimson light sharpening her features. “But you’re from Earth, aren’t you?” Her eyes flickered with the same glow. “Yes. I was part of NASA’s colonization program. Airies was meant to be a sanctuary, a meeting point for our settlers. My sister was supposed to rendezvous with us there… but she never made it.” The weight of her words pressed against me. “You should know something,” I said quietly. “We Vikings… we were part of those original NASA colonies. We came from Earth too. Centuries of silence and war buried that truth, but we’re all from the same seed.” Hailey’s lips parted slightly, the revelation sinking in. “That explains the echoes in your culture. The familiarity in your myths. The great silence—it split us. We became strangers.” Before the moment could linger, the holograms shifted violently. An army of jackal-headed warriors appeared in scarlet outlines, standing in endless ranks that marched into infinity. Their spears, their armor, their eyes—all etched in crimson light. Deathskull’s tone hardened. “This is the true danger. Anubis commands legions in the millions. He creates them at a pace we cannot match. And the reason…” His claw tapped the projection, enlarging the schematics of machinery, the pulsing cores of genetic vats, the outlines of artificial wombs. “He has stolen birthing technology from Vikingnar. The most sacred of sciences. He twists it, feeding his war machine with soldiers grown in cold chambers. Warriors who know no kinship, no mercy, no fear.” My stomach tightened as I watched the red diagrams pulse like living wounds. “So that’s how he multiplies so fast. He didn’t just build an army—he built a factory for war.” Deathskull inclined his head. “Precisely. And though he hides in distant sectors, far from Vikingnar’s reach, the theft itself cannot go unanswered. If we allow this technology to spread unchecked, his legions will outnumber us a thousandfold.” Emily shifted beside me, her voice low and sharp. “So where do we strike first? We can’t chase shadows across the galaxy.” Deathskull’s claws flexed, and a new world spun into focus. A vast industrial planet, ringed with orbital debris, its surface scarred with endless towers. The crimson light cast it as a burning forge. “Helios,” Deathskull said. “Not Anubis’s base. But the cradle of the birthing technology he stole. The birthplace of science itself. If we return there, we may find the truth of how Anubis accessed it… and perhaps, a way to shut his production down, no matter where he hides.” I stepped closer to the red projection of Helios, my reflection warped in its molten contours. “Then that’s our path. If Anubis has turned our legacy into his weapon, we’ll cut him off at the source.” Hailey watched silently, her brow furrowed. She didn’t know this world, but the fire in her eyes told me she understood the stakes. Deathskull’s gaze turned towards us, crimson optics burning like coals through the haze. “Prepare yourselves. Helios holds answers—and dangers—that even Vikingnar has forgotten.” The chamber fell into a silence heavy enough to crush us. No one moved, but we all felt the weight of what awaited us. The red light of Helios lingered above us like an omen. And so, without sitting, without rest, we stood as one—readying ourselves for the journey to the world that birthed both salvation and damnation. Deathskull’s armored frame moved first, his broad shoulders cutting a silhouette in the crimson light of the Cybrawl portal. One step through, and the air shifted—the sterile, metallic chill of Helios wrapped around us instantly. My boots met the ground of the military installation where I had once stood face to face with Ragnar, and with Anubis himself. The place hadn’t changed. If anything, it felt heavier, as though the walls remembered what had been decided here, and what had been lost. Emily brushed against my arm, her green eyes darting around the exterior courtyard, her hand flexing near the hilt of her blade. Serenity walked just behind us, silent, her presence tense as if she, too, felt the ghosts of this place. Hailey trailed with wary steps, her gaze moving over the stark architecture of the complex—black alloy walls rising like a fortress against the dim sky, the faint pulse of energy grids running across its surface like veins. “Helios,” Hailey muttered, almost to herself. “I can’t believe this world was part of NASA’s program.” Deathskull’s head tilted toward her, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he gestured to the massive steel doors ahead, their hydraulic locks groaning as they parted. Inside, the air was colder, sharper, thick with the hum of machines buried deep within the planet. We moved together down a long corridor, its walls lined with glowing red symbols of Vikingnar heritage. At the end stood an elevator, its size large enough to carry an entire platoon. We filed inside, the gates sealing behind us with a hydraulic hiss. The elevator lurched downward, and the vibration of gears echoed through the chamber. As the descent pulled us into the heart of Helios, memories I thought I had buried clawed their way to the surface. My vision blurred, not from tears, but from memory. Maladrie’s basement. The horrors there. The smell of rot and chemicals, the screams muffled by stone and shadow. I saw Page, Ben, and countless others writhing under the cruel experiments of those vile demons. I had left them behind. Me—the man who couldn’t die—had failed them. My hands clenched into fists. Emily noticed. Her voice, soft but firm, anchored me. “You’re too quiet, Willy. Don’t drift too far in your head. You’re here, with us. We need you.” I nodded once, a sharp gesture. “I’m fine. Let’s just see what’s waiting at the bottom.” The elevator stopped with a low thud. The gates opened, and a sterile draft swept in—cold, damp, reeking faintly of formaldehyde. We stepped into the basement of the facility, and what awaited us made even Emily flinch. Rows upon rows of towering glass cylinders stretched into the distance, each one filled with liquid that glowed faintly in the dim light. Inside floated forms—half-born, half-finished, yet disturbingly alive. My chest tightened as I scanned them: adult Wulvers curled in suspended stillness, their lupine features muted by fluid; Elves, their ears long and delicate, their skin pale as wax; Humans, their muscles already toned as if designed for war; Crimseeds, their crimson veins glowing faintly beneath the liquid. And there—Jackal heads. The same creatures Anubis was breeding in the millions. Hailey’s voice cracked through the silence. “Why… Why are they all adults? There aren’t any children. No… no babies. Just grown forms.” I answered before Deathskull could. “No one’s given natural birth for centuries. It’s inefficient. Populations are grown in vats like these, matured with genetic memories handed down from families or donors. Entire lineages preserved and accelerated.” Her eyes widened, horror and fascination mixed. “Then… humanity stopped… creating life the way it was meant to?” Serenity spoke, her tone sharp. “Some still do. It’s optional, if you want it. People who prefer tradition, or—” she glanced at me with a faint smirk, “—just want fun in the bedroom. But for the scale of civilizations, this is faster. More… controlled.” Hailey pressed her hand against one of the glass cylinders, staring at the suspended form of a human female. “And this is what Anubis stole? This… science?” “Not just the science,” Deathskull said, his voice resonating like steel grinding on steel. He gestured toward the center of the vast chamber. We turned. There, rising like a monolith, stood a machine unlike anything I had ever seen. It towered toward the ceiling, an angular frame of black alloy encrusted with glowing veins of red. Pipes and conduits snaked out from its base, disappearing into the floor and walls, feeding life into the countless cylinders around us. Deathskull stepped closer, his armored hand reaching toward it. “This is the Bio-Codex Engine. Every genetic record—every lineage, every sequence, every key to birthing—is stored here. Without it, there would be no continuity. This machine is the brain and the heart of Vikingnar’s existence.” I stared at it, awe and dread fighting in my gut. “Then why can’t we just make another one? Surely with all your brilliance, you could rebuild it.” For the first time, Deathskull’s voice carried a faint bitterness. “Because it is powered by a dark matter battery. The only one of its kind. Created long before my existence. It is irreplaceable.” I turned toward him, frowning. “So rebuild the power source. Engineer something else. You’ve re-written the laws of physics before.” The machine warrior’s head tilted toward me, his optics burning crimson. “The power source is not the problem. The designs—the Red Prints themselves—were stolen from this facility. Without them, I cannot replicate the codex or the engine. Anubis’s theft crippled our ability to restore what was taken.” The words hung in the air like lead. Hailey stepped back from the glass, her face pale. Emily crossed her arms, her voice grim. “So Anubis has the means to create endless armies… and we’re standing in the ruins of what he stole.” “Not ruins,” Deathskull corrected. “A reminder. This is where it began. And this is where we may find a way to end it.” I looked again at the Bio-Codex Engine, its red glow casting shadows across the chamber. For a moment, it almost looked alive, pulsing like a heart. And in my own heart, unease gnawed at me. We weren’t just fighting Anubis. We were fighting history itself—broken, stolen, and reborn in glass cylinders filled with crimson light. Deathskull’s optics flared crimson, his tone carrying the full weight of command. “We must not hesitate. This facility is the heart of Helios. If Anubis reaches this planet, his armies will swell beyond measure. I am ordering a fleet to orbit immediately—and ground warriors, thousands of them, through the Wraith Portal System. We will hold this planet, or we will lose everything.” His words thundered with finality, and I nodded in agreement. “Then make it happen. Send them in now.” Almost at once, the portals flared alive on the surface above, jagged red rings burning against the wasteland sky. From them marched ranks of Vikingnar warriors—our warriors—armored and disciplined, shields raised, weapons glowing. They fanned out in formation, their boots striking the ash-black ground in unison, their banners snapping in the bitter wind. The sound of their arrival was like thunder rolling across the barren plains. Inside the facility, the floor shook with their march. Hailey pressed her back against one of the glass vats, eyes wide. “That’s… that’s your army?” Emily gave a thin smile. “You’ll see what they’re capable of.” The reassurance lasted only a moment. The ground quaked again—this time not from our men, but from something else. Distant howls split the air outside, low at first, then multiplying, building into a single, guttural roar that rattled the very metal walls around us. My HUD blinked red, hostile signatures registering on the horizon. “They’re here,” I said grimly. Deathskull’s helm tilted slightly, as though listening to something beyond human hearing. “Anubis has unleashed his Jackal Heads. Thousands of them. They converge now.” The noise grew louder, closer, until even Hailey could hear it—the pounding of countless feet, the snarling of throats not entirely human. The bulkhead trembled as the doors hissed open, revealing the wasteland beyond. Our Vikingnar soldiers were already arrayed outside, battle lines forming across the scarred plain. Across from them, through the haze of dust and smoke, surged the Jackal Headed army, scythes raised high, their monstrous discipline matching their ferocity. Without a word, we powered on our armor. The nanos swept over us in seconds, hardening into plates of war. My hand wrapped around Revenge, the chainsword snarling to life with its grinding roar. I turned sharply to Haj Tooth and Droid L-84. “Stay here. Guard Hailey. She does not leave this room.” They all nodded. “Good,” I said. “The rest of you—with me.” Deathskull, Emily, Serenity, Nicholas, Teresa, Kyle, Valrra, and I advanced toward the light spilling through the open doors. Outside, our soldiers were bracing, shields locking, swords igniting with plasma glow. The Jackal Heads broke into a charge, their chant shaking the very air as they thundered toward us. I raised Revenge, its engine screaming to match them. “Hold the line!” Once outside, the wasteland of Helios became a living storm of fire and steel. The air was already thick with plasma discharge, the sky torn by the crimson glow of the portals still burning on the horizon. The battle had erupted into chaos before my boots had even touched the ash-blown surface. The Jackal Heads pressed forward in endless waves, their limbs jerking with unnatural precision, their pale flesh glistening beneath the brass-plated armor that recalled a parody of ancient Egyptian regalia. Their helmets, crowned with elongated snouts and jagged teeth, made them appear less like soldiers and more like revenants dragged up from the underworld, sent here for no other purpose than to break against our lines. The Viking shield wall was already bracing against their charge, a solid wall of black and blue armor interlocked beneath the eerie crimson light. Plasma shields glowed in arcs of blue and white, clashing against the serrated scythes of the Jackals, the force of impact rippling down through the ash-stained earth. Saxon warriors fought beside them, their own armor heavier, more ornate, streaked with hues of deep green that caught the flashes of light from the battle like shards of emerald fire. Their helmets bore tall crests that stood above the melee, markers of their ancient traditions reborn in this new age of war. The battlefield was a cacophony of color and violence—blue shields flashing, brass armor cracking, sparks leaping like lightning as weapons clashed. I waded into the fray with the others at my side, my chainsword humming in my grasp until I cast it aside for a spear and shield. It was the only way to stabilize the line. The order carried through the ranks like a pulse of energy, and soon the entire formation bristled with spears leveled forward, shields pressing against one another until the Vikingnar and Saxons became one wall of living metal. The push was slow, brutal, unrelenting. Jackal after Jackal was driven back, their claws scraping, their weapons glancing off graphene and plasma shields, only to be forced down by the crushing rhythm of spear thrusts. The ground darkened with their blood, thick and tar-like, seeping into the cracks of the ancient Helios soil. Their bodies, stripped of vitality, twitched even as they fell, as though the portals behind them kept pulling their dying nerves toward the underworld from which they came. Above, the fleet loomed. Dark silhouettes of Drakkar Warships cut through the smog, their engines burning like dim stars against the corrupted sky. The time came when the advance of the Jackals faltered just enough for the precision strike to matter. A single order, carried through comms, unleashed a beam of searing white light that cut down from the heavens like judgment itself. The laser scythed across the horizon, scorching a swath through the advancing host. Jackal Heads reeled, blinded and broken, their formation collapsing in a sudden tide of panic. The beam didn’t just strike them; it shattered their morale. What remained of their coherence dissolved, and the survivors turned in retreat, howls echoing as they scrambled toward the red-burning portals still open behind them. Their chant of “Anubis” became fractured cries as the wall of steel and plasma pressed them back, until the last of them were swallowed by the light and vanished into the abyss from which they had emerged. The silence that followed was not silence at all, but the aftermath of war. Shields lowered slowly, spears dipped toward the earth, warriors sucking in ragged breaths beneath helmets fogged with sweat and plasma residue. The acrid scent of burned flesh clung to everything, mingling with the metallic tang of ozone still lingering from the laser strike. Ash fell softly across the plain, drifting down like snow upon the dead. But victory carried its cost. A Saxon warrior cried out in agony, his armor shattered and his leg missing below the knee. Others hauled him back behind the lines, his blood marking a bright green trail across the battlefield. Nearby, a Viking lay motionless, his chest pierced clean through by the jagged end of a Jackal spear. His comrades stood above him, shields raised in salute, their silence a greater mourning than any wail. The realization struck then, heavy and undeniable. Immortality did not mean invulnerability. These men and women—though their lifespans stretched beyond measure, though their bodies could be replaced when weakened by the march of time—were not exempt from the violence of war. Death still claimed them, swift and merciless, whenever the battlefield demanded. It was a truth that could not be ignored, a shadow that would follow every victory yet to come. But there was no time for philosophy, no space to drown in grief. The battlefield needed cleansing. The order was given, and the droids came—humming, insect-like machines gliding across the ash. Their limbs moved with surgical precision, lifting the fallen with care or indifference depending on allegiance. Our warriors were carried away to chambers of honor, their names to be recorded and remembered. The enemy corpses, pale and sickly even in death, were cast into vats of hydrofluoric acid, their brass armor hissing and dissolving as they sank beneath the bubbling surface. The process was efficient, mechanical, without ceremony. The sight of Jackal bodies melting into nothingness was both grotesque and strangely satisfying. Out of sight, out of mind. Nothing of them remained but vapors curling into the already tainted air. The battlefield was left scarred, streaked with burns from the laser, trenches of ash where the shield walls had pushed forward, and scattered fragments of armor half-buried in the dust. Above, the portals flickered and dimmed, their crimson light fading into the horizon until only the skeletal outlines of the warships remained, patrolling the skies with silent vigilance. The first battle for Helios was over, but the war had only just begun. CHAPTER 15: "TROUBLE BREWING" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 14: "DEMONIC CHUM" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" We all made our way out of the cave—our footsteps clanging against the scorched stone as we emerged into the open, exhausted but alert. A low wind whipped across the plains, stirring the tall crimson grass that sprouted in patches across the dry terrain. The sky was bruised with late afternoon light—clouds swirling overhead, tinged with the greenish hue of this ancient planet’s atmosphere. That’s when we saw them—upgraded Vikingnar ships parked just beyond the rocky outcroppings. Sleek, angular, and runed with glowing red symbols, they hadn’t been there before. They sat like sleeping dragons, their hulls gleaming as if freshly forged by celestial blacksmiths. The wind carried the low thrum of energy humming from their plasma cores. And next to our old, beat-up Imperial transport—the one Emily had once called “Imperial slop”—was something even more unexpected: a brand-new crimson Drakkar-class lander, its hull sharp and ridged like the armor of some forgotten beast. Standing at its base was a towering figure, gold-plated and regal. Deathskull. But not the same one we knew. His silhouette was now broader, more ornate—rebuilt with a Viking-style skeletal frame forged in gold. Thick scale armor covered his limbs, glinting in the dim sunlight. A Norse helm had been permanently fused to his head—fins rising back like a serpent’s crown. Embedded into his left forearm was a circular energy shield, and slung across his back was a secondary Viking energy shield, crackling faintly with red current. Every part of him looked like something pulled from the sagas—part divine warrior, part machine-god. I blinked. “What’s another hero of Vikingnar doing here?” Deathskull turned his glowing red eyes toward us. His voice echoed slightly, laced with new audio enhancements. “What’s with the warm welcome? I sensed immense psychic activity from this nature preserve. Something was calling.” I stepped forward. “You’re not the same Deathskull I left back on Skaalandr.” “Correct,” he replied. “My upgrades were necessary. The war has escalated. So has the symbolism.” I gestured toward his shield. “You look like a figurehead now. Which brings me to my next point—you should be the face of the United Kingdom of Vikingnar.” That made him pause. For a machine built without emotion, he actually looked stunned. His optical units pulsed once. “You want me… to lead?” he asked. “No,” I said. “Not just lead. Represent us. Be our crown, our unshakable center. Whoever programmed you did so with logic and good will. You don’t crack under pressure. You don’t break. You don’t lie. You’re selfless—a damn-near angel in a physical body.” His systems whirred. The gold helm tilted slightly as he considered my words. “My only concern,” he finally said, “is the possibility of being worshipped as a god. That path leads to darkness.” I shook my head. “Let the narrow-minded worship if they must. What matters is rallying them—giving the people hope. They’ll follow a symbol long before they follow politics.” Deathskull’s glowing optics narrowed in thought. “Then perhaps this is the most logical course of action.” “Good,” I said. “Because I need to ask about the progress on Earth—and at Cybrawl.” Deathskull’s stance grew heavier. “Difficult. Luring the demon hordes to Earth is like chasing shadows. They are unpredictable. They rip through dimensions and strike without pattern.” He paced slightly, the dirt crunching beneath his gold-plated feet. “But we have confirmed activity at the Imperial capital. They’re congregating—forming a nest. Our best course of action is to liberate more sectors, convert more Knights and Citizens. Build momentum.” I nodded grimly. “So we go back to York to rally our troops. Then attack the capital.” He turned toward Valrra, standing quietly beside Emily. “You don’t need to worry about incarceration,” he said, his tone suddenly gentle. “Droid L-84 has been monitoring your situation. He knew you weren’t to blame.” Valrra’s shoulders dropped with relief, her ears twitching. “But how… how could he know?” “There are variables we monitor. Patterns. Intentions. And sometimes… intuition.” There wasn’t time for more questions. My gut told me York was in danger. I turned to Emily and Valrra. “These are diplomatic clankers, let’s go.” Without another word, the three of us followed Deathskull across the dry plains to the crimson Drakkar ship. Its hull opened with a hiss, revealing a deep interior lit with amber light and rune-bound controls. We gave Haj Tooth and Saw Tooth a final wave. The two Shark Warriors stood at the ridge, watching in silence. Emily gave them a wink. I saluted them. And then we stepped into the future. The ramp sealed behind us with a thunderous clang, and the ship’s engine growled to life. We were headed to York—and the next chapter of war. The new Drakkar we were on creaked and hummed with a proud mechanical resonance as it breached Haj Prime’s cloudy atmosphere. Its hull shimmered crimson under the twin suns, its wings broad and armed to the teeth with pulse cannons and new energy sails that glowed with Wraith signatures. It wasn’t just a ship—it was a floating monument to Deathskull’s genius. From our vantage point inside the cockpit, I stared up at the colossus above us—the Drakkar Commander. It hovered like a sky fortress, a hybrid of Norse grandeur and pure futuristic dominance. Jagged prow lines like an axe blade. Rotating magnetic hull rings. Thick bastions that pulsed with internal reactor light. I couldn’t help but mutter, “Deathskull’s work has leveled up.” Emily glanced at me with a smirk. “Think he’s trying to impress you?” “Honestly?” I replied, eyes glued to the metal titan. “If I weren’t so fond of you women, I’d marry the damn ship.” Emily sighed. "Be nice to me Willy." We approached one of the massive docking arms that extended from the belly of the Commander. The magnetic clamps locked onto our ship’s sides with a loud clang, guiding us smoothly into the primary bay. The docking corridor hissed open, and warm artificial air hit us like a breath of home. There they stood—Christopher and the veteran Warriors from our last mission. Their armor had been polished, battle-worn pieces replaced with upgraded Wraith-plated gear. They cheered, raising fists and clanging weapons against armor. The Vikingnar were reborn, and I felt the weight of it. We weren’t just rebels anymore. We were builders of a kingdom. I stepped forward to greet Christopher. “I see you’ve kept everyone alive.” He chuckled. “I could say the same to you.” Behind him, on the far wall of the bay, stretched a massive viewing window. I walked toward it slowly, Emily and Valrra behind me. Floating out in the void was the rusted, pitiful hulk of our old Imperial shuttle. Once a symbol of forced obedience, now it was barely held together with burnt weld lines and fractured hull seams. Deathskull’s voice came over the internal comms. “William, you still lead our warriors. Permission to fire?” I grinned. “Obliterate it.” A heartbeat later, the belly of the Commander ship opened with a low whir, revealing twin quantum lances. There was a blinding flash as red fire lanced through the vacuum, slicing through the Imperial ship like butter. Another shot followed—then another. Within seconds, it was gone. Just floating debris, and a few charred pieces scattering like embers in zero gravity. Emily whistled. “Now that… that was satisfying.” I turned to Christopher. “I guess you’re out of a job.” “Yes, sir,” he said, saluting, and walking away. That’s the last we’ll see of Christopher, for now at least. We followed the corridor deeper into the ship. The walls were lined with runes etched in glowing neon—symbols of our rise, our struggle, and the new alliance of machine and mysticism. Droids glided past with crates of new weaponry. Droid engineers barked orders from scaffold platforms. In the heart of it all stood Deathskull. He was waiting in the control chamber—an elevated bridge wrapped in arched ferro-glass. Stars shined behind him. He turned as we entered, his gold skeletal frame shimmering with new engravings—Nordic swirls, dragon motifs, energy veins pulsating in his limbs. His helm had been permanently fused to his head, its jagged edges catching the starlight. “King William,” he said with a subtle mechanical bow. “Welcome to your flagship.” I smiled. “No. This is your flagship.” He paused. “You were serious?” “You heard me back on Haj Prime. You’re the best candidate to be the face of the United Kingdom of Vikingnar. Logical. Calculated. Compassionate… and you don’t explode under pressure.” Deathskull's crimson eyes glowed slightly brighter. “But the people… they shouldn’t worship me, or any other deity. Plus we still need a more – democratic system.” “Of course,” I replied, stroking my hairy chin. Deathskull took a long pause, processing. “Then I accept.” Deathskull, Emily, Valrra, and I left the control chamber to stretch our legs and explore more of the upgraded Drakkar Commander vessel. The ship thrummed with quiet power, every corridor lined with sleek metallic panels pulsing faintly with electric blue and violet veins. This wasn’t just a spacecraft anymore—it was a fully weaponized mobile fortress of the Vikingnar cause, and the craftsmanship of Deathskull’s red-prints was truly on another level. We followed the soft clank of our boots through the corridors, passing by rows of chrome-plated plasma doors and engineering panels that were constantly shifting with living holograms—schematics, energy readouts, and tactical deployments all morphing in real-time. As we neared the cargo chambers, we came across an open bay filled with movement and sound. A gathering of Viking Warriors, probably in the thousands, were escorting an impressive herd of creatures that looked like something out of prehistoric myth. They were massive—each easily the size of a large horse—with reddish-brown fur, black manes that ran from the tops of their heads all the way down their muscular, kangaroo-like tails. Their underbellies were pure white, and their snouts were long and thick with rows of sharp teeth that glistened under the artificial lighting. Deathskull, standing beside us now, nodded toward the beasts with a faint hum in his voice. “These are called Dorse,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “Descendants of the extinct Andrewsarchus, selectively bred and enhanced. Perfect companions for our Warriors. They’re fast, strong, and bond for life with their rider. Think of them as our answer to cavalry—only better.” One of the Dorses let out a low bellow, pawing at the ground like it wanted to sprint down the length of the ship. The Viking handler beside it calmed it with a smooth pat on the snout, offering a glowing blue root-like treat that it crunched between thick molars. “These will be gifted to our newest recruits,” Deathskull continued. “Every warrior who proves themselves gets one. We’ll deploy them anywhere we can. Urban or wilderness, they’ll adapt.” Valrra's eyes glowed with interest. Emily looked stunned. “They’re beautiful,” she murmured. Deathskull turned to me, “I’ll leave you three to your own business. I’ve got the manufacturing division to inspect.” And with that, he walked off, his armored footfalls echoing down the corridor. After a moment of silence, I turned to Valrra. The question had been on my mind for a while. “Valrra,” I said, “what do you think about establishing Alchemy as the primary faith for our new civilization?” She folded her arms and tilted her head slightly, studying me. “Faith… sure. But not worship,” she said firmly. “We should promote spiritual sovereignty. The age of gods and devils is over. People need to reclaim the authority of their own souls.” I raised an eyebrow. “How will people feel about no gods?” “No masters,” she replied, her tone almost ritualistic. “The people have already seen the devastation of worshipping deities. If we want to build a new empire of freedom, we must teach people to become masters of themselves. Alchemy, yes— not just a religion, a way of life. The moment we throw gods into the mix, it dies.” Her words made sense. I was skeptical at first. The idea of building something without any deity felt risky. But the way she said it, and the conviction behind her voice… it started to sink in. “Maybe you’re right. Gods aren’t immortal anyway,” I said. “Let’s give people something they’ve never had before—permission to become their own source of power.” Valrra smiled slightly, satisfied, and then left to attend to her own duties. That left me alone with Emily. We strolled quietly through the observation corridor, a long hall with floor-to-ceiling glass on one side that looked out into the abyss of space. In the distance, Haj Prime rotated slowly away from our ship. I looked at her. “What do you think about telling people to stop worshipping gods?” She leaned against the window, arms crossed. “I think it’s long overdue,” she said. “Faith should be in your own spirit, not in some invisible deity with a superiority complex. The idea of kneeling to something that demands obedience feels insane now.” She turned and hugged me, pressing her cheek to my chest. “I’m proud of you for pushing that idea.” I held her tightly. “It’s not just that. I think people are religiously fatigued. They’ve tried everything—cults, dogma, prophets—and nothing fixed the broken parts of them. Maybe what they really need is sovereignty. To stop outsourcing their inner power to external idols.” Emily nodded slowly. “The people who claim to follow Christ… rarely live like him. And we? We’re out here fighting for actual peace, freedom, and truth—even if it’s brutal. That’s more righteous than any priest could hope to be.” I laughed softly. “We fight actual demons.” She pulled back slightly, looking up at me. Her expression softened. “I was selfish when I first met you,” she said. “I didn’t understand what you were going through. I saw you as someone who needed saving… when really, you needed vengeance. You needed your truth.” “I shouldn’t have left you,” I admitted. “Back then… I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was running. That was selfish.” I said, as she kissed my cheek, and then looked into my eyes. I nodded. “Let’s not make that mistake again. Let’s share the revenge, Emily.” Our lips met, and we kissed. Not as broken survivors anymore—but as the founders of something new, raw, and real. Somewhere in the distance, the Drakkar Commander’s engines hummed louder, and I could feel that momentum was shifting. Something was coming. But for now, in this brief moment, there was peace between us. Meanwhile, at the heart of the Red Dragon Empire’s capital—a metallic fortress carved into the mountains of a scorched, dusky world known as Draca—a storm was brewing behind the walls of the imperial citadel. Red skies rippled with artificial lightning overhead, crackling against the domed anti-orbital shield. Inside the Citadel’s highest spire, an opulent and dimly lit dining hall reeked of grease, smoke, and molten iron. The stench clung to the velvet curtains like decay. At the head of a long obsidian table sat King Alle—cloaked in gold-laced red robes, eyes sunken, skin glossy with sweat and starting to turn a jaundiced orange. The royal medics claimed it was a side effect of his “divine treatments.” More likely, it was exposure to the Wraith and its unholy worship of the Demon—a desperate attempt to extend his reign indefinitely. His stomach growled again. In a slovenly fit, he tore into another heap of synthetically-engineered chicken wings piled high on a gold platter, smearing his fingers with crimson oil. Across the table sat Edward Murray—slender, pale, and calm as a freezing lake. His left cybernetic eye blinked once, scanning the toxins wafting off King Alle's plate with disgust. To his right sat Nicholas Ferixson, tall and broad-shouldered in matte-black Knight armor. His long dark beard was tied into twin braids, giving him the look of a northern warlord—though his demeanor was rigid and quiet. "You two," King Alle grumbled, between mouthfuls of meat, grease dripping down his chin, “are absolute losers.” There was a long silence, broken only by the disgusting sound of Alle gnawing cartilage from synthetic bone. Edward leaned back in his seat, unfazed. Nicholas, however, looked up slowly. His eyes narrowed. "We've kept the outer rim sectors locked down. Only the Helix System is showing resistance," Nicholas stated in a level voice. "And what about Jericho? York!? Hm?" Alle sneered, tossing a bone over his shoulder where a cleaning droid immediately zipped in and caught it midair. "Those planets were ours, but now Vikings are preaching spiritual freedom to the peasants! Peasants!" He slammed a greasy fist onto the table, splattering chicken grease across his robes. “And Ragnar was killed by the Shark People, and how can beasts know how to attack our pawn? Our only way into the heart of Vikingnar society, dead!” “We’re at war with evolving life,” Edward interjected, adjusting his sleeve. “The Hive is adapting. The Shark People don’t just eat everything anymore. They’re coordinating… tactically. Harvesting planets in controlled phases. If we provoke them without strategy, we risk exposing our interior territories.” Alle’s eyes bulged. “I hate nature! I hate animals!” he bellowed, practically foaming at the mouth. “Cursed things are always interfering with my destiny! My divine rule! And now… William. That mutt and his cult of ‘freedom fighters’ now run Vikingnar. If they continue gaining support, we’ll never be able to enforce our faith upon the stars!” Nicholas blinked once, hiding his scorn. Faith, to King Alle, meant total obedience to his insane interpretation of the “Madeline’s Doctrine”—a grotesque fusion of ancient imperialism, Christianity, and ego-mythology. It had less to do with spirituality and more with mind control through fear, censorship, and engineered guilt. “What do you propose?” Edward asked, his tone thin and sharp as surgical steel. King Alle stood and waddled to the holographic map of the galaxy, grease still coating his fingers. He stabbed a fat orange finger at the Vikingnar core world of York, zooming in with a voice command. “We take York. In fact, Nicholas—send your best Knights. I want fire in the sky and blood in the streets. Make it look like an insurgent uprising—blame it on the Shark beasts, the anarchists, anyone. I don’t care. York must fall before they unify their colonies.” Nicholas slowly rose from his seat, armored boots echoing against the obsidian floor. His face was stone, unreadable. But in his chest, his heart was heavy. The Vikingnar, for all their rebellion, were not tyrants. He’d heard whispers of what William and his allies were doing—liberating colonies, restoring peace. Even forgiving defectors. But this was not the time to speak. Not here. Not under that gaze. “As you command,” Nicholas said, voice tight. Alle grunted. “Dismissed.” Nicholas gave a slight bow and exited without another word. The armored door sealed behind him with a thunderous hiss, and the red glow of the hologram bathed the remaining men in flickering shadows. Edward glanced toward the King, silent. Alle sighed heavily and sat back down, taking another wing. “He’ll obey,” Alle said, licking his fingers. “He’s not like the others. He doesn’t buy into the lies the underground press writes about me. He’s loyal.” Edward raised a brow. “Loyalty and truth are often at odds.” King Alle chuckled. “That’s what makes him useful. And when the blood clears and York is ours again… I’ll crown him Warden of the North Sector. Give him a throne and let him rot in it.” Edward didn’t smile. “And what if he turns?” Alle leaned forward, eyes twitching. “Then we burn him. Like all the others.” A moment passed. King Alle let out a long, theatrical sigh and wiped his mouth with a velvet napkin embroidered with his sigil—a red dragon coiled around a throne of skulls. “Now go,” Alle said, as he kissed Edward goodbye. Wafting his hand toward the chamber door like a lazy emperor. “You’ve got a war machine to grow and false flags to raise.” Edward stood without bowing, turned, got a spank from the king, and walked into the shadows of the corridor beyond. His synthetic eye glowed red for a moment before vanishing into the dark. Edward moved quickly through the dimly lit corridors beneath the Red Dragon Capitol, his shoes echoing against the cold metallic floor. The underground lab—hidden away beneath layers of restricted levels and surveillance systems—was silent, sterile, and suffocating. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he descended a final steel staircase and swiped his hand across a biometric scanner. The reinforced blast door unlatched with a low hydraulic hiss, opening to reveal the nightmarish playground that was Edward Murray’s private lab. Inside, the scent of disinfectant was faint compared to the coppery tang of old blood that lingered in the air. Tables were covered with surgical instruments, vials of DNA samples, neuro-tethers, and containers holding preserved tissue. A chalkboard scrawled with complex gene diagrams and alien anatomy faced a towering chamber in the center—a makeshift operating theater flooded in white light. Strapped to an upright lab chair was the Proboscis Monkey that I once rescued from the Wraith dimension—a relic of Earth, now violated in a place far from home. Its long nose twitched as it whimpered through clenched teeth, still conscious despite the sedation cocktail coursing through its veins. Electrodes were attached to its temples, and fluid-filled IVs dripped into its spine. Edward barely even looked at it. “Test subject 173,” he mumbled, clicking a switch on the control console. “Neural cortex scan completed. Sample extraction begins.” A mechanical arm swung into place beside the monkey’s skull, buzzing softly as a needle burrowed through the fur and into its brain. The monkey twitched violently. Edward narrowed his eyes, watching a tiny cylinder fill with shimmering gray-pink tissue. He placed the vial into a cryo-tube and walked across the lab to another table. On it lay a dismembered Shark Hive Warrior—its upper half cleaved open, exposing bio-mechanical ribs and a dark fungal growth protruding from its stomach cavity. The mushroom pulsed faintly, its veins glowing a sickly blue. Edward was fascinated. "Resilient, self-replicating, and it feeds on entropy itself," he whispered. "You're the future of warfare." Donning a pair of holo-glasses, he carefully sliced a portion of the mushroom's root, placing it beside the monkey’s neural tissue on a graphene slider. He locked it into the microscope and peered through the digital interface. His breath hitched. Under magnification, the monkey's gray matter began reacting immediately to the fungal sample. Tendrils of bio-luminescent neural material reached out—merging with the plant tissue. Then, slowly, horrifyingly, the plant began to pulse in the same rhythm as the monkey’s brainwaves. “Cognitive mimicry…” Edward whispered. “It's... adapting.” He tapped several keys, running a diagnostic overlay. “Wait… the plant tissue is replicating primate neurons. It’s forming memory structures. Synaptic bridges…” He turned away from the microscope, stumbling back in disbelief. “It's thinking.” A pause. Then a grin. "This… This changes everything." In a flurry, Edward crossed the lab, inputting data into his encrypted journal. He saved the samples inside a shock-resistant containment unit, locked it, and sealed it inside his chest plates compartment. The monkey slumped over, unconscious but still breathing—its eyes twitching beneath the lids. Edward didn’t even glance back. He stormed out of the lab, back into the Capitol's lower halls, taking a private elevator up to the royal chambers. His mind was racing. The implications were limitless. With this discovery, King Alle’s dream of a bio-weapon army would no longer be a fantasy—it could become an empire of sentient, organic soldiers. Creatures that learned from pain, evolved through combat, and absorbed the memories of fallen foes. Or at least Edward is foolish enough to think so. Meanwhile in York, Nicholas Ferixson stood tall, though his knees felt like they’d splinter beneath him from fatigue. He had marched with his Knights through bitter winds and alien forests, watched his men eat moss when the rations ran dry, and now, after his capture, was face-to-face with the same rebel forces he was once sworn to destroy. Kyle Karlsson tightened his grip on the chains binding Nicholas’s arms and gave him a slight nudge. “Move,” Kyle barked. “No sudden moves, Red.” Nicholas said nothing. His armor clinked softly with each step—a dull, almost hollow sound against the high-tech buzz and hum of the fortified gates ahead. York’s inner walls were laced with newly-installed defense emitters, and above them loomed towers of steel and stone, blending Norse design with futuristic precision. We had returned—Emily, Valrra, Deathskull, and I—and we brought something more terrifying than war machines. They brought conviction. Inside the inner courtyard, where warriors polished plasma axes and Shungite-forged blades, where the banners of Vikingnar fluttered with renewed purpose, I stood with Deathskull, Emily, and Valrra at my sides. The air shimmered with the light of repulsor torches. Serenity approached us, arms crossed and posture defensive. Her expression darkened at the sight of Valrra, her eyes flickering between suspicion and disbelief. “What is she doing here?” Serenity asked, not unkindly, but with the edge of a soldier who’d buried too many friends. “There’s no time to explain,” I replied. “She’s on our side now. And more than that—she’s seen the dark from within. She knows how deep it runs.” Serenity glanced at Valrra again, then at Deathskull, who gave her a single nod. That was enough—for now. Before another word could be spoken, the guards led Nicholas Ferixson through the gates. The murmurs stopped. All eyes locked on the high-ranking knight from the Red Dragon Empire. He was bruised, but not broken. Dignified, despite his binds. “Kyle,” I said, stepping forward. “Let him speak.” Kyle yanked the chains loose. Nicholas rubbed his wrists and cleared his throat. “I’ve come alone, with my Knights. Not to trick or trap. I want to defect,” Nicholas said plainly, his voice carrying the conviction of a man whose foundation had cracked. “I’ve watched King Alle rot in his own madness. He feasts while his people suffer. He worships control like a deity. I’ve had enough. We’ve had enough.” Murmurs passed through our troops like static. Emily’s eyes narrowed, studying him. Valrra stepped closer, tense but curious. “You’re one of his top dogs,” she said sharply. “Why turn now?” “Because I’ve seen what he’s become,” Nicholas replied. “He doesn’t just want to control Vikingnar. He wants to erase it. Its people, its cultures, its free minds. I didn’t sign up for genocide. I signed up to protect the galaxy from chaos. Now I see that chaos wears a crown.” I nodded slowly, then looked at Deathskull. “This is your call.” Nicholas turned, now standing before Deathskull, who loomed with silent authority. His armored arms folded across his chest like iron gates. “Deathskull,” Nicholas said, steadying his breath. “May I serve Vikingnar? Not just to overthrow Alle—but to help build something greater?” Deathskull leaned in. His red mechanical eyes pierced through the knight like twin suns eclipsed by blood. “This isn’t just about dethroning a madman,” he said, voice calm, deep, and deliberate. “It’s about burning out the sickness behind him. The Demons. The worship of Deity filled with malice. Are you willing to see this fight to the end, even if it means standing against everything you were bred to protect?” Nicholas hesitated—just for a heartbeat. Then he nodded. “Yes.” Deathskull stepped back and turned to me. “Leading warriors is your business. Get them ready. We leave at dawn.” A buzz rolled through the courtyard as if a lightning charge had swept over the stone. Nicholas bowed his head. I motioned for Kyle to unbind him fully. “Welcome to the real war,” I said, patting Nicholas’s shoulder. Deep in the Shark People’s lair in the catacombs of Haj Prime, a different story is taking place. The sun—burning through the cavern's crevices—cast fractured light over the cracked statue of Christ, its face half-eroded but still eerily serene. At its feet stood two lone figures, shark-like in appearance but upright, sentient, and burdened with guilt. Haj Tooth adjusted the ritual beads around her scaled neck. Her gills flared slowly as she knelt beside the base of the statue, where moss had started to reclaim the foundation. She stared into Christ's eroded eyes, haunted. “I still hear their cries,” she said quietly. Saw Tooth, her grizzled mate, slightly shorter but equally imposing, stood beside her with his spear resting against his shoulder. His voice was gravel and foam. “We were tools,” he said. “Tools of the Hive. Our thoughts weren’t our own back then.” “It’s not a real excuse,” Haj Tooth muttered. “When the haze was slightly lifted by incarcerating a noble doctor… when we could feel again—slightly—we still obeyed. I still obeyed.” Saw Tooth turned to her, his dark eyes reflecting the twilight. “You didn’t let William die during our enslavement to the hive mind.” “It wasn’t enough,” she hissed. “I felt her pulse stop in my hands. Serenity.” Haj Tooth clenched a clawed hand into a fist. “She was barely breathing when we dropped her. We didn’t even know who she was. Nor cared.” Saw Tooth stepped forward and wrapped his strong arms around her, resting his forehead against hers. Their dorsal fins brushed together—a tender gesture among their kind. “We seek redemption now,” he said, voice low. “We’ll carve it out of the stone of this cruel galaxy.” Before she could respond, the room split open like ruptured flesh. A wormhole, serrated and pulsing with infernal energy, tore through the atmosphere in a violent swirl of hellish orange and obsidian black. Out of the storm stepped Maladrie—a tall, flame-veined demoness clad in living armor that rippled like magma. Her eyes burned like twin collapsing suns, and behind her, stomping forth from the gate, were the Minotaurs—towering brutes of muscle and violence, with obsidian horns glowing orange at the tips. Their snorts were laced with embers. Maladrie’s voice cracked across the open square like a thunderclap. “The only redemption you’ll seek is a beating, abomination!” She pointed a clawed finger toward the statue. “How dare you cradle the corpse of my father? My father, you mutated filth!” Then came the war cry. Deep. Demonic. Explosive. The Minotaurs charged, their heavy hooves shaking the ground. Saw Tooth grabbed his halberd and stood his ground beside Haj Tooth. Sharkkin warriors emerged from the shadows, rallied by their former leaders' call. The first clash was like tectonic plates colliding—blades against bone, plasma against hide. Minotaurs fought with volcanic rage, swinging massive flaming axes and maces. Shark warriors used curved blades, spines, and bioluminescent nets that fizzled against demon flesh. Screams tore through the air—both shark and demon. Haj Tooth fought like a storm, her movements fluid, twisting through the battlefield like a predator in water. She sliced open a Minotaur’s thigh, but was thrown back by another, crashing into the base of the statue. Dust and fractured stone rained down. “Saw Tooth!” she screamed. Her mate had lunged at a Minotaur, stabbing deep into its gut—but another had snuck behind him. With one brutal swing of a double-bladed flail, it slammed Saw Tooth’s back. A sickening crack echoed as his dorsal fin snapped clean off, sending him spiraling into the dirt. “NO!” Haj Tooth tackled the Minotaur before it could finish Saw Tooth, goring its eye with her sharp dagger made of bone. It fell, screeching in rage. But it was too late. Saw Tooth lay bleeding, barely conscious. Maladrie stepped forward, untouched by the carnage, her gaze locked on the statue. She lifted a hand. The air around it shimmered—time bent around her fingers. The statue lifted from the ground with invisible force. Chunks of earth ripped free as if gravity itself had surrendered. The body within—petrified, crystalline, and glowing with faint godlight—began to pulse. “Father…” she whispered. “You’ll rest in my palace beneath the Shattered Star. No more defilement.” With a burst of hellfire, she vanished with the statue into the closing wormhole. The remaining Minotaurs followed, some dragging wounded comrades, others laughing at the carnage they left behind. Silence fell. The ground was scorched. Sharkkin bodies were scattered like broken coral. Haj Tooth crawled over to Saw Tooth, cradling his head. Blood oozed from his back, and his fin stump leaked dark plasma. “Stay with me,” she whispered. Back at the heart of the Red Dragon Empire’s decadent throne room, golden light filtered through the stained-glass windows etched with scenes of conquest and false holiness. The air was heavy with incense—burning sap from the trees, a luxury most could never afford. Red velvet banners bearing the sigil of the serpent-wrapped cross hung like bloodied veils along the walls. At the top of a sweeping staircase, slumped over his golden throne as if it were a couch, sat King Alle. His bloated form sagged in silk robes, skin sallow and touched with a bizarre, unnatural orange hue that had worsened over the weeks. His fingers—thick, ringed, and glistening with sweat—curled around Edward’s back as the two locked lips in indulgence. Edward, more composed but equally invested, stroked the back of Alle’s neck, whispering something inaudible into his ear. A servant droid lingered near the wall, holding a tray of roasted bat wings and fried centipedes, but neither man cared to eat. Their attention was entirely on each other—on power, and authority. Then— space tore. It didn’t happen with a sound so much as a sensation. The temperature dropped. The colored light turned pale. And from a twisted hole of obsidian flame and purple static, a silhouette emerged. Maladrie. Her heels clacked against the obsidian floor with a rhythmic authority, her figure towering and vile—terror wreathed in shadow and mist. Horns twisted like gnarled tree roots from her head, her eyes glowing like twin dying stars. Though she bore the monstrous form of a demon queen, her voice was smooth… familiar. Alle’s lips peeled away from Edward’s, wet and twitching in disgust. “What in the Empire’s blessed name are you?” he barked, his voice trembling with fury and subtle fear. Maladrie smirked, revealing razor-thin fangs. “Do you not recognize me, my King? It’s Madeline. You know… your daughter.” Alle’s orange face was drained of color. “Lies… A Demon can’t be the divine daughter of Christ!” Edward stepped forward cautiously, his voice clipped. “If you are truly Madeline… why show yourself now?” “Because Nicholas Ferixson has betrayed you,” Maladrie hissed. “He’s joined the Vikingnar. He is marching on this very world with King William as we speak. You’ve lost control of York. And worse—he's earned the respect of Deathskull.” Alle stood up, wobbling like a decaying statue, fat fingers clenched at his sides. “Ferixson… That slug. I gave him everything. I gave him trust.” Maladrie circled the room slowly, long claws dragging along the tapestries. “Then burn the traitor. But if you want to stop Vikingnar, if you want to preserve your rule, you’ll need more than soldiers. You need Knights who can withstand the impossible.” She raised her hand, and a sphere of pulsing orange energy swirled into existence, filled with shards of Wraith-tech and tissue samples. “Allow me to grant your Knights this blessing.” Alle eyed the sphere warily, then smirked with that same religious conviction that had driven so many mad before. “A test of faith,” he murmured. “Perhaps even divinity at work.” Edward narrowed his eyes. “This… weapon you offer. What are its costs?” “Only that you trust me,” Maladrie said sweetly. “Let me into your barracks. Let me bless your troops. And when the Vikings arrive, we will bathe in their blood and hold their bones up to the skies.” Alle’s lips quivered with joy. “Yes! Yes!” he shrieked. “Do it. Make my Knights divine monsters!” Maladrie bowed, but her smirk never faded. “It will be done.” Alle spun around, his heavy robes flapping. “Edward! Launch the weapon! Now!” Edward blinked. “Are you sure? We haven’t—” “NOW,” Alle shouted, pointing to the polished onyx doors. “Let them see our holy vengeance descend from the stars!” Edward nodded slowly, then bowed and exited the throne room with haste, long white coat trailing behind him. The doors slammed shut behind him. Alone now with Maladrie, she stepped closer, inspecting the King with wide, obsessed eyes. “God speaks through fire,” she muttered. “And you… You are his flame.” Alle simply smiled, still unsettled by this encounter. Meanwhile, deep beneath the decadent palace of the Red Dragon Empire's capitol, Edward Murray barreled down the spiral stone staircase that led to his personal lab. His footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridor, his breath ragged with excitement and the sting of the monkey bite still fresh on his hand. Blood trickled from the deep crescent-shaped wound, but Edward didn’t care. His mind raced with the implications of his last experiment. He had to finish it. He had to inject the serum—now. The heavy steel doors of the lab hissed open as he slammed his palm against the biometric lock. Inside, the room buzzed with electricity, machines humming, sparks occasionally bursting from overworked consoles. The Proboscis Monkey, once docile and strapped to a surgical chair, was now snapping and snarling like a rabid animal. It wanted freedom, a faint pink luminescence glowed from its eyes. "You’re the key," Edward whispered, sweat dripping down his brow. He clutched the syringe of the mutation serum in his left hand, the transparent blue-green liquid swirling like liquid plasma. He approached with caution. "Easy, you little bastard… Just one prick and you’ll make history." But before he could plunge the needle, the Monkey screamed, a gurgling, unnatural cry, and lurched forward—biting down hard on Edward’s hand. “AGH!” Edward shrieked, staggering backward, blood spraying across the sterile lab floor. The Monkey used the distraction to rip its restraints free, which were already chewed. With a furious screech, it launched itself across the lab, knocking over vials, smashing glass beakers, and finally diving through the thick lab window—shattering it in a hail of sparks and glass—and disappearing into the sulfur-scarred sky outside. Edward clutched his bleeding hand, panting. “You’ll regret that, you diseased little—!” Then he looked down. In his other hand, the syringe was still clutched. But the needle was buried in his thigh. “Oh no…” The plunger was depressed on impact when he fell. The mutation serum was gone. All of it—now coursing through his bloodstream. A cold sweat broke out across his body. The walls of the lab seemed to pulse and stretch. He stumbled, grasping at a counter, knocking over trays of tools. “No… No, no, no—this wasn’t meant for me!” Pain bloomed in his chest like wildfire. His vision blurred. The veins in his arms turned black and bulged. Edward fell to the floor screaming, convulsing as the serum surged through him. His skin began to bubble, blistering with pustules that burst into clouds of spores. His body convulsed violently as muscle mass exploded outward. His lab coat ripped apart as his ribcage expanded and curved. Warts spread like a plague across his torso, and his fingernails cracked and grew into thick, gnarled claws. "MY MIND—MY MIND IS STILL HERE!" Edward cried out. But it wasn’t. His words devolved into snarls as his jaw cracked, reshaped into a grotesque muzzle. His nose expanded and curved downward into a horrid fleshy trunk. Tufts of wiry orange hair sprouted along his spine. His spine lengthened, causing him to stand half-upright like a twisted Neanderthal. His eyes burned orange. He reached for a mirror, and what looked back was no longer human. It was a vile parody—a monster Proboscis Monkey mixed with fungal abomination. An accidental Troll. The final, most humiliating transformation came with a wet plop as his genitalia fell to the ground—burned off from hormonal disarray caused by the spore's gender-erasing compounds. Edward howled in horror and rage, knocking over the microscope station in a blind rampage. Just then, the lab door opened. Teresa Gulliman, one of King Alle’s most loyal courtiers and resident alchemist, stepped in holding a clipboard. She barely had time to blink before she was face-to-face with the towering, dripping horror that had once been Edward Murray. She let out a piercing scream. Edward Murray—the Troll—froze. His beady eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, something of his old mind flickered with shame. “GRRAAUGHHHH!!” was all he could manage. The hulking beast turned, crashed through the already-shattered window, and leapt into the outside world, vanishing into the night like a nightmare escaping its cage. Teresa stood frozen. The stench of spores filled the air. She looked down at the scattered lab notes and saw a sticky note with “party night test shots” crossed out. Next to it was a tube labeled “Weaponized Myco-Primate Strain B”. “Idiot…” she muttered, wide-eyed. “I can’t believe that idiot confused his party needles with his experimental bio weapon.” She looked back toward the window with a horrified sigh. “King Alle is not going to like this.” Far in the distance, a guttural howl echoed through the night, and birds fled the tree line. Something monstrous had just been born… and it was now loose in the empire. And it had nothing to lose. Meanwhile, our massive fleet soared through the void of space, a black ocean pierced by glimmering starlight, each vessel a gleaming testament to Vikingnar’s rising power. The colossal shadows of our Drakkar ships loomed like mythic beasts, each carrier and war barge brimming with weapons forged from the finest alien materials and burning with vengeance. The time had come to strike at the heart of the Red Dragon Empire — the planet Draca. Ahead of us, the world of Draca loomed like a crimson eye in the dark. Its atmosphere shimmered with ion storms and haze, its surface cracked with lava veins and ancient industrial cities wrapped in the iron embrace of planetary fortresses. The skies above it were patrolled by the Red Dragon Imperial Navy, who had taken our arrival as an unmistakable act of war. Enormous capital ships — monolithic, rust-red dreadnoughts with towering engines and rows of magnetic cannon batteries — launched into formation to intercept our advance. Their hulls bore ancient emblems — the Dragon Sigil of King Alle — painted in blood-like strokes across oxidized metal. But we were ready. From within our Drakkar Carriers, the hangars hissed open, atmospheric containment fields shimmering as the Red Bird Warships took to the stars first, like flocks of hunting falcons. Their wings spread wide with folded solar fins, and their engines roared with cerulean fire as they took up defensive patterns. A beat later, the new breed of terror emerged — our Death Eagle fighters. Sleek and vicious, these next-generation combat ships ripped out of their launch bays in synchronized volleys, like predators loosened from their cages. Sleek as obsidian and glimmering faintly with blue plasma veins, they zipped forward with deadly speed, taking formation like a spearhead. These weren’t your standard attack crafts. They were honed machines of conquest, crafted with graphene alloy skin — lighter than steel, but ten times stronger. Their aerodynamic fuselage curved with elegance, designed by A.I.-driven war architects for maximum maneuverability in zero gravity and atmospheric operations. Their pulse-thrusters gave them the agility to turn on a coin, perform evasive loops, and outrun nearly anything in the Red Dragon arsenal. The Red Dragon Empire responded with their own swarm — waves of Black Bird fighters, obsolete remnants from a time when the Empire believed they could not be challenged. Their ships, clunky in comparison and slower to respond, surged toward us like a virus. But our Death Eagles were already slicing through them. With the first exchange of fire, our Death Eagles fired twin laser bursts. The energy beams — neon-red pulses laced with antimatter particles — ripped into the enemy formation. The first hits stripped the Black Birds' outdated energy shields away in an instant, causing their power signatures to spike violently as their outer hulls were exposed to vacuum. With the second round of laser fire, the Black Birds split in two — their fuselages sheared cleanly as if by a monomolecular blade. Explosions erupted across the starscape in silent flashes — blossoms of debris and fire drifting in the darkness. The heat signatures from each destroyed ship painted our radars with growing chaos, but our formations held. The Drakkar Commander, an AI hybrid mind interfacing with every Death Eagle through encrypted neural links, began to reposition our forces into wedge formations — compressing our attack pattern tighter against the approaching capital fleet. In the distance, the Red Dragon flagship, Tyrannax, emerged. It was an enormous thing — nearly the size of a city, bristling with turrets and kinetic rail cannons. Its engines spat waves of irradiated plasma, and shield flares burst around its hull from our early probing attacks. The sight of it did little to deter our push. If anything, it drew us in closer. The Tyrannax was our primary target — the heart of the Empire’s orbital command. More Death Eagles launched from our rear carriers, swarming forward in waves. At the same time, torpedo cruisers armed with gravity-tipped missiles began their siege maneuvers. The missiles glided through space with eerie grace, silent but devastating. When they hit, they ignited like stars dying — sending enemy cruisers spinning out of control, or collapsing their hulls inward from sheer gravitational pressure. Below us, the surface of Draca came into view — a fractured landscape of megacities and volcanic ridges, defense towers blinking like cursed lighthouses. Planetary shield domes flickered into place, protecting key cities. Anti-aircraft batteries turned toward the heavens, locking onto our trajectory. We were not merely here to claim a sky; we were here to bring judgment from the stars. One of our Red Bird warships, Odinhall, took a direct hit from a magnetized lance fired from a destroyer-class enemy ship. The lance bored into its core reactor and caused a chain explosion, the fiery wreckage tumbling into the gravity well of Draca. There would be losses. We had expected them. Still, the enemy lines were faltering. The Death Eagles, with their superior maneuvering systems and high-frequency targeting beams, carved clean paths through the formations of Black Birds and Cobra Bombers. Each ship’s onboard AI worked in tandem with its pilot, anticipating patterns and correcting errors within milliseconds. As the battle raged on, space debris began to form a glowing belt around the planet, like a mechanical ring of corpses. We continued to push forward. More Drakkar Carriers warped in from hyperspace in tight formations behind us, reinforcing our front line. The sky was no longer a battleground — it was a siege. Far beyond the stars, we had waited for this moment. Now, we were making our stand. And though the Red Dragon Empire had their fire, we brought the fury of gods with us. The assault on Draca had begun. And it would not end until the throne of King Alle was no more. Although, the descent through Draca’s storm-thick skies was anything but smooth. Inside our drop pod, turbulence battered the hull like an angry god. Our original plan was to land directly within the capital walls, just like the last time. But this time… something was wrong. A flashing alert pulsed on the pod's holo-display—SHIELD BARRIER DETECTED. “Deathskull, we’ve got a problem,” I said, gripping the edge of my seat as the pod jolted sideways. “There’s an energy shield below the clouds. They’re blocking direct entry.” He checked the instruments. “Damn it. They’ve reinforced their defenses. No way we’re punching through that.” I slammed the comms open. “To all warriors in drop formation—divert your descent now! I repeat, DO NOT attempt to land within the city! Pull back!” Outside the viewports, pods were scrambling, thrusters flaring in every direction. A few collided mid-air in a rain of sparks, others barely missed one another. I yanked the control lever, shifting the trajectory. Our pod veered hard to the left, scraping against another in a teeth-clenching graze. Alarms screamed. Emily shouted, “Are we going to make it?—” “We will!” I snarled, forcing the pod down through the lower atmosphere. The ground surged up like a wall. At the last second, retros fired, and our pod smashed into the surface—just outside the capital walls. The impact slammed us against our restraints, but we were alive. The hatch burst open, flooding the pod with bright, dust-hazy daylight and the burnt-metal scent of war. I climbed out first, yanked my helmet off, and scanned the terrain. We were just a few yards from the capital’s monolithic walls—glowing with plasma runes and etched with demonic symbols. The energy shield pulsed above it, a shimmering dome in the sky, cutting off any aerial assault. But down here? This was our battleground now. “Emily, Serenity, Deathskull—move out!” I called. One by one, they emerged. Serenity raised her plasma scythe and scanned the horizon. Deathskull’s eyes glowed a deeper red than usual. He said nothing, but his grip tightened around his carbon-wrapped halberd. Emily took in the broken terrain, the silence before the storm. Within seconds, more drop pods began to land around us. Hissing steam and hydraulic whines followed by the thunder of metal boots hitting soil. In the distance, Drakkar Carriers descended from the clouds like gods of war, hatches opening mid-air to deploy transport sleds and droid squads. Our warriors gathered in formation. Rows of Viking Warriors lined the field, their war gear gleaming in the morning light—chainmale battle suits, photon-forged axes, and helms glowed with dark silver. More emerged behind them—Guardian Angels—formerly Demondroids, now reborn in golden skeletal forms clad in battle-worn Viking armor, their glowing eyes fierce with loyalty. From the eastern ridge galloped the new cavalry—Nicholas and his liberated Knights, now donning Vikingnar armor over their older heraldry. But what caught everyone's attention were the Dorses—massive armored canids, each one a predator molded for war. Their teeth were alloy. Their hides were stronger in armor. Their loyalty is unshakable. Nicholas rode to the front, his beast snarling beside him. He raised his visor and nodded to me. I gave him a grin. “You see? We have respect for your beliefs, and your ways of doing things.” He nodded in return. “Your people may be different, but your honor runs true.” I whistled sharply—and from behind the carriers, she came. A hulking Dorse, her armor had crimson lights running along her plated flanks. Her eyes glowed—intelligent, alert—and fixed directly on me. Emily gasped softly. “Is that...?” I held my hand out. “Honey.” The armored canid sprinted toward me and stopped just shy of crashing into us. She lowered her head gently. I placed a gloved hand on her snout, then climbed into the saddle. Emily stood stunned. “I don’t understand… How is she—? She was just a dog…” I offered my hand to her. “Climb up. I’ll explain.” She grabbed my wrist and swung herself up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Her breath was warm against my neck. “While we were away,” I said, “Honey got sick. Really sick. There wasn’t time to wait for her to recover naturally. I made an arrangement with Deathskull… her consciousness, her soul—whatever you want to call it—was transferred into this body. It was the only way to save her.” Emily was silent for a long moment. Then she placed her hand on Honey’s armored shoulder. “She remembers us,” she said softly. “I can feel it.” I nodded. “She remembers everything.” Honey growled—not with anger, but in affirmation. A loyal war-beast now, yes. But still our companion. Still family. From the horizon, distant horns began to sound. Demonic war horns—deep, metallic, and unnatural. The enemy had seen us. I pulled my chainsword from my back and held it high. After the long wait… it began. The wind shifted—low and metallic, carrying the scent of scorched air and something else… something older. The field between us and the capital grew quiet, too quiet. The birds stopped circling. The ash settled. It was as if the world paused, inhaling with dread. And then we saw them. The gates of Draca creaked open—not like a mechanical operation, but more like the breathing of some ancient beast. Rusted steel groaned against iron hinges, and the sound echoed across the field like a dirge. Shadows shifted behind the open doors, and then—one by one—they emerged. Knights. But not ours. They moved in perfect unison. Their formation was flawless—rows of ten, each row falling in behind the last with eerie precision. But these weren’t men anymore. The visors were gone, their faces exposed, as if they had no shame left. Their skin was no longer human, but mutated into leathery orange reptilian flesh. Their noses were nothing more than slits. Horned cheekbones jutted forward under their helmets, and their eyes… their eyes were pure black, empty voids—soulless, like dying stars. “Corrupted Knights…” Emily whispered behind me. I said nothing. I only stared as they continued to emerge—dozens, then hundreds. The ground trembled with their synchronized march. These were not humans corrupted by mere power. No. They had been offered something. And they had accepted. Just behind them came something worse. Figures with far too much elegance for a battlefield began to slink through the gates. Succubi and Incubi—demonic in form, humanoid in shape, but their proportions were unnatural, too tall, too lean, their motions like dancers drunk on blood. Their skin shimmered like polished obsidian. Eyes like burning coals locked onto our lines. Their smiles spread inhumanly wide as their clawed hands flexed in anticipation. Some of them wore armor plated in gold filigree and black leather, sculpted to enhance their twisted allure. Others were practically naked save for the ceremonial chains and burning runes etched into their flesh. Their presence alone made some of our newer recruits stumble backwards. But they didn’t stop coming. A line of towering Demon Warriors, like flesh and steel hybrids, followed behind—each one standing nearly eight feet tall. Horned helmets, chainswords, plasma axes, and jet-black armor fused with bone. Their chests breathed like lungs, organic components swelling beneath the steel plates. That’s when I saw Ragnar. He emerged slowly, not at the head of the army but within its center—more like a priest than a general. His body had changed. His once-proud Viking armor was gone. In its place was orange skin streaked with reptilian cracks. Horns curled backward from his temples like a crown of fire. His eyes were no longer human—but burning pits of rage and betrayal. Twin plasma swords hung from his belt like fangs, and behind him dragged a cape that looked like it was made of smoke and writhing shadow. Two Knights, Alex Jenkins and Joe Raphial, were among those who took a cautious step back. Their faces went pale, the tips of their spears trembling slightly. Alex looked at Joe and whispered, “What… what even are they?” Joe didn’t answer, his eyes fixated on the snarling faces moving toward us like a tide of nightmares. “They’ve been here all along,” Alex added under his breath. “Living among us… in disguise.” That’s when I stepped forward and turned back to address them. “You’re not wrong. They were always here. Hidden. Manipulating. Feeding on our peace like parasites. And now they’re showing their true forms.” Joe looked at me, still shaken. “We didn’t know… we didn’t see…” “They’re not gods,” I snapped. “They’re not unbeatable. They want your fear. Don’t give it to them. Turn it into hate.” My words echoed. Not just through the ranks of Nicholas’s reformed Knights or the Guardian Angels who towered in silence—but through everyone. The Dorse-mounted cavalry, the Vikings with plasma axes and gunblades, and even the Drop Pod scouts in their exo-cloaks—all looked up, straightened their posture. Fear slowly shifted into something else. Not courage—but rage. The Demon horde surged from Draca’s city gates—Corrupted Knights with reptilian, orange skin and soulless black eyes, flanked by Incubi and Succubi who hissed and snarled as they lunged. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath the weight of their advance. It was all I needed. I lifted my arm and gave the signal. A hurricane of blood and steel erupted from our side. Viking warriors charged in unison, hooves stamping, swords flashing in the waning twilight. Defender droids marched beside them—our golden Guardian Angels—plasma shields raised and serrated swords ignited, their ethereal red glow cutting through the gloom. Nicholas’s formerly Imperial Knights rode heavily armored Dorse cavalry with newfound vengeance. Emily and I rode Honey—now reborn in Dorse form—straight into the maw of the oncoming tide. Her armored frame thundered across the battlefield, crashing into enemy lines with savage force. Emily’s sword cut arcs of red light through twisted demonic flesh as mine—a revving chainsword—ripped through armor and bone. Our mounted onslaught carved a path of ordered destruction. Deathskull, ever efficient, directed a squad of Guardian Angels. With laser precision, they hurled plasma javelins into foe ranks, collapsing demon formations. A coordinated pincer drove the dark forces inward, creating a death trap of converging blades and roaring steel. The ground bucked beneath me, and with an explosive strike I was thrown from my mount. A hulking Demonic Minotaur towered above, its bronze hide scarred with battle, horns glinting in the embers of war. My gauntlets rattled as the creature’s cleaver struck with brutal force—steel and bone sang in a violent chorus. Limbs spun and disappointment took over—until I dodged low and sliced my chainsword deep into its throat. The beast jerked once and fell in a red-hearted collapse. The battlefield trembled with an unnatural energy, the ground beneath us pulsing with the vibration of charging hooves and storming feet. Amidst the chaos, I spun on my heel, heart slamming in my chest as I caught sight of Emily just ahead—her eyes locked in a deadly gaze with someone I thought we'd never see again. It was Page. But not the woman I once knew from our encounter in the Wraith. This was a twisted version—something inhuman. Her eyes burned with a sickly orange hue, and her skin had taken on a pale, corpse-like sheen, veined with black tendrils of corrupted energy. Horns curled back from her forehead, and a subtle hiss escaped her fangs as she bared her teeth like a predator. "I came here for your King," she spat with venomous amusement, her voice laced with supernatural distortion. It was no longer Page's voice—it was something darker wearing her memory like a mask. Emily’s fury ignited like a plasma torch. She snarled, her sword already arcing through the air. The blade kissed Page’s face in a flash of silver, slicing a gash across her cheek that sizzled as her demonic flesh recoiled. Black blood oozed from the wound like tar. Page staggered but smirked, licking the blood with a grotesque pleasure. I stepped forward, ready to intervene, when an immense shadow moved across my path—blocking me like a wall of despair. It was him. Ragnar. Or rather, the husk of what Ragnar once was. Now he stood as a Demon Warrior, his body mutated and clad in cruel rusted armor. His skin glowed with ember-like cracks, and horns curled from his skull like a devil’s crown. His eyes—once full of purpose—were now pits of fiery orange, void of all humanity. “You can’t save her,” he growled, voice thick with demonic resonance. “It’s just you and I now. How dare you desecrate your heritage by letting a machine rule the kingdom!” I tightened my grip on my chainsword. “Heritage and culture are art—not a damn priority,” I spat. Ragnar bellowed a guttural roar, and our blades clashed like lightning splitting the sky. The duel was apocalyptic. We collided in the middle of the battlefield, everything else fading into ghostly echoes around us. His infernal axe—massive and jagged, soaked in that cursed Shark Venom—swung with the strength of an earthquake. Every strike that grazed me burned and numbed, the venom working fast, seeping through slashes in my armor, into my veins. My breath shortened. My vision blurred. The world began to tilt, and I knew this wasn’t just a battle—it was a slow death if I didn’t finish it soon. Ragnar pressed forward, each swing aimed to decapitate, to crush, to erase. I countered as best I could, ducking low and retaliating with slashes from my chainsword, its red blade shrieking through the air. Sparks and blood exploded on every impact. I activated the wrist blade on my gauntlet, knowing I needed to draw him in close. He grunted in surprise as I blocked a downward swing and drove the Shungite-laced blade deep into the gap beneath his stomach armor. The cursed mineral hissed like acid against his corrupted flesh. Ragnar gasped, blood bubbling in his throat, but he refused to fall. With trembling limbs, he staggered backward, trying to reach a fallen spear nearby. I could barely move. The venom had numbed my muscles, but rage kept my body upright. I stepped forward, the weight of destiny in my hands. With a final roar, I raised my chainsword overhead and drove it through Ragnar’s throat. The scream that tore from his body was not his—it was something deeper, more ancient, as though the Demon inside him was being forcibly expelled. Black ichor sprayed from his mouth as he thrashed once, then collapsed. His body convulsed, then finally went still. The former war hero of Vikingnar lay broken, armor shattered, blood pooling around him in steaming rivers. Around me, Demons fell—their momentum shattered by the loss of one of their strongest champions. But it wasn’t over. More surged from the gates like a plague. I turned, the numbness still spreading through my limbs, and caught sight of Emily, still locked in combat with Page. Their duel had become vicious. Page fought like a serpent—coiled, quick, venomous. Her blade, too, was coated with Shark Venom, and I saw the moment it slid past Emily’s guard, puncturing a weak point in her armor at her abdomen. Emily gasped and stumbled, but didn’t fall. Instead, she broke Page’s blade with a single strike—snapping it at the hilt. The sound echoed like thunder. Page stepped back, eyes wide, suddenly vulnerable. Emily didn’t hesitate. She surged forward, slicing Page’s arm clean off in a flash of steel. The demon woman dropped to her knees, howling, clutching the bleeding stump. Her voice cracked into pathetic sobs as she begged for mercy. Emily stood tall, blood staining her dark armor. “Are you kidding me, hag?” She swung once, fast and merciless. Page’s head rolled into the dirt. Her body slumped over lifeless, demon ichor pouring from the stump of her neck. I limped over to Emily as the battle raged around us. Blood and plasma stained the ground. Bodies of Viking warriors and demonic monstrosities littered the field, smoldering in the aftermath of energy blasts and blade strikes. “We need to get inside the gates,” I said hoarsely, my hand clutching my bleeding side. “Now. Before they overwhelm us.” Emily wiped her sword clean, her breath ragged. “Do you know how?” I nodded. “We need to find Nicholas. If anyone knows a secret way into the city, it’s him.” She gave a sharp nod, eyes burning with determination. The battlefield outside the capital of Draca had transformed into a living nightmare—flames from laser cannons scorched the sky, the ruins of ancient stone buildings lay shattered across the wastelands, and smoke twisted upward in apocalyptic spirals. The air smelled like ozone and ash, burned flesh and leaking hydraulic fluid. And amidst the chaos, our forces surged like a tide of iron and will. Nicholas, Alex, and Joe fought in unison, their armor reflecting flashes of energy blades and plasma fire. But the demonic forces were tireless—feral and grotesque creatures with elongated limbs, war-blades melded into their bones, and glowing symbols branded across their chests in infernal runes. Nicholas swung his sword through the face of a horned Demonling, its blackened skull splitting open in a spray of violet fluid. His Dorse circled him like a shadow, blood-soaked claws slamming into another creature, tossing it aside like a rag doll. But then the ground quaked. A colossal Demonic Minotaur emerged through the ruins, ten feet tall with a labyrinthine crest engraved into its bone-white horns and an obsidian battle axe forged in Hell’s own forges. Nicholas faced it alone. The initial exchange was brutal—his strikes met with immense resistance as the Minotaur parried with its axe and countered with guttural roars. Sparks flew from the clashing of weapons. Nicholas ducked, rolled, and brought his blade down into the creature’s thigh, only for it to backhand him across the battlefield like a thrown doll. The blow cracked his chest plate and left him stunned. The Minotaur raised its axe for the final blow. Then—out of nowhere—Kyle. The younger warrior sprinted forward and leapt, driving his sword deep into the Minotaur’s exposed side. The beast howled and swung wildly, sending Kyle tumbling back. It was about to crush him with a stomp when Nicholas’s Dorse charged in with fury. The beast leapt, claws slashing into demonic flesh, its snarls echoing through the battlefield like a war drum. It sank its massive teeth into the Minotaur’s throat, and with one shake, crushed the creature’s windpipe entirely. The Minotaur gurgled its last and slumped into the dirt, twitching no more. Nicholas limped over and scratched his loyal beast behind the ears. “Relax, boy.” “That’s a useful animal you got there,” Kyle muttered, catching his breath. That’s when Emily and I emerged through the smoke, plasma residue still trailing from our armor. “Nicholas!” I shouted. “We need access through the gates. Now.” Nicholas looked toward the towering walls and snarling Demons pouring from the ramparts. “We need a distraction. The gate’s reinforced—controlled from within. We’ll never breach it without someone disabling it first.” My brow furrowed. “We don’t have enough troops to split forces.” Just then, the sky cracked open. A ripple tore through the atmosphere like the arrival of a celestial beast. Above us, a hive-shaped vessel with jagged fins and coral-like plating descended. The liberated Shark People had arrived. Swarms of them leapt from the vessel—barbed fins shimmering with oil and alien glyphs etched into their hardened scales. Their eyes burned with vengeance. They landed like meteorites among the Demon horde, slashing with biometal claws and shattering bones with teeth evolved for war. They didn’t roar. They didn’t chant. They tore. Saw Tooth and Haj Tooth sprinted from opposite flanks, coordinating a pincer attack that drove the Demons inward—right into our kill zone. The cacophony of shrieking Demons was drowned beneath the rhythmic slaughter of our new allies. One Shark warrior bit clean through the head of an Incubus, while another used its claws to carve demonic runes off a Knight’s face before smashing it into the ground. Emily staggered beside me. Her breathing was ragged, her visor cracked and fogged. I felt the poison in my own system too. Shark Venom. It clung to the bloodstream like fire in the veins—paralyzing, dragging you downward into a half-dead fog. My limbs were heavy. My vision blurred. I could hear my own heart slow. Haj Tooth took one look at us and reacted without hesitation. From a blackened pouch on her belt, she drew a bone needle. Without asking, she thrust it into my neck. I snarled. “Stand down! Everyone, relax!” Emily staggered back as Haj Tooth stung her next. Then… Air rushed into my lungs like a tidal wave. A cold rush exploded through my body—clarity, speed, rage. My senses sharpened. My thoughts were clearer than ever. The fatigue vanished in a heartbeat, and the poison that had rooted itself in my blood was burned away like oil on a fire. Emily stood tall again. Her eyes lit with fury and focus. “What was that?” Haj Tooth’s gills flared. “Antidote. Shark blood enhancer. Our strength is yours now.” I grinned beneath my helmet. “Then we finish this together.” We turned toward the capital gates. Fires burned in the towers. Demons retreated toward the last line of defense. Haj Tooth roared a guttural command, and her Shark warriors surged forward once more, devouring the retreating lines of the enemy like a school of piranhas tearing into a bloated corpse. With the gates momentarily vulnerable, I raised my Chainsword and pointed forward. “Nicholas, lead the charge. Emily and I are right behind you.” He nodded and mounted his Dorse. “Let’s end this!” The battlefield stretched before us like the opening to Hell—scorched, littered with corpses, drenched in plasma smoke and Demon ichor. But our enemies were breaking. Our numbers were surging. And now we had blood, fire, and vengeance on our side. Meanwhile, inside the obsidian-walled palace, where flames from molten crystal chandeliers licked upward like ancient spirits trapped in glass, King Alle stood at the edge of a tall gothic window. The war raged in the distance like a living tempest. Explosions of plasma and the dull hum of sonic blades cracked against the stone skies. Dark clouds from Wraith portals loomed overhead, swirling like cosmic maws salivating for flesh and glory. His once-glorious royal garments now clung loosely around his aging frame, sweat dotting his brow like jewels of fear. His gloved hand trembled as he rested it against the glass, eyes darting nervously over the chaos outside. Behind him, the dark echo of heels tapping against polished volcanic stone crept closer. Maladrie. She slinked out from the shadows like some alien predator born from black fire. Her form was humanoid in shape but twisted—elegant robes of interwoven Wraith silk clung to her firm limbs, while her face—once alluring and humanoid—was now half-shifted into a horror of segmented jawlines and mandibles glistening with acidic saliva. Her voice dripped with disdain. "You got somewhere to be?" she asked, one brow raised over her pupil-less, glowing red eyes. Her voice was sweet but sharp—honey over glass shards. Alle flinched. "I—I have to get back to Edward," he confessed, the name barely making it out past his dry throat. “He… he doesn’t know what’s happening. I told him I would protect him.” Maladrie’s eyes widened slightly, her head twitching with a spider-like tick. Then, a sound bubbled out of her throat—a disgusted half-laugh, half-growl. “Aw, You love him?” she said, as if the word itself offended her biology. She stepped forward, grabbing the King by his collar, and slammed him back against a decorative iron beam carved with ancient Vikingnar glyphs—glyphs that cracked as if the very structure of honor and tradition shattered with the impact. “Thanks to your love,” she hissed, “you got other women to rise against me—alongside the men of this realm! You broke the balance!” "I didn’t plan this!" King Alle pleaded. “I just wanted to survive. You promised me power, a new kingdom… but this—this is slaughter!” Maladrie’s jaws twisted in disdain. “You used to be strong, Alle. You used to take what you wanted. Now look at you—knees trembling, voice quivering over some pathetic human emotion…” She leaned in, her breath smoldering with sulfur and hate. “Love is weakness.” Without warning, her mandibles extended like scissor blades from her cheeks and sunk into Alle’s neck, piercing flesh and artery. She gripped him like a mother spider feasting on a disobedient mate. Alle’s legs twitched violently, his arms thrashing. His eyes rolled back as blackened veins crawled across his face, darkening under her parasitic drain. Outside the throne room doors, Teresa—a royal scribe and longtime palace assistant—watched the horror unfold through the half-cracked doorway. Her hands were trembling, mouth agape. For a moment, her body locked in fear. Then rage sparked. Not just for Alle—whom she admired despite his mistakes—but for the kingdom, for the people burning outside, for the memory of peace they once had. She burst into the room like a ghost of vengeance and scrambled across the floor toward the fireplace. Hanging on the soot-covered rack beside it was a ceremonial fire fork—ornate, three-pronged, and forged of iron so dense it glowed faintly red. Clutching it like a divine weapon, Teresa lunged forward and plunged it into Maladrie’s chitinous back. The Demoness howled—her scream tearing through the walls and shaking the throne rooms stained glass windows. Her claws released the King as she turned, flinging Teresa like a ragdoll across the chamber. She hit the wall hard, the sound of bone against stone echoing sickeningly. Blood streaked down her temple. Maladrie ripped the fork from her back with a metallic shriek, black goo oozing from the wound. Without another word, she stormed out of the throne room, leaving claw marks scorched into the floor. The palace walls wept smoke as if mourning her presence. Several long minutes passed. A faint crackling sound of fire, distant weapons, and dripping blood filled the silence. Teresa stirred. She groaned, her limbs aching, ribs most likely fractured, but her will unbroken. With great effort, she crawled to where King Alle lay slumped against the beam. His once regal eyes now stared upward, lifeless, cloudy with failure and sorrow. His hand still clutched a locket containing a photo of Edward. Teresa's lip quivered as she pulled his hand over his chest and whispered, “You died a man in the end… not a king… but a man.” She bowed her head in silence, even as the world outside burned. Meanwhile, Nicholas led our blended force—Viking warriors, Shar warriors, Valrra, Emily, and I—through the hidden access beneath the capital. The tunnel was slick with ancient mold and lined with rumbling conduits pulsing with energy residuals from Imperial machinery. At its end lay a narrow hatch, cleverly concealed within rubble. With a swift shove from Nicholas, it snapped open, revealing the backside of the city wall. We emerged into the stench of smoke and ozone, stepping onto shattered cobblestone. Haj Tooth’s Shark warriors and Valrra peeled off to flank a nearby guardhouse, while Emily and I took point with a handful of knights led by Alex and Joe. Nicholas slipped behind us to secure the breached hatch. The city streets lay in chaos—burned-out vehicles fused with gothic steel, flickering algae lamps casting eerie green halos. The air was thick with ash and the distant sound of crackling Wraith energy. Our advance was abruptly halted by a wedge of demonic foes—a small legion towering before us. Leading them were Kotus Pleasant, his face a contorted mask of horns, and Casey Zander, twisted into a corrupted shell of his former self. When he stepped forward, I snarled, full of contempt. “You surrendered to perversion, and did nothing about it!” I spat as my blade glowed. Casey's lips curled in a cruel smile, his voice twisted with obsession. “And you still trust your piece of metal for leadership?” His raised shimmering claws to strike. I signaled Nicholas and his Knights to move. Before the gates could open fully, we leapt into battle. Steel clanged against corrupted armor, energy crackled, and Shark warriors lunged, tearing through demon flesh with predatory glee. I engaged Kotus directly. He swung a massive spiked club, but I danced in close using the chainsword’s plasma edge to slash across his midsection, then drove a groin strike home. He howled—blood sprayed like rain. With a final roar, I crushed him down into the ruined pavement. “Quiet parasite,” I muttered, my breath ragged. Meanwhile, Emily fought with feral precision. Succubi lunged at her with flaming swords coated in venom. She deflected blows, dismembered demons with her long sword, and spun with grace and deadly intent. Every strike she landed seemed charged with righteous fury. Haj Tooth and her Shark Hive showed no restraint—teeth flashing, fins glistening with extracted demon venom. They tore into demonic ranks, chewing through corrupted limbs, dragging wings out of their torsos. Their powerful psychic presence rippled through the air, disrupting the wraith energy that gave the demons power. From the palace steps, Maladrie appeared—sleek and deadly, her mandibles drawn like curtains splitting. Splintered crystalline crowns glowed beneath her crown, casting orange glimmers across cracked marble. She held her gaze on Emily and me with both disdain and curious pride. Our momentum surged when we heard the metallic clank of gates swinging inward. Nicholas achieved his goal—ideal timing. We piled forward into the city proper, striking down demons by the score. Nicholas and his Knights finally burst the gates open with a thunderous metallic groan, steam jets hissing as ancient hinges gave way to our fury. The moment the gates slammed against the inner walls of the capital, the final charge began. We surged through like a vengeful tide. The cobblestone avenues of the capital shook as our Viking warriors howled war cries, raising their shungite-forged axes high. The Knights, their metallic swords fluttering behind them, launched into disciplined formations—flanking the demon spawn that writhed and screeched like insects. Behind them came the Noble Droids—silver-bodied, rectangular-shouldered war constructs—some galloping on four mechanical limbs, others hovering with plasma vents roaring beneath them. And finally, the Shark People. Sleek, bioluminescent predators with bone armor etched into their flesh, charging forward on all fours. Their jaws snapped through demonic necks as easily as paper. The streets became rivers of flame, glass, and blood. I had no time to celebrate the breach. I moved forward with a cold purpose, but the moment I turned the next corner of the palace courtyard—he was there. Casey Zander. Clad in black, sleeveless armor streaked with gold circuitry, his aura was twisted, sickly—a fusion of arrogance and corruption. His once blue eyes were now silver and glazed, as if someone had erased his soul and replaced it with a machine’s ambition. We locked eyes, and fate shoved us into one another like chess pieces thrown from the board. CLANG! I slammed the guard of my sword straight into his face. His head snapped back. Blood spurted from his nostrils—but he didn’t fall. He countered fast, catching my wrist, shoving me back with a brutal knee to the chest. I felt something in my ribs shift, but I didn’t let pain slow me. "Still playing hero, William?" he sneered, wiping blood from his mouth. "Still believing in love? You’re such a loser." That word—loser—cut through me like a psychic knife. Not because I believed it, but because it reminded me of the same poison people threw at me growing up. The word echoed with every laugh, every eye-roll, every betrayal I had ever endured. But I wasn’t that weak anymore. I slashed diagonally across his face with my Chainsword, carving a glowing red line from jaw to brow. His scream was primal. “Cowards mock what they’ll never understand,” I said, my voice colder than the steel between us. He came at me like a noob—sword flashing with demonic flame—but I met every swing. Our blades clashed in a flurry of sparks and fury, neither of us backing down. The clangs echoed off palace walls, sounding more like artillery fire than a duel. We were too evenly matched… until the moment our swords locked—twisted—and disarmed each other simultaneously. Blades flew to the ground. The crowd around us blurred—Demons fighting Nobles, Vikings tearing horns off Succubi, Knights exploding Incubi with plasma spears. But we no longer cared. We fell into fists and elbows. I was faster. I drove my shin into his thigh with a low, thudding kick. His leg buckled, but he steadied himself. I answered with a flurry—left hook to the jaw, knee to the solar plexus, a spinning elbow to his temple. He stumbled, gasping. I could hear something in his breathing crackle. “You’ve got nothing left, Casey,” I said, grabbing him by the collar. He spat blood and laughed. “Joseph begged me not to do it… He was crying like a girly bitch.” I froze for a split second, just enough for the weight of those words to hit. Joseph. Emily’s cousin. My friend. A man I had sworn to protect like a brother. Gone—murdered by the shell of a human standing in front of me. I saw red. “You murdered blood,” I whispered, trembling with rage. “Family. Mine and Emily’s.” I drove my gauntlet blade into his clavicle. He screamed and dropped to his knees, eyes wide with the realization that this was the end. But he didn’t beg. Instead, he glared up at me through the blood streaming from his broken face. With a gauntlet blade I thrust it into his groin, slicing through flesh, tendons, and nerves. I twisted—ripped upwards—and stepped back as he collapsed into a pool of his own horror. Casey Zander was dead, castrated. I turned and didn’t look back. The air stank of ash and charred flesh, the cries of the wounded mingling with the battle roars of the victorious. Demon corpses smoldered where they lay, and wisps of black energy—Wraith residue—hissed into the scorched earth. My breath was ragged, chest heaving, but I stood firm amidst the carnage. The skies above the capital swirled with unstable cloud matter from the Wraith breach, casting shadows across the ruined marble and plasma-scarred walls of the once-great city. From my vantage, I spotted Nicholas further down the avenue near the burning remains of a statue that once depicted ancient peacekeepers. He was locked in combat with a towering Minotaur, this one leaner than the last but no less grotesque. Its skin glistened with obsidian oil, and jagged bone pierced through its shoulders like rusted blades. The creature’s axe spun in wide, whistling arcs. Nicholas ducked one blow, countered with a shield bash, then reeled back as the Minotaur caught his side with a sharp elbow. For a brief moment, Nicholas staggered. Blood poured from his shoulder. The Minotaur bellowed in triumph. Then she appeared—Valrra. An elite Valkyrie of the Vikingnar, Valrra moved like lightning. Her armor was a blend of synthetic sapphire scales and ancient Norse craftsmanship—engraved shoulder plates with kinetic gyros, her curved sword glowing with plasma runes. Without hesitation, she leapt from a nearby column, slashing the Minotaur across the back. Sparks and gore erupted in a single stroke. Nicholas glanced at her. Surprise flickered behind his visor. “No time to be proud,” Valrra snapped, her accent thick and uncompromising. They moved as one. Nicholas slammed his blade across the Minotaur’s thigh; Valrra rolled underneath the beast, cutting into its hamstring. Roaring, the Minotaur staggered, its legs buckling. Nicholas drove his blade into the creature’s heart while Valrra severed the spine with her axe from behind. The beast collapsed, twitching. And that’s when I saw them—two more Minotaurs, emerging from the alley beyond the wall breach. Taller. Broader. The air warped around them. Their horns twisted like infernal iron, and their muscles pulsed with an unnatural orange glow. I didn’t hesitate. I charged before they could reach them. The first one swung a massive metal club carved from scavenged wreckage. I ducked beneath the swing, my Chainsword humming as I brought it up across the Minotaur’s gut, slicing through fur, flesh, and bone. It roared, but not in pain—in delight. The second one clipped me with its axe, tearing into my side. Metal peeled away from my armor like paper. I stumbled but recovered quickly, slamming my boot into the first Minotaur’s kneecap. It buckled. I used that moment to drive my blade into its eye socket. It convulsed and dropped like a felled mech. But the second Minotaur was already upon me. Its axe slammed into my back, cleaving through two layers of armor. Pain exploded through my body. I fell hard, dirt and blood in my mouth. The demon raised its axe again—ready to cleave me in half. I bit it. With a savage snarl, I lunged up and sank my teeth into its throat. The Minotaur shrieked, black ichor spilling from its severed windpipe as I ripped it free. It dropped the axe and stumbled back, clutching its neck before toppling over. I stood there, drenched in blood—both mine and theirs. I glanced down. My abdomen was split open, organs exposed. And yet, even as I looked, the Immortal inside me surged. My skin rippled. I grabbed my intestines and shoved them back in. A crystal-like membrane began stitching the gash closed before my eyes. I didn’t know what terrified me more—the Demons, or the fact that I could live through this. “William!” Emily’s voice called out from nearby, breathless and sharp. I looked up—and locked eyes with her. Maladrie. There she stood, atop the palace steps, her once-human features twisted with pride and malice. Crystalline horns curled from her temples. Her dress, stitched from shredded banners of fallen kingdoms, shimmered with cursed energy. “No more pretending,” I said aloud. There’s no sexual tension this time, just tension as Maladrie tilted her head. “All of this could’ve been avoided… if your father had been there for you.” She didn’t flinch. “Is this the part where you beg for mercy?” I smirked. “Don't you think it's too late for that?” That’s when Zach appeared—my former best friend, now a demonic wraith hybrid, corrupted by the Wraith Queen herself. His body had changed. Crystalline plates covered his forearms. His eyes were soulless voids. He stepped beside Maladrie. But I wasn’t alone. Emily stepped up beside me, her crystalline gauntlet forming across her left arm, the residual effects of her own Immortal awakening. She looked at me once, gave a nod. I knew what it meant. I’d take Zach. She’d take Maladrie. I lunged at Zach. He met me with ferocity. We collided midair, fists and blades clashing. His speed matched mine, but his instincts were dulled—he was relying on raw power and rage. I was fueled by clarity, by betrayal, and by grief. My sword grazed his ribs. His clawed hand scraped my shoulder. Blood sprayed. We fought across the courtyard, our duel turning into a blur of motion and pain. Zach kicked me in the chest, I tumbled, but rolled to my feet. My fist connected with his jaw. His knee hit my stomach. We grappled. We fell. We rose again. Locked in a vicious stalemate. Meanwhile, Emily’s duel with Maladrie was no less brutal. Their swords clashed like thunder. Each blow sent out shockwaves. Maladrie shrieked with every parry. Emily’s blade nicked her face—leaving a gash across her left cheek. Maladrie roared, summoning a surge of dark energy into her sword and slashed into Emily’s left arm—nearly severing it. Bone showed through. Blood poured. Emily dropped to one knee, gasping. Her face paled. Then it happened. The Immortal inside her—woke up. Crystalline structures formed over the gaping wound like frost on a winter morning. Not only did her arm reattach, it strengthened. Silver and violet light pulsed from her palm. She raised her hand—and the earth answered. BOOM. Massive, jagged crystals erupted from the ground beneath Maladrie and Zach. Spires the size of trucks nearly impaled them. Maladrie faltered. Her eyes widened. She looked around, realizing her Demons were either dead or retreating. The tide had turned. She shouted, “Fall back! Into the Wraith!” Her army obeyed. What remained of it. Zach turned to follow. I hurled my Chainsword—whirling it like a buzzsaw. It struck something. That brief second. That look. Then he vanished through the Wraith rift. “Dammit,” I whispered, slumped forward. Emily stepped beside me, placing her hand gently on my shoulder. “They’re cowards,” she said quietly. “They’ll run again.” I nodded, feeling the heat of the battle finally begin to fade. "I'll never have another best friend." She was puzzled, "Hey, that's not true." Emily just gave me a hug, I knew what she meant. Together, we looked out across the battlefield—toward the rising sun that barely broke through the lingering Wraith clouds. "Time to build our Empire," I said. It wasn’t over. This battle was just the turning point. CHAPTER 14: "DEMONIC CHUM" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 13: "MARK OF THE BEAST" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The bridge was quiet—too quiet—except for the intermittent blinking of dead controls and Emily’s frustrated breaths. She hovered over the command console like a lioness watching over a wounded cub, rapidly pressing buttons in sequence, palms smacking glass. Holograms flickered in and out like dying ghosts. “This makes no sense,” she growled. “I’ve rebooted it six different ways. It won’t respond.” I stepped toward her, keeping my voice calm, though tension coiled like a spring behind my sternum. “Hey, stop pressing things. You’ll blow a conduit—or worse, crash the reactor.” Emily gave the console one last venomous tap before sighing, her armored shoulders slumping. “Fine.” But I already knew it wasn’t the console. I turned to Christopher, who was standing back, arms folded with the casual arrogance of someone who knew far more than they were saying. “You gonna tell us why your ship’s dying in the middle of a ghost sector?” I asked sharply. Christopher tilted his head, eyes cold as moonlight. “It’s not mechanical failure. The ship runs on psychic energy—human resonance. We’ve drained the last of it with that little fireworks show back at the dock.” “Then how do we recharge it?” Emily snapped, clearly unimpressed. “The navigation cell,” he said simply, gesturing toward the rear decks. “That’s where the conduit matrix is housed. I just need to reestablish a direct link. Think of it as jumpstarting the brain.” I clenched my jaw. “Then let’s move.” Emily nodded and clicked her helmet down. I spun on my heel and addressed our squad of Viking warriors, who stood nearby like armored statues, weapons humming low and ready. “Escort formation. Christopher stays in the center. No one draws until I do.” The warriors grunted their affirmations. One of them—Freyr, a broad-shouldered brute with a braided beard and a chrome helmet — put his visor down and stepped in line behind Christopher and gave him a silent stare. The others flanked us, eyes sharp, runes glowing faintly in the dim corridor light. We moved out, boots echoing down the steel-lined passageway, steam rising from hidden vents like ghosts watching from the corners. The corridor sloped downward, lights flickering every few feet. The ship felt alive… but not in a good way. Something had changed. The air was colder. Heavier. Our route took us toward the lower decks, past storage rooms filled with crates labeled in ancient Galactic dialects, most of them sealed with rusted magnetic locks. Eventually, we reached the sealed cargo bay. “We have to go through here?” Emily asked, tone already annoyed. I nodded grimly. “It’s the only way to the navigation cell.” There was a moment of stillness as we stood in front of the heavy blast doors. They were scarred with old plasma burns, a red warning light spinning slowly above them like a decapitated eye. The last time these doors opened, we had accidentally trapped a group of Knights inside—Imperial soldiers from the Red Dragon Empire. “I never got around to checking if they escaped,” I muttered. “They didn’t,” Christopher said, almost absentmindedly. “What do you mean—?” I stopped. My senses picked something up. Cold. Rot. The smell of burnt oil and meat. I stepped forward and drew my chainsword. Its hilt vibrated as it came to life, edges sizzling with kinetic energy and the low hum of potential violence. “Brace yourselves,” I warned the others. “And cover Christopher. Whatever killed the Knights, are here.” The tip of the blade cut through the locking mechanism like butter. Sparks flew as I traced a jagged line along the edges of the door. The steel wailed under pressure, groaning as I slammed my boot into it and peeled it back like a lid. And then the smell hit us. Rotted flesh. Feces. Blood. Something ancient and wrong. Inside the cargo bay, the Knights were no longer soldiers. They were meat. Disemboweled and flung across crates, hung from the overhead piping like shredded garments. Entrails glistened under the emergency lights, puddles of congealed blood spreading across the floor like black oil. “What the actual hell…” Emily whispered, lowering her visor as instinct made her reach for her ethereal blade. Our warriors froze. Even Freyr, who had once killed a cave hydra with his bare hands, looked shaken. “We didn’t do this,” I said aloud, for clarity. “Something else did.” And then… the whispers came. Low. Hissing. Skittering. From the walls. The ceiling. The shadows between stacked crates. A wet slop echoed as something dropped to the ground ahead of us. Out of the dark, the first demon emerged—its bat-like face contorted into a leer of malformed flesh. Its eyes were white and pupil-less, its tongue a twitching tentacle. Its limbs bent at the wrong angles. Then another dropped beside it. Then two more. “Guard Christopher!” Emily barked, voice cold and sharp. My feet moved before my mind did—I leapt into the middle of the room, chainsword roaring to life. The first demon charged, screeching, claws raised to gut me. I sidestepped and drove the whirring teeth of my sword into its chest, splitting it down the middle in a shower of dark green ichor. Its death cry was like a broken violin string. Another lunged—Emily intercepted, spinning into a wide sweep. Her serrated dagger glowed as she carved through the creature’s throat and kicked its twitching body back into the shadows. The Vikings howled their war cries, forming a protective circle around Christopher. Our steel clanged against talons, and our blood mingled with demon filth. I saw Freyr cleave a horned monstrosity in half with a two-handed axe, roaring so loud the air vibrated. I was in the zone. Cutting. Stabbing. Dodging. Ripping. A beast latched onto my back—I reached up, grabbed its neck, and tore it free, slamming it into the wall. Its jaw cracked. I turned and bit into its throat with my own teeth, just to prove a point. Emily wasn’t far behind. Her visor was splattered with gore, her mouth curled into a half-snarl. One demon tackled her, and she grabbed it by the jaw and tore it in half with her bare hands. Another came—she pounced, sank her fangs into its shoulder, and drank deep as it writhed and screamed. Bloodlust had taken hold. And we didn’t care. I tore off a demon’s arm and used it to beat another back into the crates. One lunged at me—I ducked, swung upward, and took its head clean off. The last two demons were huddled in the far corner, wide-eyed, trembling. “Don’t worry,” I said, walking slowly toward them, my chainsword still humming. “I’ll make it quick.” With one horizontal slash, both heads fell. Silence returned. Emily breathed heavily beside me, red dripping from her chin. “They should’ve stayed in hell.” Christopher stepped forward, untouched. “That… was impressive.” Freyr wiped his axe clean on a demon’s shredded cloak. “I’ve never seen fighting like that. Your rage—it feeds the blade.” I looked around the cargo bay, now a slaughterhouse. “Let’s keep moving. Before the ship decides to grow a mouth and eat us.” We advanced toward the access corridor at the rear of the bay. Behind us, the door slammed shut with a final hiss. The dead would stay behind. Ahead of us, the ship groaned again. The navigation cell waited. And who knew what could be waiting for us. Silence befell the room. Emily and I ordered everyone else to stay behind while we cleared out the rest of the ship. “Everyone else should stay behind,” I said. Runa wasn’t thrilled, “Really?” Some of the warriors started to complain, feeling like they weren’t contributing enough. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m not trying to get people killed. I’ll take two of you, and that’s it.” I didn’t want to hear the whining, so I made a compromise—one male and one female Viking warrior would accompany us for recon, while the rest remained behind to guard Christopher from any more demonic ambushes. We followed the illuminated signs along the dark corridors toward the Navigation Cell. The deeper we went, the more eerie the silence became. The room we entered was more spacious than we expected—high ceilings, dark panels, and a circular platform pulsing dim blue light at the center. Something felt off. Then, a wormhole tore open in the middle of the room. Without warning, a figure stepped through—another demonic Valrra. I could feel a mix of dread and relief. Dread, because this wasn't the real Valrra—just another cruel fabrication. Relief, because it confirmed what I’d hoped: the real Valrra was not the traitor Maladrie had made her out to be. I glared at the imposter. “You’re an imposter! Figures.” She smirked, her eyes glowing red. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable with killing me, hun.” Emily's jaw tightened beneath her visor. I could tell she was equally pissed about these demons disguising themselves as someone we cared about. The four of us—Emily, our two warriors, and I—rushed into the battle. The imposter summoned more demon scum, but we cut through them with precision and fury. Blood, ash, and gnarled limbs piled onto the floor. Emily pushed forward, trying to close the gap between herself and the fake Valrra, but the demon kept slipping away, laughing mockingly. I had enough. “You’re such a coward!” I roared. The fake Valrra flickered and dematerialized, her voice echoing through the navigation chamber. “And you aren’t? Do you have the courage to kill me?” Suddenly, she re-appeared—right in front of me. Startled but acting fast, I drove my chainsword forward with both hands. The roaring teeth of the blade chewed through her abdomen. The demon let out a shriek, her illusion faltering. This time, there was no escape. The demons we killed had all dematerialized, their essence dissolving into crackling dust the moment they perished. The ones Emily and I personally struck down were different—they didn’t vanish. Instead, they remained behind, rotting in their stagnant, ruptured state. Limbs twisted, blackened veins frozen mid-throb, and jawlines locked in permanent snarls of pain. It was grotesque. But more than that—it was telling. Our swords worked. Not just as weapons of war, but as instruments of true, permanent death. Against them. I stood in the dim corridor of the ship, panting, my chainsword humming faintly as I rested it against the metal wall. Emily crouched beside one of the demonic corpses, examining the jagged wound left by her blade. We exchanged glances—uncertain, disturbed. “They were pretending to be Valrra…” Emily said, still catching her breath, voice flat with suspicion. “Yeah. It wasn’t just camouflage,” I murmured. “They were imitating her. The posture, the voice modulation. It’s not a coincidence. Someone—or something—wants us to turn against her.” Emily nodded slowly, wiping her sword against a cloth and rising to her feet. “Do you think she betrayed us?” I hesitated. “I don’t know. But I feel guilty for even thinking about it. We owe her more than doubt.” “Same,” Emily admitted. “But we can’t waste time guessing motives right now.” With that, we moved to finish the cleanup. The stench of ozone and sulfur clung to the corridor. We grabbed reinforced alloy barrels—modified for biohazard containment—and shoved the twisted, rancid bodies inside. The demons were beginning to liquefy in places, leaking a tar-colored sludge that smelled like dead fish and burnt meat. As I sealed one of the barrels with a loud clamp, I muttered, “Reminds me of chum.” “Ugh,” Emily groaned, gagging slightly. “Thanks for that. I really needed the image.” After that revolting chore, we double-locked the barrels, marked them for off-world disposal, and finally turned our attention back to more pressing matters—namely, Christopher. We escorted him down the main corridor to the navigation cell. The walls buzzed faintly from the energy transfer as we approached. Once inside, Christopher stepped onto the central grav-platform, guiding the neural hooks into place. Metallic tendrils curved upward from the ceiling and locked onto the ports in his arms and back, syncing with the cerebral uplink embedded in his skull. “You look miserable in that stupid thing,” I told him, arms crossed. Christopher gave a bitter sigh through clenched teeth. “Yeah, well... Vikingnar tech makes this crap feel like a torture chair.” “We’ll get you something better—once we figure out how to mass produce it,” I said. He nodded silently, eyes rolling back as the interface began feeding him a torrent of spatial data and telemetry. We left him to his duty, the doors sliding shut behind us with a low hiss. Emily, our squad of warriors, and I made our way back toward the command bridge. My thoughts kept returning to the planet visible through the viewport—a dark, dry world, blanketed in shadow and cloud. Its presence called to me like a whisper in the back of my mind. Something was down there. Waiting. Emily noticed my fixation and narrowed her eyes. “What’s with the sudden interest in the mystery planet, William?” “It’s not just curiosity,” I said, gazing through the glass. “There’s something pulling us toward it. I can feel it—the same way I felt the Immortal in my head.” Emily scoffed lightly. “You think fate led us here?” “You don’t?” “I think it’s a coincidence. And we should be focusing on the Red Dragon Empire. We need to convince them to unite with us before they collapse completely.” “We already bought ourselves,” I countered. “The whistleblowing destroyed their internal trust. Their hierarchy is collapsing whether we’re there or not.” Emily paused. “And you just want to poke around for a few minutes? Really?” “Just long enough to see if there’s something important down there,” I said. “Ten minutes. Tops.” Emily crossed her arms, clearly frustrated, but after a tense moment, she exhaled. “Alright. But only the two of us go. Everyone else stays to guard the ship.” I nodded. Within minutes, we were inside an Imperial Lander, sealed and descending through the hazy cloud cover. As we broke through the atmosphere, the view outside was stark and unsettling. The land below was a vast desert—dark blue sand stretched endlessly, like dried blood under moonlight. It was daylight, but a murky one, as if the sun was filtered through layers of ancient ash. Purple desert brush clustered in patches, and the occasional orange cactus broke the monotony like alien sentinels. We landed gently near a thicket of claw-shaped vegetation, the stabilizers hissing as they met the ground. The cockpit hatch opened with a hydraulic groan, and we stepped onto the planet’s surface. The air tasted bitter. Metallic. “There’s nothing much here, Willy,” Emily said, surveying the area. “Look again,” I replied, gesturing to the ground. She followed my gaze—and froze. The sand was littered with broken sharkfolk teeth—hundreds of them, strewn around as if scattered by a stampede. Large footprints were pressed deep into the soft soil. Some of them were reptilian. Others... humanoid. More than that—familiar. “These…” Emily crouched low. “These look like Valrra’s tracks.” I nodded slowly, pointing at something half-buried in the dirt. It was a pair of rusted restraint cuffs—model 7X, Cybrawl issue, designed to suppress psychic abilities. “You think Valrra was captured?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Or brought here,” I said. “Willingly or not, I don’t know.” We followed the trail—up a ridge where the brush thinned out, and the sand grew darker and rougher. As we ascended, the wind picked up. The planet moaned—a long, mournful howl through the jagged stone that chilled me to my core. Emily walked slightly ahead, her boots kicking up dust. “There’s something really wrong with this place.” “I know,” I said. “But we’re already in it.” Just ahead, the mountain opened into a narrow pass—black rock towering above us like broken fangs. And at the far end of that canyon, something shimmered faintly. A flickering distortion, like a mirage. Toward the end of the winding trail, the terrain shifted from dry desert stone into something darker—a sloped canyon mouth that bled into a jagged cavern, wide open like a feeding wound. Emily and I stepped cautiously into the shadows, the air growing thick with the scent of salt, rot, and something acidic. “This place reeks of something ancient,” Emily muttered, her boots scraping loose gravel as she trailed just behind me, sword drawn. “It’s hive rot,” I said grimly. “They’re building nests here. Turning bodies into birthing pods.” She didn’t respond—she just tightened her grip on her weapon. We descended further, and that's when we saw them—cocoons. Hundreds. Maybe more. Glowing slightly from within, wrapped in what looked like calcified mucus mixed with bone. Dozens of Red Dragon Imperialists were suspended in those awful sacs—bodies split wide, as if clawed open from within. The floor glistened with streaks of red and black fluid. Some corpses had already collapsed out of their shells, hollow, like husks, used up and discarded. Newborn Shark People twitched nearby—still gooey, but already aggressive, snapping at one another, forming into packs. We had made it to the heart of the hive. The cavern opened into a wider chamber where the roof rose high and fractured sunlight pierced through jagged cracks in the stone above. And there, in the middle of it all, standing half-crowned in shadow, was him—Doctor Subi. Or what was left of him. His form had changed drastically. No longer the twisted half-human, half-shark monstrosity we once fought, Subi now fully resembled the other Shark People—but he was bulkier, taller, a sickly sheen covering his skin like biofilm. And even more alarming: the other Shark People were moving oddly, twitching as if waking up from a long sleep. They were still dangerous, but they were no longer operating in perfect synchronized unison. There was chaos now, confusion—a fracture in the Hive Mind. Emily stepped closer and whispered, “He’s different. They all are.” I nodded. I approached slowly. “Subi,” I said, loud enough to echo, but not enough to challenge. “What happened to you?” His grotesque shark face twitched. For a moment, recognition passed through his cloudy eyes. “I’m a monster…” he rasped. “There’s no forgiveness… what I’ve done. What we’ve done. We—I—were just trying to survive this evil that’s coming! It seeks to take everything from me!” Then, his body lurched violently. With a sickening snap and stretch of bone and sinew, a second shark head erupted from the right side of his neck—smaller, more feral, more alien. Its eyes were solid black, and its teeth clattered like knives in a garbage disposal. The second head turned on us and snarled, “Kill them both.” Subi howled in pain as the second head took control, muscles spasming under his skin. The other Shark People, spurred into action, shrieked and charged from the shadows. “Here we go!” I shouted as I pulled my chain sword from my back. The blade howled to life with a metallic roar. Emily leapt into the fray, slicing down the smaller beasts with fluid, violent grace. She spun, ducked, and drove her blade through the gut of a snarling shark warrior, yanking it free before lopping off another’s head in a single arc. Meanwhile, I was swarmed by the larger ones—Stethacanthus class brutes. Two of them. Their talons lashed out, but I was ready this time. I ducked beneath the first strike, slashing across one of their chests, sparks and blood spraying into the air. The other lunged, jaws wide, and I rammed my sword straight through its snout, twisting hard. It thrashed, and I rode its momentum, flipping over its back and landing behind it in a crouch. The second one lunged again—this one faster. Its head plate glinted in the gloom, a saw-like fin running from its skull down its spine. My blade connected with a clang, but it was like hitting stone. We kept fighting, but I could tell something was wrong with Subi. The two heads were visibly at war—his larger, original head looked panicked, eyes flicking toward me with desperation. The primal head hissed, saliva pouring from its open maw. That’s when I felt it. A vibration. A thrum, like the humming of energy in my pouch. I reached into it instinctively and pulled out the shard—an ethereal piece of the mirror we’d taken from the Wraith Realm. It pulsed with a soft, white light, glowing brighter as I stepped closer to Subi. “Willy…” Emily called, wary. “What are you doing?” “I think this is it,” I said. “This shard—this might be the key.” I climbed onto the rocky platform, holding the glowing fragment high. As I approached, Subi’s primal head shrieked in fury, snapping wildly at the air. The other head—the real Subi—looked terrified but didn’t resist. I pressed the shard to the primal head’s hide. The reaction was immediate. A blinding pulse exploded outward as the shard flared white-hot. The primal head screamed, twisting and writhing, then began to disintegrate—cell by cell, atom by atom, as if being unraveled by some unseen force. The light traveled like electricity through the air, arcing across the chamber. The energy washed over the other Shark People—some collapsed, others clutched their heads in agony. When the light dimmed, silence followed. The Hive Mind had collapsed. The creatures looked around, breathing heavily, dazed and horrified. Some dropped their weapons. Others sank to their knees, growling low and confused. Their eyes now held something I had never seen in them before—consciousness. Fear. Guilt. Emily and I looked at each other, stunned. “They’re… aware,” she said softly. “Willy… we just broke the hive.” I stepped down and knelt beside what remained of Subi’s crippled body. His breathing was shallow, but his expression was peaceful for the first time. “I’m free now,” he whispered, voice fading. “I knew I’d hold out… until someone came… someone who could destroy it. Unite the tribes… drive back the evil… get some revenge while you’re at it.” His shark eyes rolled back, clouded over in white. He was gone. Emily placed a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t say anything. I just stood up, holding the shard tightly. And for a moment, in that blood-soaked cavern, there was peace. Emily stepped lightly onto the platform beside me, her footsteps clicking softly against the ancient rock floor. The air here was still, yet carried a slight static charge from the shard’s glow—an eerie blue light cast over the dead-end tunnel we hadn’t noticed before. It seemed an odd place for a tunnel, especially one so deliberately hidden. We both turned toward it. The passage narrowed as we walked, a thick dust coating the floor. The shard’s light shimmered off the smooth, metallic walls, flickering over what looked like sinewy mass growing from the floor to the ceiling. At the far end, encased in a gelatinous cocoon of shimmering gallantness matter, was a figure. “Wait—” Emily whispered. “Do you see that?” “I do,” I murmured, drawing closer. The figure inside had a humanoid shape, suspended, her skin pale but unmarked, no signs of infection or bodily invasion. I pressed a hand to the gel and felt warmth. Faint. Faint, but alive. “It’s her,” I said. “It’s Valrra.” Emily blinked, stunned. “She’s not infected. No eggs, no corruption…” I cut through the cocoon carefully with my blade, letting the gallantness ooze apart before cradling Valrra’s upper body and pulling her out. Her skin was cold, but there was color in her lips. I laid her gently against the tunnel wall, brushing back the soaked strands of hair clinging to her face. She coughed—once, twice—and then gasped, bolting upright. “Valrra!” Emily steadied her by the shoulder. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, locked onto mine. “You… you were in my vision. You killed me…” I shook my head. “That wasn’t a vision. It was a memory. But it wasn’t you I killed. Only your demonic imposters.” Her breath slowed. Relief softened the terror in her features. “Then… it wasn’t a dream,” she whispered. “I thought the Hive had infected me.” “No,” Emily assured her. “You’re clean.” Valrra exhaled long and heavy. “The Shark People didn’t harm me. Only the Knights… and the loyalists.” She rubbed her arms as if to chase away the memory. Her voice became steady, bitter but controlled. “The Hive were savage at first, yes, but they evolved. They don’t drain whole planets. They only consume part of the population—enough to survive, not annihilate. It’s the Knights who destroy everything. Strip it to the bone. Turn it all into gray concrete and metal.” Emily and I exchanged a look. We had seen this truth with our own eyes. We had walked through what was left of such ravaged worlds. “They don’t even know,” Emily said softly. “The Knights, their King—they’re worshiping a goddess of indulgence. Of excess.” “Maladrie,” I added, venom in my tone. “They’re jerking off to a demonic entity and don’t even realize it.” Valrra stared at me with weary eyes. “I know.” I crouched in front of her. “Then why did you run? Why let the Immortals escape?” Her face twisted with conflict. “Because… I was being hunted. Not by men—by her. Maladrie. I could feel her eyes on me every time I slept. When you were captured… when the horde tormented you in those other dimensions… I felt it. I felt your pain. I thought… maybe she got to you.” “She didn’t,” I said firmly. “I’m still me.” Silence passed between us, a quiet unity building from shared suffering. I broke the silence. “Tell me the truth. Did you orchestrate our kidnapping? Did you put the Immortals inside us?” Valrra met my gaze. “Yes. But not to harm you. Because I needed you. I needed warriors. And I needed Immortals. I knew if I combined them… you’d have a chance against the demons. A real chance. The war is coming, William. And it’s not just my war anymore. It’s yours, too. It’s everyone’s.” I leaned back on my heel. “I guess it was for the best.” Valrra nodded faintly. I continued, “And those files the Red Dragon made about you—forgeries.” I sighed. “We’ve managed to convince the citizens of the Empire that something is wrong. Those secrets are being kept. But they don’t know the whole truth. Not about Maladrie. Not about the demons. We need to go further.” Emily stepped beside me. “How do we prove demons are real? They think it’s all metaphors. Religion. Symbols.” I said, “We need something clever. Not brute force. Something that reveals the truth. And once we do… we unite the Vikings and the Knights under one flag. The United Kingdom of Vikingnar.” Valrra looked stunned. “That’s a tall order.” She eased herself onto a rock, eyes flickering with thoughts. “And who leads this… Vikingnar?” I exchanged a glance with Emily, then turned back to Valrra. “Not me.” Emily blinked. “Wait, what?” “I don’t want it. Neither does Emily.” “Then who?” Valrra asked. “Deathskull.” Valrra furrowed her brow. “You want an AI to rule a galactic republic?” “I do,” I said firmly. “He doesn’t stress. He doesn’t have an ego. He was programmed to protect life—without corruption. He’s the closest thing we have to a real angel. And he’s been loyal since the beginning.” Emily considered it, arms still crossed. “You might be onto something…” Valrra looked uncertain. “The people won’t trust an AI.” “They will,” I insisted. “Because he’s not just a machine. He’s a guardian. A thinker. He’ll never turn tyrant because he doesn’t crave power. He processes needs. Make decisions based on peace and justice.” Valrra’s eyes welled with tears. Emily softened. “Valrra? What’s wrong?” Valrra looked up at us, her voice cracking. “Why… Why would you turn down leading? You’re Immortal. You’re warriors. Legends.” I shook my head. “Because It's enough, and we don't need more titles. I want to fight. I want to protect myself. Not argue policy and suffer public trials. I’ve got too much rage in me, Valrra. I don’t want to direct it at innocent people. I want to aim it at those who deserve it—demons, tyrants, manipulators.” Emily nodded. “Same.” Valrra wiped a tear and smiled weakly. “Then I’ll trust you. Even if I don’t understand it all yet.” “Good,” I said. “Because we’re going to need every hand, every mind, and every weapon if we’re going to pull this off. Lastly, what's your last name?” Valrra then says, “It’s Nicoline, my full name is Valrra Nicoline.” Emily looked into the tunnel’s end. “Alright Valrra Nicoline, let’s get out of this place.” And with Valrra leaning on us, we walked back toward the light—three souls bound by scars, ready to fight a war to save the universe. I led Emily and Valrra out of the cavern, the shard of glass still glowing faintly in my hand, casting eerie shadows over the jagged boulders. The Shark People kept their distance, their eyes wary but no longer hostile. As we moved away, Emily glanced over at me, curiosity lacing her voice. “Why don’t you hate them? After everything?” I looked down at her, my expression serious. “They’re beasts. Animals don’t torture or kill for pleasure — they just survive. That’s something different from the kind of cruelty we’ve been fighting. Try convincing Serenity of our new allies.” I smirked at Emily, who laughed, while Valrra looked confused, tilting her head. “Allies?” she asked. I explained, “There’s a reason I found this shard of glass. It’s connected to everything we’ve seen here — to the Shark People, the hive, and maybe more. I guess that makes me a beast master.” Valrra gave a small smile. “Then I suppose I’m in good company.” We navigated the rugged boulder field toward the waiting Imperial lander. The ship looked rough and imposing, its metallic skin scarred from years of service. We boarded quickly, sealing the hatch behind us. The engines roared to life, and soon we were ascending, leaving the harsh desert behind. Minutes later, the landscape below transformed. We descended over rolling fields of lush greenery, towering conifer forests stretching as far as the eye could see. These trees were unlike any I’d seen — ancient, massive, their branches thick and heavy like relics from Earth’s Jurassic era. Huge sauropods grazed placidly among the ferns and tall grasses, their long necks reaching for the high leaves. Mammalian herbivores, massive and lumbering, moved through the underbrush, while strange gazelle-like creatures scattered at our approach. “I can’t believe NASA made all of this,” I whispered. We found a clearing, landing the lander beside the alert gazelles as they darted into the trees. Stepping out into the fresh air, I took a deep breath. The scent was rich and earthy, a stark contrast to the dry desert below. Valrra was already moving, her expression determined. “Come. The heart of the Shark People’s main hive is nearby — in a cavern not far from here.” We followed her through the forest, the crunch of twigs and leaves beneath our boots. Soon, the trees thinned, revealing the mouth of a vast cavern set into a rocky hillside. Inside, the walls glimmered with clusters of bioluminescent creatures — tiny, flickering beings that crawled and fluttered along the ultramarine stone. Their light bathed the cavern in a soft, otherworldly glow, illuminating giant crystals jutting from the walls and ceiling. “These creatures are part of the liberated hive,” Valrra explained. “They’ve evolved alongside the Shark People, lighting the darkness and guiding their psychic networks.” The damp air was thick with the scent of minerals and cold water. It felt like the heart of another world — ancient, wild, and full of secrets. I glanced at Emily, who was scanning the cavern with quiet awe. “Feels like a place made for the Shark People,” she murmured. Valrra nodded. “They have thrived here for generations. This is where their psychic leaders connect, and where the true strength of the hive is rooted.” We pressed forward, deeper into the cavern, ready for whatever awaited in the shadowed depths. We continued deeper into the cavern, the air growing cooler and damp with each step. Valrra’s voice echoed softly as she explained, “Every Shark horde across the galaxy has its own psychics — rare individuals capable of traversing the stars through thought alone, guiding their people and maintaining the hive’s connection.” I nodded, fascinated despite the grim circumstances. Ahead, the rocky ramp sloped downward into an opening that revealed a vast subterranean chamber. At its center lay a shimmering pool of crystal-clear water, still and almost otherworldly in the cavern’s bluish gloom. Embedded at the bottom, half-buried in silt and stone, was a large, flat slab. Shark People moved silently through the cave, emerging cautiously from tunnels that branched off the main chamber. They looked different from the aggressive beasts we’d fought earlier — these were more subdued, even wary but not hostile. Their bodies bore the scars of brutal conflict: jagged tears where dorsal fins once stood, deep scratches and healed wounds mapped their skin like battle trophies. None of these injuries looked recent, and I could tell they weren’t from us or the Imperialists. Emily whispered beside me, “These wounds… they don’t look like anything we inflicted. What could’ve done this?” We approached the edge of the pool. Suddenly, the water stirred, and a figure rose with elegant fluidity. A Shark Psychic — a tall, lean creature with shimmering skin that caught the light like a living mirror — emerged gracefully. Her eyes, dark and fathomless, locked onto ours immediately. She exuded quiet power. Emily stepped forward, her voice steady. “Can you help us? We need to send a psychic message to the citizens of Vikingnar and the Red Dragon Empire — a warning. Their goddess, Madeline, is not who she seems. She’s a demon hag called Maladrie.” The Shark Psychic’s eyes narrowed with palpable disdain. “Maladrie,” she hissed softly. “That name carries a poison worse than any I have known. She is a blight on the stars. We have suffered under her shadow. She’s torn the fins from our warriors — a slow, agonizing punishment. Their glands hold a venom she uses to control and poison.” I frowned. “Venom? What is it for?” “She concocts poisons to enslave and torment. I have seen its effect on those marked by her curse… including you.” Her gaze bore into me with unsettling familiarity. I stepped back, taken aback. “How do you know me?” She tilted her head knowingly. “I have kept watch on Maladrie for centuries — for the good of all who resist her darkness. Your spirit echoed in my visions long before we met.” Her voice softened, leaning closer. “I have conducted many readings on Maladrie’s true nature and origins. The story you’ve been told is far from the truth.” Valrra and Emily listened intently as the Shark Psychic continued. “Maladrie was once a benign figure. Her father was none other than Christ himself, a god who once held the balance of good and evil within the Wraith dimension. But as faith in Christ faded, so too did the stability of the Wraith. The rise of Alchemy and other sciences fractured the old order. Christ died, along with the other gods.” I absorbed her words silently, skepticism curling in my mind. “Her fall from grace twisted her into the demon we now fight.” I wasn’t convinced. “You're telling me Maladrie is the actual daughter of Christ? That means we create gods through worship... Do you have proof?” The Shark Psychic dipped beneath the water’s surface, then surfaced again with a soft sound of splashing. She called softly, and moments later her mate, Saw Tooth, emerged from a nearby tunnel. He was massive, his skin marked by scars like a living relic. Without a word, he approached the pool’s edge, carrying a large stone statue on a rays back. The statue was magnificent. Saw Tooth carefully laid the stone statue on a platform by the water. I stepped closer, reaching out to touch the stone statue. The exterior was rough like granite, but I chipped a piece off, revealing a core of deep black obsidian beneath. It was real — a relic of the fallen Christ, preserved across dimensions. I looked back at the Shark Psychic. “This is incredible… I guess I believe you.” Saw Tooth remained silent but his presence spoke volumes — this was a keeper of sacred history. Emily, breaking the reverent silence, cracked a grin. “Saw Tooth kind of reminds me of you, Willy.” I rolled my eyes but smiled. I then turned to the Shark Psychic to ask, “What’s your name?” The Shark Psychic’s dark eyes glimmered. “My name is Haj Tooth.” At that moment, a subtle tremor shook the cavern, vibrating through the walls and the crystalline formations. Haj Tooth’s expression tightened. Saw Tooth glanced nervously at the ceiling. Valrra, Emily, and I felt the weight of the unknown closing in around us. “What now?” Emily asked, voice low but steady. Haj Tooth’s gaze sharpened. “That tremor… something stirs beyond this place. We must be prepared.” I clenched my jaw, knowing this was far from over. The fate of the galaxy rested on our next moves, and the truth we had uncovered was only the beginning. CHAPTER 13: "MARK OF THE BEAST" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"

By William Warner "Vikings War In Valhalla: Prologue" Cybrawl—a war-ravaged, industrialized planet on the far reaches of the known universe. A world of relentless innovation, where towering machines shape the future of existence. The "Droids of Cybrawl", highly advanced mechanical beings, serve as the architects of a grand cosmic project: the creation of "Higher Forms"—sentient energy-based lifeforms born from the conversion of pure cosmic particles into physical matter.   Using an advanced device known as the "Genesis Core", the Droids extract and refine energy from the vast unknown, carefully forging new consciousness from the very essence of existence. These Higher Forms, each unique in structure and awareness, are not imprisoned but carefully preserved, stored in a "pocket dimension"—a space beyond time—until the destined "End Cycle", when all shall awaken for their ultimate purpose.   A massive carrier ship—designation "Craft 64509"—approaches Cybrawl’s primary docking station, its mission precise and delicate. The vessel carries newly-formed Higher Forms, safely contained within crystalline capsules, ensuring their transition to the "Dimensional Vault". The Droids, methodical and efficient, prepare for the transfer with the utmost care.   Yet, within the vast complexities of even the most refined systems, error remains a possibility. As the unloading process begins, a "minor miscalculation" occurs. A careless Droid—rushed but not malicious—accidentally drops one of the capsules. The impact sends a ripple of energy across the docking bay. A hairline fracture spreads along the crystal’s surface.   The containment breach triggers an automatic response—alarms blaring, safety protocols engaging—but it is too late. From within the fractured capsule, radiant energy spills forth, twisting and expanding into its true form. Another soon follows, both glowing with an ethereal light, their awareness stirring for the first time.   The newly awakened entities, acting on instinct, perceive their surroundings with confusion and urgency. They are "not meant to be here", not yet. Unfamiliar with their intended fate, their first thought is "escape".   They surge through the steel corridors of the facility, slipping between vast industrial machinery, guided by an innate drive to flee. The Droids, recognizing the breach, react immediately—not with hostility, but with concern. They follow swiftly, attempting to intercept and contain the entities before they can destabilize or disrupt the delicate balance of their creation.   The Higher Forms reach the "wormhole generator", an unstable passage of shifting energies that links to unknown dimensions. With no time to process their choices, they take the only path available. A final surge of luminous energy—   They vanish.   The wormhole collapses, leaving behind only silence and the faint hum of machinery. The Droids stand motionless, processing the event. This was not an act of defiance, nor a failure of intent—merely an unexpected awakening, an anomaly in the grand cycle of creation. Though these two Higher Forms have departed ahead of their destined time, their existence is now set upon an unknown course. Somewhere beyond the reach of Cybrawl, the next chapter of their journey begins. The Portal Opens. The sky above the Arizona desert split open with a soundless rupture. A jagged wound in the air pulsed over the sun-bleached hills—swirling with sickly hues of violet, crimson, and green. From the breach, five shadows spilled out, flickering like phantoms against the blistering blue sky. The Immortals had crossed. No one saw them arrive. The sun scorched the landscape. Asphalt shimmered under the brutal midday heat. Cacti stood still in the silent air. The only movement came from a convoy of semis and sedans on a distant highway, their engines humming as they passed, oblivious to what now drifted overhead. The Immortals hovered above the power lines, warping the light around them. Static rippled through the electrical grid—streetlights blinked erratically, cell towers stuttered, and a drone monitoring traffic spun out of control and crashed into a mesquite tree. Birds exploded into the sky in chaotic flight. Rattlesnakes burrowed deeper beneath rocks. A jackrabbit froze mid-step, heart racing before fleeing into the brush. The Immortals were weakened from the dimensional leap. Faint. Fragmented. But their hunger pressed outward, searching. Scanning. They needed hosts. Earth was rich with life—dense with vessels of flesh and bone. The largest of the five—Vargrom—drifted toward a distant suburban cluster. From here, only rooftops shimmered like silver scales under the heatwave. Lawns browned under water restrictions. Backyard trampolines sat unmoved. No humans in sight—only the occasional passing SUV, heatwaves blurring the license plate as it rolled past a blinking traffic light. The Immortals scattered. One vanished toward the city outskirts, trailing a vapor of heat-distorted shadow over an abandoned construction site. Another glided over a rail yard, spooking a flock of pigeons from the steel beams. A third phased into the shadows beneath a freeway overpass, where concrete hummed with absorbed heat. Their presence left a stain. Where they passed, the temperature dropped slightly—imperceptible to machines, but stark to the local ecology. Plants wilted. Circuit boards shorted. Traffic lights blinked to red and never returned. Far Above… A satellite camera in low-Earth orbit momentarily glitched. Then a frame-by-frame replay revealed it—five distortions rippling outward from a pinpoint in the Arizona desert. The data fed into an encrypted stream, which pinged a long-dormant program buried deep in the archives of a hidden defense initiative. The Valkyrie Protocol was reactivated. Back in the Desert… As the portal flickered and finally collapsed, a scorched metallic figure tumbled through—half-crushed, still sparking. Droid L-84 rose slowly from the sand, joints grinding, visor cracked. It scanned the sun-drenched wasteland. No backup. Only silence. The hunt would begin anew—this time, on Earth. "Vikings War In Valhalla: Prologue"

By William Warner Entertainment: The Heart of King William Studio Welcome to the Entertainment section of King William Studio—a powerful space where stories come to life through written narratives, episodic shows, and original short films. This section isn’t just for readers; it’s for explorers of myth, lovers of sci-fi, and seekers of something greater than the ordinary. Here, each project is a thread in a larger tapestry—a bold, immersive universe shaped by vision, symbolism, and the mysteries of human destiny. “Our Story” King William Studio was born from visions—strange, vivid dreams that haunted me starting in 2019. These weren’t fleeting thoughts but deeply emotional, symbolic experiences that felt more real than reality itself. Each dream carried mythic themes, surreal landscapes, and urgent messages that I couldn’t ignore. I began translating those visions onto canvas, not realizing at the time that this was only the beginning. From 2019 through 2020, my focus was purely artistic—capturing the essence of dreams in vibrant colors and abstract forms. But it wasn’t until after a life-altering car accident in December 2021 that my true creative calling began to unfold. That experience cracked something open within me. It wasn’t just physical trauma—it was a spiritual awakening. My intuition sharpened. I began questioning everything, peeling away layers of outdated beliefs and mental programming that no longer fit who I was becoming. What emerged was a clearer sense of identity, one forged through pain, insight, and radical creativity. That identity became King William. Although I let go of many old beliefs, I couldn’t shake the strange truths I found in ancient texts—especially the Book of Revelation and the prophecies of Nostradamus. These weren’t simply religious or historical documents; they felt like messages buried in time, still echoing forward. Their cryptic warnings and poetic symbolism felt familiar—almost like an extension of my dreams. In time, I started writing my own prophecy, one not bound by tradition or dogma. I call it the Future Alien Astronaut Theory—a mythic, speculative framework that reimagines the end of days through the lens of extraterrestrial intelligence, cosmic warfare, and spiritual evolution. Out of this personal mythology came the cornerstone of King William Studio: Vikings War In Valhalla. What began as a conceptual extension of my dream-worlds has evolved into a fully realized, epic written saga. This story is set in a reimagined Valhalla—a war-scarred realm caught between the mythic and the futuristic, where ancient gods battle alien invaders, resurrected warriors, and forces far beyond human comprehension. It’s brutal, raw, and cinematic, fusing Norse mythology with dystopian sci-fi to create something entirely original. The written version of Vikings War In Valhalla is presented in a blog-style format, allowing readers to follow along as the saga unfolds. Each chapter is crafted with care, layered with lore, emotional intensity, and symbolic undertones. You’ll meet gods on the brink of madness, warriors reborn through alien technology, and apocalyptic visions that blur the line between prophecy and reality. The blog format also allows for frequent updates, character spotlights, and deep dives into the world-building that makes this universe feel alive. But storytelling at King William Studio goes beyond the written word. The Entertainment section will also host a show adaptation of Vikings War In Valhalla, currently in development. This animated series will expand on the events of the blog, giving voice and movement to the characters you've grown to love—or fear. Through striking visuals, voice performances, original music, and dramatic pacing, the series will dive deeper into the chaos of Valhalla and the cosmic war that threatens to reshape the multiverse. This isn’t just a translation of the written story—it’s a transformation. The show will amplify everything that makes Vikings War In Valhalla unique: its mythic scale, it's dark beauty, and its relentless emotional drive. Each episode will bring viewers closer to the truth buried within the fiction, illuminating themes of destiny, betrayal, sacrifice, and the mysterious intersection between ancient gods and alien invaders. In addition to the flagship show, the Entertainment section will also showcase original short films produced entirely by King William Studio. These films will vary in tone and subject matter, offering everything from sci-fi thrillers and psychological horror to poetic visual meditations on prophecy, memory, and war. Some will directly tie into the Valhalla storyline, offering backstory, side narratives, or alternate perspectives. Others will branch into new mythologies—exploring the broader multiverse implied by the Future Alien Astronaut Theory. Each film will be short in length but dense in meaning, designed to evoke visceral reactions and spark deeper reflection. Using a blend of 2D animation, live-action visuals, and symbolic storytelling, these shorts will act as standalone works of art—thought-provoking and experimental, yet always rooted in the themes of transformation, identity, and cosmic destiny. At King William Studio, entertainment is never hollow. Every piece of entertainment is infused with intention. The goal is not just to entertain but to awaken—to challenge assumptions, stir the soul, and point toward a possible future that feels both fantastic and eerily plausible. Whether through written lore, serialized animation, or cinematic short films, everything in this section is built to provoke thought and ignite imagination. This is not a traditional media outlet. This is a vision—a living archive of a future mythology in motion. The Entertainment section stands at the center of that vision, acting as both a platform for narrative expansion and a reflection of the studio’s evolving philosophy. So whether you come here to read, watch, or simply explore—know that you’re stepping into something much bigger than a story. You’re stepping into a universe shaped by dreams, forged in fire, and destined to outlive the noise. Enter the world of King William Studio Entertainment—and witness the rise of a mythology reborn. Free Entertainment, Ad-Supported All creative work on King William Studio —including videos, artwork, and downloads—is offered 100% free of charge . To keep it that way, the site is supported by ads . This allows us to continue producing original sci-fi entertainment without charging our audience. We appreciate your support and understanding. Every view, share, and interaction helps keep the universe of King William Studio  alive and growing.

BY WILLIAM WARNER “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA” CHAPTER 2: “GHOSTS IN THE STARS” The soft hum of light pierced the corners of my mind as I began to stir. I felt warmth on my side—the warmth of her. My eyes cracked open, adjusting to the golden hues spilling in from the tall hexagonal skylight above us. I turned to find Emily nestled against me, her raven-black hair fanned across the satin pillow like ink spilled across parchment. Her eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and for a moment, everything felt still. My body, though changed, felt whole in this world, wrapped in clean linens and the comfort of her presence. I didn’t move right away. My thoughts flickered between what had happened—my old body, the battle against the Shark People, the new form I had awoken in—and the intimacy we shared the night before. Despite the foreign stars shining above us, I felt grounded in this moment. Eventually, I slipped from the bed, careful not to disturb her. The floor beneath my feet was a smooth, cool stone—like the kind you’d find in spa resorts back on Earth, but even more polished. The architecture of the Scandinavian-style home was triangular and elegant, modern but steeped in tradition. Tall, angular windows let in soft light. Every edge of the house was efficient, yet warm. My feet padded quietly toward what I assumed was the bathroom, a small alcove off the main bedroom. To my surprise, it was empty. No toilet. No sink. Just a sleek, empty space with a mirror on one wall and a faint scent of eucalyptus. At least there was a shower. “Uh, Emily?” I called out. From the bed, her voice carried, soft and amused. “Let me guess—you’re looking for a toilet?” I stepped back into the room, arms slightly raised in question. She sat up now, sheets held against her chest, and laughed. “We don’t need them. Our bodies were designed—engineered—not to produce waste. Everything we consume is used. Total efficiency.” “You mean… no poop?” I blinked. “Nope.” She smirked. I chuckled, running a hand through my hair. “That’s… weird. Kinda awesome. Definitely a miracle.” “Just one of many in Skaalandr.” Said Emily. Breakfast was already underway minutes later. Emily, now dressed in a loose-fitting robe that shimmered with silver trim, stood in the clean, open kitchen flipping pancakes on a curved stove that used no heat source I could see. Aromas filled the room—spiced berries, vanilla, something buttery but better than anything from Earth. I joined her at the table, a modern slab of black stone with metallic veins running through it. As she set down two plates, I glanced out the massive panoramic windows. The view was almost unreal: the backyard pool still rippling from the breeze, and beyond it, the sprawling skyline of Skaalandr, its towers glimmering like blades of glass reaching into the morning sky. So,” she said, sitting across from me, “what do you think of Skaalandr?” I took a bite of pancake and nearly moaned from the taste. “It’s better than Earth. Cleaner. Brighter. Like someone took the best parts of the future and mythology and made it real.” Her smile dimmed just a bit. “Yesterday… when you said you wanted to go back to Earth for revenge. What did you mean by that?” I hesitated. The word hung in the air like frost. I didn’t want to talk about it—not now, maybe not ever. The pain of my past, the betrayal, the torment, the bullying, the shame—it all still burned too brightly behind my eyes. “Nothing,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean anything.” Emily stared at me for a moment longer, as if trying to read the rest of my sentence hidden beneath the words I’d spoken. She gave a small nod, but her shoulders had stiffened. “I want you to trust me, William.” Before I could respond, the sound of rushing water and a deafening crash split the air. We both shot to our feet. The pool in the backyard exploded in a geyser of light and foam. I rushed to the window, eyes wide. Hovering just inches above the pool’s surface was the Chainsword—the one I had manifested during our mission. Its blade glowed with blue runes, dripping with some kind of energy that crackled like fire. Emily ran out first. “Wait—!” I tried to grab her arm, but she was already sprinting toward it. She reached out. The moment her fingers touched the hilt, a flash of white light erupted from the blade and hurled her back with a scream. Her body hit the ground like a puppet cut from its strings. “Emily!” I ran to her, falling to my knees beside her motionless form. Her skin was pale, lips parted. My hands hovered over her, unsure of what to do, panic rising in my chest. Then, a metallic clatter behind me. From the kitchen, a small silver canister rolled into view, hissing with escaping gas. I turned just as it popped open, and a flash of light burst forth. A small creature—part light, part mist, part energy—flew straight at Emily’s chest. It fused with her body. She gasped. Her eyes shot open, irises glowing for a brief moment before returning to green. “What the hell was that?!” I shouted. She coughed, then sat up, dazed. “An Immortal… It saved me.” I blinked. “That’s… that’s the second one.” My mind raced, and the pieces fell together. Subi. That quirky scientist must’ve snuck the spare Immortal into my luggage. I darted back inside and opened my suitcase. Sure enough, the disc-shaped form of my armor gleamed within. I tapped the center, and the disc unfolded, crawling across my body in layers of interlocking plates until I stood fully armored. Emily joined me moments later, still wobbly but alive. “We need to find Subi,” I muttered. “And Droid L-84,” Emily added. We left the house and headed toward City Hall. The streets of Skaalandr buzzed with activity—hover cars zipping past, people of all species going about their day. Some looked like elves, others like androids or hybrids. I didn’t have time to stare. When we reached the capitol, its massive ivory steps led to a hall of towering pillars. Inside, we found Joseph leaning against a wall, talking to Serenity. Subi and Droid L-84 were nearby. Joseph smiled as we approached. “Perfect timing. We were just about to leave.” “Leave?” I asked. “To Helios,” Serenity answered. “There’s a meeting with King Ragnar. We need to discuss the Shark People.” “And afterward,” Joseph added, “we’ll help you figure out how you got here—and what’s inside you.” “And now me,” said Emily as she looked at me. “What does she mean by that?” Joseph said, confused. I looked at Subi with suspicion. “Ask the doc. I’m curious as to why there was an Immortal in my suitcase last night?” “I thought you could use a gift to give Emily.” Subi said in confidence. But Droid L-84 was furious and I was starting to be myself. “Just because those creatures aren’t harmful to its host, that doesn’t make it a wise decision to hand them out as party favors.” Subi nodded, and I figured the Immortals inside of Emily & I are more useful than a hindrance. So I suggested that we’ll discuss this later. We all head to the motherships. It should be a quick trip. We arrived near Helios. The shuttle’s engines vibrated beneath our boots as we broke away from the orbital dock, escorted by a V-formation of Black Bird Warships. Outside the hull, space unfolded like a silent abyss, distant stars flickering through the black void like cold fire. The warships around us moved with silent menace, weapons armed and ready—each one bearing the insignia of the Valkyrie Coalition. They weren’t just for show. This escort wasn’t precautionary. It was protocol for high-value assets… and we had just become those assets. Inside the cabin, the glow from the status panels bathed everything in a sterile blue hue. I could hear the hum of the life support system, the occasional chirp of automated diagnostics, and the quiet rustle of gear as Emily adjusted her shoulder harness. She sat silently beside me, gazing at the readout that displayed our destination: Helios. “Approaching planetary orbit,” the pilot announced over comms. “Prepare for descent through the polar atmosphere.” Subi leaned forward, his sharp elven features caught in shadow. “You’ve never been to Helios before, have you?” he asked me with a tilt of his head. “No,” I replied. “I just got here.” His lips twitched into something between a smile and a warning. “It’s a hard planet. Wild. Old. You’ll feel it in your bones the moment you land.” The moment we broke through the cloud veil, I understood exactly what he meant. Helios stretched out below us, vast and otherworldly. The upper hemisphere was framed by towering mountains, their jagged peaks blanketed in ancient snow that glistened under the pale glare of twin suns—one golden and warm, the other bluish and distant like a dying star. At the base of those mountains, dense alpine forests spread like green veins across the land—black pines and needle-leaf evergreens swaying in stiff winds, their shadows long and thin over the rugged terrain. Between these lush forests and the high ranges lay vast plateaus of cracked red stone and icy ridgelines. Further south, the landscape gave way to endless salt flats—barren expanses of white crystal that shimmered like glass—and shifting desert valleys of pink and copper sand. The collision of biomes looked surreal. In one direction: snow-covered peaks and frozen streams. In the other: canyons, mesas, and skeletal trees baked by solar winds. It was as if every extreme of nature had collided to birth this one world. And to my surprise... It reminded me of home. “Utah,” I said under my breath. Emily turned toward me, her eyes a soft green in the dim light. “What?” I gestured toward the terrain out the window. “Helios… looks like a twisted version of Utah. The Wasatch mountains. The red-rock deserts. Even the Bonneville Salt Flats. It’s like someone ripped pieces of Earth and stitched them back together wrong—but it still makes sense.” She looked again, and a subtle chill passed through her. “I see it now. It’s beautiful and… terrifying.” Subi nodded in agreement. “Helios has that effect. It’s a frontier planet. The old gods of this place never left. They just went quiet.” We dropped into the upper atmosphere, and the shuttle rocked violently as we passed through sudden thermal currents. Ice crystals formed and shattered across the glass, and alarms briefly flared before stabilizing. Our escorts spread wider, maintaining distance as we descended toward a valley cradled between three mountain ranges. “This landing zone used to be an old mining hub,” the pilot informed us. “Now it serves as a military outpost. Ground temp is 9 degrees Celsius, with scattered snow. Stay sharp.” As we approached, I could see the landing platform nestled against a granite cliff face dusted with early snow. Beneath us were fortress-like structures built into the stone itself—bunkers and hangars reinforced with steel and glass, some half-buried in snow drifts, others glowing with thermal energy. Wind turbines dotted the ridgelines above, spinning lazily in the thin mountain air. The shuttle touched down with a hiss of pressure valves and a metallic groan. The ramp lowered into snow-laced gravel, and the chill bit into us the moment the cabin doors opened. I stepped out, boots crunching into a mixture of frost and dust, and was immediately hit by the scent of pine and something acrid—maybe old fuel or ozone. Breath fogged in front of our mouths. In the distance, massive mechanical titans that strode like armored beasts—patrolled the mountain passes. Soldiers in adaptive invisibility cloaks moved along the outpost perimeter, their movements crisp and deliberate. On a far cliff, I spotted what looked like a watchtower fused with a cathedral—its spires rising into the clouds like frozen lightning. I took in a long breath, letting the cold fill my lungs, and for a strange, fleeting moment… I felt grounded. Helios was brutal, wild, and unforgiving—but it was real. It didn’t pretend to be safe. It dared you to survive. Emily stood beside me, arms crossed tightly, her eyes scanning the ridges above. “We’re not on Earth anymore,” she muttered. “No,” I replied. “We’re somewhere older.” We hadn’t even taken our first steps into the heart of the planet… and already, the world was whispering warnings. The great hall of Helios loomed ahead, carved into the mountain’s edge like a fortress of legend and innovation fused into one. Towering stone columns—etched with ancient Norse runes glowing faintly with energy—flanked the entryway, while angular metal scaffolding laced the upper structure in sleek, modern contours. As we stepped inside, the temperature shifted slightly. The crisp alpine air gave way to a temperate warmth, maintained by unseen tech embedded in the walls. The interior was massive—cathedral-like in scope—its ceiling lost in a mesh of hovering chandeliers and arched beams that gleamed with traces of silver, copper, and glowing blue conduits. Everything felt like it belonged to another age and yet far ahead of ours. Rows of long, heavy wooden tables lined with metallic inlays stretched across the hall floor, flanked by warriors and diplomats from across the Vikingnar Empire. Most wore armor or robes that felt distinctly “Viking”—fur-lined cloaks, braided hair, ornate tattoos—but it was all merged seamlessly with technology: armor plates that shimmered with holograms, weapons magnetically latched to glowing belts, HUD visors resting above their eyes like ceremonial circlets. There were Wulver people too, tall, broad, and imposing, with piercing animalistic eyes, ears that twitched slightly at the noise, and thick pelts in shades of gray, gold, or midnight black. One of them stepped forward, standing out from the others—not just for his striking black and gold armor, but for the graceful, fluid way he moved, like a seasoned warrior and priest combined. His name was Anubis, a Wulver elder who seemed both revered and respected. "You must be William," he said, nodding with a calm authority. His voice was deep and melodic, vibrating slightly in his chest. "The king will arrive shortly. Please, take a seat." We did as he asked, settling at the central table that faced the dais at the head of the room. I glanced at Emily beside me, her green eyes scanning the room with a subtle tension. Joseph sat quietly, his hand resting near the hilt of his weapon. Serenity adjusted a projection pad on her wrist. Droid L-84 stood still, but the soft red glow of his optic sensors pulsed as if in thought. Then the great doors at the far end opened with a metallic groan. King Ragnar entered, flanked by his royal guard in glistening dark steel. His presence was magnetic—tall, muscular, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak over hybrid armor that hummed with energy. His silver beard was braided, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine the moment he entered. “I’ve heard much about you, William,” Ragnar said as he approached the table. “Talvas IX still echoes your name.” I nodded respectfully, unsure what to say. He took his place at the high seat, leaning forward slightly. “Let’s begin.” Droid L-84 stepped to the front of the room. A holographic model of the galaxy lit up above him, orbit lines and wormholes glowing in blue and red. “There have been developments,” L-84 said, his voice perfectly calm. “Our intelligence reports that Deathskull has made significant progress in bypassing the Wraith.” He gestured to the red-glowing tunnels in the hologram. “The Wraith, as you know, is not merely a gateway—it is a fluid interdimensional membrane. Imagine it as an ocean. When ships pass through wormholes, they dip into this ocean. But the violent currents of that dimension create... storms. Those storms tear at the barrier between realities. That’s how the Shark People and other demonic entities breach through.” A ripple passed through the room—murmurs, glances. “But Deathskull’s new project,” L-84 continued, “creates a sort of elevated corridor—a spatial highway above the Wraith. Like flying over the ocean, rather than through it.” He manipulated the hologram. A new path appeared in golden light, arcing high above the swirling Wraith tides. “If this technology works,” L-84 explained, “it could dramatically reduce the number of Wraith storms, and cut off the interdimensional breaches that have allowed demons to enter our galaxy.” It sounded brilliant. Logical. Clean. Except... I stood. “I don’t think it’s that simple,” I said, surprising myself at how steady my voice sounded. “You’re acting like the Shark People are just demons crawling through cracks. But they’re not. They’re organized. They travel in hive ships. They operate as a collective mind. They’re not just crossing into our realm by accident—they’re invading.” All eyes turned toward me. Ragnar said nothing. His gaze was intense but unreadable. “These creatures were designed to devour,” I continued. “Planets. Ecosystems. Civilizations. They’re more than just beasts—they’re weapons. A plague manufactured to wipe out organic life. The Wraith is a tool for them, not their home.” Subi, sitting across the table with his arms folded, sighed heavily. “He’s not wrong.” Everyone turned. Subi leaned forward, tapping the edge of the table. “The Shark People—if you can even call them people—are biologically engineered. I’ve studied them. They adapt. Evolve. They’re not random. Shutting down the Wraith is just buying time from those aliens. As for the actual demons that inhabit the Wraith… Sooner or later, those demons will learn how the walls of their reality work... and find other ways to enter ours.” There was a heavy silence. A cold gust of alpine wind swirled through the open window slats high above, causing the banners to rustle gently. “So,” Ragnar finally said, “what do you suggest, Subi?” Subi hesitated for only a moment. “We shut down Wraith travel for at least a few days. Monitor the results. We need to see if the demonic incursions lessen. But long-term? We need a real solution—one that doesn’t just shift the problem.” Everyone looked surprised. Myself included. I clenched my fists beneath the table. “I never agreed to that,” I said, quietly. “We shut down Wraith travel, and I’m stuck here. I still need to get back to Earth.” Ragnar leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable once more. “And you will, William. In time. But right now, survival takes precedence over vengeance.” His words struck like a hammer. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. The meeting moved on, but I stayed silent, my thoughts consumed by home, by everything I’d lost... and everything I didn’t yet understand. As the meeting concluded, the great hall began to empty with a shuffle of armored boots and murmured conversations. Outside, the light of Helios was beginning to shift—moonlight sliding toward evening, casting long, dramatic shadows from the jagged mountain peaks beyond the city. The cold breeze rolled down from the snow-kissed ridges, mingling with the warm desert air and carrying the scents of pine resin and scorched sand. Ragnar and I stepped away from the crowd, descending the hall’s granite steps, the sound of our steps swallowed by the open air. His posture was relaxed, yet there was something buried beneath the calm: a weariness, maybe even a burden he carried quietly on his broad shoulders. I looked over at him. “Ragnar,” I began, the words slowly leaving my mouth, “can I ask you something personal?” He gave me a sidelong glance, that intense, pale gaze of his still carrying the weight of leadership. “You already have.” I took a breath. “Wilson. Why does everyone see me as me now? As William?” Ragnar paused. The wind caught the edge of his fur-lined cloak, tossing it back like a banner. “Because Wilson has been dead for a long time,” he said, voice level. “He died during the second Siege of Vaelor Crater. Subi was barely a teenager when his sister was murdered by him. That changed him—matured him too quickly, maybe. Since then, everyone’s only known the man who came afterward.” I stared off toward the horizon, letting his words settle in. “But… How do they all know me? Everyone keeps saying my name like I belong here.” “Because you do,” Ragnar said. “The stories of Talvas IX reached every colony. You—William—stopped an invasion. That doesn’t go unnoticed, even out here in the stars. Whether or not you remember all of it... that kind of heroism leaves a mark.” I didn’t know how to respond to that. I wasn’t sure if I felt like a hero. Not anymore. Then, he shifted the conversation. “You’ve been restless ever since we landed. I can see it in your eyes. You’re thinking of Earth.” “Yeah,” I admitted. “More than anything.” “But going back now,” Ragnar said, “without understanding what you’ve become… it would be dangerous. For you, and for Earth.” “What do you mean?” He folded his arms, looking out across the alpine-dusted ridges of Helios. “There’s something inside you—something ancient. Immortal. If you want answers, you’ll find them on Cybrawl. That world holds secrets even I haven’t touched.” The name sent a twinge through my chest—Cybrawl. The way he said it made it feel less like a planet and more like a vault waiting to be unlocked. “And what about you?” I asked. “Where did you come from, Ragnar? You… and all of this? These worlds? These people?” Ragnar turned to face me fully. “I believe in gods,” he said, “but not the kind that sit in golden halls or demand blood for favor. I believe in creators. The Nasga People. They were our architects—ours, the Wulvers’, the Elves’, Crimseeds, the Droids, other humans and maybe even the Shark People. They forged this galaxy like a blacksmith forges steel: raw, brutal, beautiful.” “And now they’re gone?” “Vanished,” he said. “Some believe they ascended. Others think they were destroyed by the very things they unleashed. No one really knows. But that’s why I’m coming with you to Cybrawl. I’m looking for them, too. Or at least… the truth they left behind.” For a while, we stood in silence, watching as two suns dipped toward the edge of the mountain range—one a pale yellow disc, the other a smaller, colder blue light that cast a haunting second shadow. Ragnar’s voice broke the quiet once more. “The galaxy doesn’t give many chances at clarity. When it does, you take them. Cybrawl could be the key to everything—the Immortals, your situation… even the Nasga.” I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of my journey stretch out before me like the valleys of Helios, treacherous and vast. “Then let’s get moving,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I want to know how I got here. And what’s waiting for me back on Earth.” Ragnar clapped a hand on my shoulder, solid and reassuring. “Then we start with Cybrawl.” Ragnar and I made our way to the docking bay, where Emily, Serenity, L-84, and Joseph were already waiting. To my surprise, Ragnar’s family was there too—his wife and kids geared up like they were joining the mission. I wasn’t sure if bringing them was a good idea, but Ragnar didn’t seem concerned. We boarded the long-ship together, the engines already humming with power. The vessel, carved with Wulver runes and fitted with high-tech systems, lifted off smoothly. Within moments, we were leaving Helios behind, heading into the stars on our way to Cybrawl. The hum of the long-ship's engines created a constant low vibration beneath our boots, a background rhythm to the clatter of voices and tech-chatter on the bridge. It wasn’t exactly peaceful, and after the heavy talks back on Helios, I needed a moment away from the noise—away from the pressure of destiny, demons, and politics. Emily must've sensed it too. We locked eyes across the corridor, sharing an unspoken understanding, and quietly slipped away from the bridge. The metallic halls of the ship were dimly lit with thin neon lines that pulsed gently, like veins channeling life through a beast of steel and circuitry. The doors to our barracks opened with a hiss, revealing a small but comfortable private room with padded walls, a low bed, and a viewport that offered a haunting glimpse of the stars bleeding past us in streaks of white and violet. The moment the door shut, it was like the war outside had stopped. "How are we getting to Cybrawl if we’re not using the Wraith?" I asked, leaning back against the wall while Emily took a seat on the edge of the bed, her green eyes reflecting the glow of the lights above. “Light speed,” she answered smoothly, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “There’s no dimensional jump this time, just raw speed and navigation.” Then she tilted her head slightly, her expression sharpening. “But you’re not really asking about the ship, are you?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re always dodging things, William. Always hiding something. Why are you so secretive with me?” Her voice wasn’t accusatory. It was soft—but cutting, like a blade of ice wrapped in velvet. I swallowed, stepped closer. “You already know what I want.” She looked down for a moment, her expression unreadable, then met my gaze again with more fire in her eyes. “Then stop focusing on what’s not here,” she said. “Start focusing on what is.” We were quiet for a beat—just the subtle hum of the ship and the breathing between us. And then she stood, closing the distance. We kissed. Not desperate or dramatic—just real, human, grounded. A moment carved from everything we’d lost and everything we still feared. The galaxy could fall apart outside the hull for all we cared. I held her close, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her sleek jumpsuit, my hands gliding down her sides until they reached her legs. She wore her high black leather boots again—tight-laced with reinforced seams and padded soles, a practical beauty. I traced my fingers along the edge of them, a small indulgence. She didn’t stop me. In that quiet moment aboard a warship slicing through the stars, I didn’t feel like a Wulver or a savior or whatever title people were trying to pin on me. I was just William. And she was Emily. And for now, that was enough. The long-ship exited light speed with a smooth deceleration as our destination appeared on the forward display—Cybrawl. Looking out the viewport, the planet came into view like a sleeping giant—half jungle, half machine. There were no oceans, just a massive sprawl of alpine jungle, metallic mesas, and towering black pyramids etched with glowing circuitry. The entire world pulsed like a living supercomputer. We’d arrived. Only a small group was cleared to touch down—myself, Emily, Serenity, Joseph, Anubis, Ragnar, and of course, Droid L-84, who had been unusually quiet since we dropped into orbit. Our landing craft—the Black Bird—was prepped on the hangar deck. With its razor-thin frame, folded wings, and matte black armor, it looked more like a stealth bomber than a shuttle. It thrummed with silent energy as we boarded. “You built this?” I asked L-84, my hand trailing across the polished hull on the way in. “My people did,” L-84 replied, his voice perfectly modulated but edged with pride. “Cybrawl manufactures some of the most advanced interstellar technology in the galaxy. Not just for Vikingnar, but for dozens of other civilizations. If it runs on circuits, there's a good chance it was born here.” The ship launched, slicing down through the clouds and into Cybrawl’s atmosphere. Outside, the landscape shifted fast—endless jagged mountains cloaked in mist, thick pine-like forests with violet-tinted needles, and massive clearings where technology overtook nature. From the air, the giant pyramids glowed with a cold, intelligent light, each one alive with motion—elevators climbing vertical rails, drones circling like birds of prey. “No oceans?” Emily asked, peering out the window. “There were once,” L-84 answered. “They were siphoned off centuries ago to power geothermal cores. Now the jungles hold what’s left of the water table. Still have to have oxygen for guests. This planet doesn’t need oceans—it’s a machine world.” I leaned forward, watching the terrain flash by beneath us like something out of a dream—or a nightmare. Everything felt ancient and cutting-edge at the same time. It was like flying through the guts of a sleeping god. “I thought you knew everything,” I said to L-84. “So why bring us here?” L-84’s mechanical eyes flicked toward me. “Because even I don’t understand the Immortal creatures. Not completely. They don’t obey the same rules as the rest of us. Their DNA... their neural patterns... it’s as if they were built with knowledge we forgot how to make.” “So we’re here to remember,” I said. “Exactly.” The Black Bird banked and descended toward a wide clearing where a landing platform rose above the jungle canopy. Hexagonal in design, the pad shimmered with embedded runes—Cybrawl tech. We landed with a clean, mechanical hiss. The ramp dropped. Heat and static prickled against my skin. I stepped out onto the landing pad and into Cybrawl’s air. It was thick, clean, and buzzing with invisible energy. The sky was a gray-purple, casting a cold tone over the alien vegetation that rustled around us. The pyramids loomed in the distance—cold, massive structures of obsidian-like metal covered in flowing script. They hummed softly, not with electricity, but with something deeper—a pulse, like the heartbeat of the planet. Joseph whistled. “And people live here?” L-84 nodded. “More than you’d expect. Scientists, programmers, data-harvesters, AI architects. Most live deep inside the pyramids—connected to the data streams.” Emily stepped beside me, brushing her hair back. “It’s beautiful... in a cold, terrifying sort of way.” “It’s what built everything you’ve ever seen,” L-84 said. “But something we don’t understand. That’s what we’re here to find.” Ragnar crossed his arms. “Then let’s find it. Before the Immortals build themselves a throne on top of all this.” Anubis gave a single nod, his crimson eyes scanning the tree line. And with that, we moved into the jungle shadows—toward the heart of Cybrawl. We stood before the towering black obsidian pyramid, its sharp edges slicing the harsh light of Cybrawl’s twin suns. The air was heavy with a hum of power — ancient yet pulsing with raw energy, as if the whole structure was alive, breathing beneath the cracked surface. Suddenly, from the pyramid’s main entrance, a figure emerged. Deathskull. He was an imposing sight — tall, skeletal, draped in gold armor that gleamed like liquid metal. His face was half machine, half ancient warrior, with glowing red eyes that seemed to pierce right through you. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and gravelly, layered with mechanical distortion that made it sound like a chorus of iron scraping together. “Welcome, travelers,” Deathskull intoned, his tone formal but not unfriendly. “You have come far. It is not often I grant an audience to outsiders.” Ragnar stepped forward respectfully, his voice steady. “We thank you, Deathskull. Your reputation precedes you. We seek to learn and to acquire knowledge — to better understand the threats that loom beyond.” Deathskull’s red eyes flickered. “Then you have come to the right place. Within these walls lies technology forged through millennia of war and innovation. But you must understand—knowledge is power, and power is perilous. Use it wisely.” He turned, gesturing with a gauntleted hand, and led us inside. The temple’s interior was a fusion of ancient architecture and cutting-edge technology. Smooth stone walls etched with glowing runes were interspersed with holographic panels and mechanical devices humming with quiet energy. The scent of ozone mingled with the faint aroma of burnt metal. As we moved deeper into the pyramid, Deathskull stopped before a large circular platform, embedded with a matrix of lights and crystalline conduits. In the center floated a shimmering portal, a rippling veil of translucent blue that shifted like liquid glass. “This is the test portal,” Deathskull explained. “It represents a new frontier in travel—one that bypasses the chaos of the Wraith.” Droid L-84 stepped forward eagerly. “My leader has long sought to solve the dangers posed by the Wraith during wormhole travel. This portal operates on principles of spatial elevation—like flying above a storm, rather than diving through it. It should drastically reduce exposure to Wraith energy and the demonic entities it unleashes.” I examined the portal’s surface carefully. It seemed stable, yet shimmering with a latent, almost hypnotic power. “I can’t believe you people bent time & space without thinking of the consequences in the first place.” Deathskull’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You may test it, but beware: the unknown awaits on the other side.” One by one, we stepped forward. The air shimmered as we passed through the portal’s threshold. The moment we stepped through the portal, the shimmering light faded, and we found ourselves standing on a planet that looked surprisingly familiar—but not in the way I expected. Instead of ancient ruins or grand, mysterious temples, the landscape was dominated by sleek, metallic buildings and towering structures that looked like something straight out of a NASA or SpaceX facility back on Earth. Giant pyramidal complexes rose from the ground, but they were clearly modern—made of smooth metal and glass, covered with blinking lights and cables snaking between them. There were no signs of age-worn stone or creeping vines, just the cold, precise lines of advanced technology. The ground beneath our feet was a mix of cracked dirt and patches of dry jungle foliage, but there were no oceans here, no sprawling cities—just this high-tech colony built deep in a wild environment. I blinked, stunned. Ragnar’s face mirrored my disbelief. “This isn’t an empire,” I said quietly. “It’s a colony—a NASA and SpaceX outpost.” Emily looked confused, glancing around. “Wait... so this is Earth tech? Built by Earthlings?” I nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. “Yeah. That means Earthlings were the first to discover this galaxy and set up the original colonies. You built everything here—the Droids, the Wulvers, the Elves, the wildlife, and even the genetically modified humans. It was you!” Emily said, with excitement. Everyone else was silent, their faces showing shock. Including mine. I & everyone else expected ancient civilizations or mysterious ruins, not a modern space facility that looked like it belonged on Earth. I furrowed my brow. “But how? When I left Earth, our technology wasn’t even close to this level. Vikingnar’s ships are far more advanced than this junk yard!” She looked at me, her voice dropping. “Are you saying you came from Earth… but from the past?” Her question hit a nerve. I didn’t know the answer. That question made my stomach twist. I had no explanation—just uncertainty. Before I could respond, Droid L-84 spoke up, his voice steady but concerned. “The Immortal creature inside you may be connected to this. It could explain your presence here.” Deathskull’s glowing eyes locked on me. “This creature might be the key to why you are here—and how.” I swallowed hard. The truth I sought was tangled up in something I barely understood, something alive inside me. The seven of us followed Deathskull back through the portal. The shimmering light dissolved around us, and suddenly we stood inside a massive, shadowed vault beneath the towering metal pyramid. The air was cool and heavy with the hum of advanced machinery. Walls lined with glowing panels flickered softly, casting eerie blue light over rows of strange containment pods. Inside some of the pods, translucent forms drifted—these were the Immortal creatures. Droid L-84 gestured toward a cluster of figures in lab coats working diligently at various consoles. “These are some of my colleagues,” he explained. “We’ve been experimenting on the Immortals, trying to replicate their abilities and understand their nature.” A tall, graceful Crimseed woman with shimmering, rust-red skin stepped forward. Her eyes were bright with intelligence and a hint of weariness. She introduced herself softly, “I am Valrra. I study the Immortal phenomenon.” We gathered closer as she began. “The Immortals are enigmatic beings. They possess the ability to travel through space and even time, but the mechanism remains a mystery to us. They seem to exist beyond conventional physics, slipping through realities like ghosts.” I frowned, frustration knotting in my chest. “So we don’t know how they do it?” Valrra shook her head. “No, and that is the most troubling part. Without understanding, we can only guess at their true power.” Emily reached for my hand, her voice gentle. “William, breathe. We’ll figure this out.” But anger welled inside me. “I don’t want to figure it out—I want to go home.” I turned abruptly and strode out of the vault, the sterile hum of technology fading behind me. Outside on the steps of the metal pyramid, I sank down heavily, head in my hands. The desert wind whispered through the strange alien jungle surrounding us. The weight of everything was crushing. After a moment, Emily appeared and sat quietly beside me. Her presence was steady, but I could sense her own worry beneath the calm. “I’m going back to Earth,” I said quietly, my voice raw. “With or without you. I need to get my revenge.” Emily’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she said only, “Then I’m coming with you.” I looked at her, touched by the simple, fierce loyalty in her words. She reached over, taking my hand and holding it tight. Slowly, others began to gather outside the pyramid. Ragnar approached, his usual stoic expression shadowed by concern. “So this is where we are,” he said, his voice low. “You and Emily. Together.” I nodded, trying to steel myself. Everyone seemed to be wrestling with the enormity of what they’d learned—where I came from, who built the civilizations we relied on. But Emily seemed different, more withdrawn, as if hoping the world could shrink just enough to keep me close. Then, without warning, chaos erupted. A sharp crack echoed through the still air. Ragnar’s eyes widened in shock as he clutched his throat, staggering back. A bullet had struck him. His face paled as he fell to his knees, blood spilling between his fingers. “Ragnar!” I shouted, leaping to his side. Emily gasped, horror etched across her face. The peaceful air of the pyramid’s steps shattered in an instant. Someone among us had fired. And the hunt for answers had just turned deadly. “VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA” CHAPTER 2: “GHOSTS IN THE STARS”

BY WILLIAM WARNER CHAPTER 4: "BENEATH THE BONES OF CYBRAWL" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA" The surface of Cybrawl was still healing—burning embers and twisted metal littered the craters and husks of buildings that once teemed with life. The once-proud capital now stood quiet, save for the hum of repair drones and the whisper of wind against the broken glass towers. Yet even in this silence, danger still stirred. Beneath our boots, the sewers whispered secrets. I stood at the edge of a breach in the ferrocrete, staring down into the darkness that bled beneath the city. Beside me stood Emily, silent and tense, her black leather suit glinting faintly in the filtered light. Behind us, Joseph activated a portable scanner, his armored fingers dancing across the display as he pinpointed Serenity’s signal. “There,” he said, voice low. “She’s alive. Weak vitals, but stable. Approximately two levels down.” Valrra stepped forward, her face drawn with concern. “You’re certain it’s her and not another shapeshifter?” “No,” I said. “But we’ll find out soon enough.” Deathskull, his dark cloak fluttering in the toxic breeze, gave a curt nod. “Droid L-84 and I will establish a perimeter here. No one gets in or out.” I nodded. “Good. Let’s move.” The descent into the sewer tunnels was like stepping into another world—humid, fetid, and alive with the hum of something ancient. Bioluminescent moss clung to the arched walls, casting eerie green glows across the stagnant pools of chemical waste and rainwater. The further we ventured, the more the city above faded into myth. Down here, the Hive's taint festered. We found Serenity half-buried beneath a shattered filtration duct, her breathing ragged, her skin pale. Joseph rushed to her first, cutting through the debris with his blade. I crouched beside him, lifting her gently as she stirred. “William…?” she murmured, blinking up at me. “I’ve got you,” I said. She winced as she tried to sit up. “The sniper... I followed him... through the lower vents... but he changed. Right in front of me.” “Changed?” Emily asked, kneeling beside us. Serenity nodded weakly. “Skin split open... bones cracked. I saw his mouth widen... the teeth…” She didn’t need to finish. We already knew. Joseph glanced at me. I knew that look—he was ready. I stood, pulling my magical chainsword from my back. “Emily. Valrra. Stay here with Serenity. Guard her. I don’t care if the whole damn Hive shows up, don’t let anyone near her.” Deathskull’s voice crackled through the communicator. “Affirmative. L-84 and I are redirecting all combat drones to your location.” I looked at Joseph. “Let’s end this.” We moved through the tunnels like shadows, blades drawn, breath held. The trail was clear—deep gashes along the metal walls, strange slime pooled in the corners, faint growls echoing just beyond the torchlight. Something was nesting. Finally, we reached it. A massive chamber opened before us—an ancient water reservoir long since abandoned, its rusted scaffolding crumbled into the waters below. At its center, crouched in a pool of its own making, was the creature. Its skin shifted and squirmed, like muscles fighting each other beneath translucent flesh. Its arms were elongated, clawed, the mouth a split-jaw horror of twisting shark fangs. And it wasn’t alone. Clusters of pulsating eggs clung to the walls, webbed in mucus and thrumming with faint, unnatural life. The creature hissed as we approached, its black eyes locking onto us with hatred. It lunged. Joseph was the first to strike, his blade flashing through the air with deadly precision. I came in behind him, swinging my chainsword in a sweeping arc that cleaved through its shoulder. The beast shrieked—an inhuman cry that echoed through the tunnels and made the very ground vibrate. It fought with wild ferocity, lashing out with claws and jaws, its movements erratic and rapid, as though trying to exist in multiple shapes at once. But we were faster. Our blades danced in tandem—Joseph slicing through its limbs while I drove my chainsword deep into its chest. Black ichor sprayed across the chamber walls, sizzling as it hit the rusted metal. It howled, gurgled, then collapsed into the nest it had made. The eggs twitched. Without a word, Joseph turned and slashed the nearest one, spilling its contents into the water. I joined him, tearing through the remaining clusters. Whatever horrors were waiting to be born, we ensured they’d never see the surface. The last of them sizzled under my boot as I stepped forward, breathing hard. It was done. The Hive had lost another piece. But something told me this was only a scout—an experiment. A seed. And the forest had yet to grow. I looked at Joseph. His face was grim but resolute. “We need to burn the body,” he said. I nodded. “We’re not taking any chances.” The trek back through the tunnels was silent, save for the hum of our boots and the distant groan of a dying city. We carried Serenity with care, wrapped in Joseph’s cloak, her breath faint but steady. The charred corpse of the shapeshifter trailed behind us on a floating gurney—its blackened, twisted form still leaking a foul-smelling fluid. Even in death, the thing reeked of unnatural life. As we emerged back into the open light of the surface, the sky over Cybrawl was a deep crimson. Fires still burned in the far ruins, but the worst of the chaos had passed. Drones buzzed overhead, scanning for pockets of resistance and more of the Hive’s grotesque offspring. Deathskull greeted us at the edge of the battlefield, his golden skeletal mask catching the waning sunlight. His crimson cloak fluttered in the toxic breeze as he turned to face me. “Report,” he said, voice modulated and cold. “We found the nest,” I replied. “Shapeshifter’s dead. Burnt to hell and back. But there might be more hiding. Have your droids sweep the underlevels. Every tunnel, every vent, every shadow. Leave nothing unchecked.” Deathskull nodded once. “Orders will be issued. Droid L-84 is already scanning thermal anomalies. Any trace of Hive bio-signature will be neutralized.” “Good.” I glanced over my shoulder at Serenity, her body limp but not lifeless—yet. “We’re taking her to safety. She needs help. Fast.” Droids met us at the pyramid—what had once been a processing hall now converted into a sterile vault of medical bays and energy barriers. Inside, immortals floated gently in containment pods, their glowing bodies humming with raw life force. Valrra rushed forward, leading us to a platform flanked by glowing columns. “She’s fading,” Valrra said urgently. “But there’s a chance. I can attempt a transfer—let the immortal share its regenerative energy with her.” “Then do it,” I said. We laid Serenity on the padded slab. Her skin was cold, her breathing shallow. Valrra’s hands moved quickly, tapping sequences into the console as she calibrated the immortal’s containment field. The floating figure within the pod pulsed with white-blue light—its form like liquid glass, flickering with ancient memories and power beyond comprehension. Emily stood beside me, holding Serenity’s hand. Her eyes were wide, lips pressed into a trembling line. “Please,” she whispered. “Just hold on…” The immortal’s light poured into Serenity’s body, threads of energy weaving through her wounds. For a moment, it looked as if it was working—her skin began to glow faintly, her chest rose just a little higher. Emily leaned forward, hoping to break through the tears on her cheeks. But then—flatline. The platform beeped. The light dimmed. The immortal's glow retracted, flickering weakly before fading altogether. Serenity’s eyes fluttered once. She exhaled. And then—stillness. Valrra stepped back, her voice a hollow whisper. “She’s gone.” Emily collapsed to her knees beside the table, cradling Serenity’s lifeless hand. Her armor shimmered faintly, then dimmed to black, matching her mourning. A shudder ran through her body as she pressed her forehead against Serenity’s. “No…” she said. “Not like this…” I knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You did everything you could.” “I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve protected her. She was alone... because of me.” “No,” I said firmly. “Because of them. The Hive. Subi. They’re to blame. And we will make sure they pay.” She looked up at me, her green eyes now bloodshot and trembling. “I can’t lose anyone else, William. I won’t.” “You won’t,” I said. “Not if we finish what we started.” Behind us, Joseph stood silently, fists clenched. Even Deathskull turned away, offering a rare, respectful silence. Valrra lowered her head and covered Serenity’s body with a synthetic burial shroud, the same kind used for honored warriors. “She died a warrior,” Valrra said. “And we will remember her as one.” Emily stood slowly, wiping the tears from her eyes, her sorrow hardening into resolve. I nodded. “we burn the Hive to the ground Starting now.” Back within the cold-lit underchambers of the pyramid, we followed Valrra into the sterile examination lab. The room had been converted into a makeshift autopsy bay, sterile tables and glowing consoles casting long shadows across the brushed-metal walls. The air smelled faintly of ozone and antiseptic, with a much darker scent lingering beneath: charred flesh and something briny—like rotting meat left in seawater. The corpse lay on the table, strapped down with energy clamps. Though blackened from the fire that killed it, enough tissue remained to study. Its skin was a waxy, scaled hybrid of man and beast—like leather stretched over cartilage. Where its mouth should have been were rows of jagged, inward-curved teeth—shark teeth, growing in overlapping layers, even inside its throat. Patches of human skin were still fused across its neck and arms like stitched-on masks. Its limbs twitched now and then, as if its nerves refused to die with it. Emily stood beside me, unusually quiet, but her expression was unreadable—half grief, half morbid curiosity. She didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. Her gaze stayed locked on the creature’s distorted face as if looking for something. Recognition, maybe. Maybe even guilt. I couldn’t tell. Valrra pulled on her gloves and activated the holo-surgical tools. The scalpel hissed as it touched the creature’s chest, parting the flesh with clean precision. Muscle fiber peeled back to reveal layers of unfamiliar organ structure—hybrid lungs lined with gill-like sacs, a heart with two separate chambers beating in arrhythmic patterns, and bone that wasn’t bone at all but something fibrous, like coral hardened with carbon. “We’re not looking at a simple shapeshifter,” Valrra muttered as she scanned the internal systems. “This thing didn’t just wear its disguise. It became the person.” “How so?” I asked, stepping closer. Valrra tapped the monitor. “Here. These cells—when exposed to new organic tissue—rewrite themselves to mirror the DNA sequence of the target. It doesn’t just mimic their form. It copies their cellular structure, down to neural tissue.” I squinted at the flickering holographic projection of the DNA strands, watching them bend and twist like tendrils. “So it absorbs someone, takes their DNA… and wears it like a second skin?” “No,” she said. “It replaces them. Down to the molecular level. The real person may never exist again after contact. These things are perfect infiltrators.” “Like something out of John Carpenter’s The Thing,” I said aloud. “Only worse.” Joseph leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “This explains how Subi stayed hidden. And why Serenity couldn’t identify her shooter until it was too late.” Emily finally spoke, her voice low. “They could be anywhere. Anyone. Even one of us.” The silence that followed was long and heavy. Valrra continued her work, drawing tissue samples and isolating the neural cortex. “It’s hard to tell where the human ends and the monster begins. Whatever this species is, it’s highly adaptive. It doesn’t just impersonate—it evolves.” I stared at the half-melted face of the beast, trying to imagine the moment it became someone else. What was left of the original person? A whisper? A memory? Or were they simply devoured and erased? “This is a new class of Hive infiltrator,” Valrra confirmed. “Possibly a scout—one of many. If there are more like it, and we don’t find them first...” “They’ll gut the galaxy from the inside out,” I finished. Emily exhaled sharply and finally turned away. Her face was pale, her fists clenched. “Serenity died because we didn’t see it coming. We can’t let that happen again.” “We won’t,” I told her. “Not while I’m still breathing.” Joseph stepped forward, eyeing the readings. “Can we trace its origin? Figure out where it came from?” Valrra nodded. “If we analyze its cortical memory structure, we may be able to extract fragments. Not a full consciousness—but a direction. A place. A moment. It’ll take time.” “Start immediately,” I ordered. “We’ll secure the lab and run identity scans on everyone who comes near this body.” “And what about Subi?” Joseph asked. “We will hunt him down,” I said. “We find him. We find the rest. And then we burn this rot out of the galaxy.” Emily looked back at the table, her jaw tight. “I want to be the one to light the match.” Valrra glanced at me with a grim look of understanding. “We’ll need to upgrade our systems. Bio-detection, neural resonance scans—anything that can expose the imposters. Right now, we’re flying blind.” “Then let’s give ourselves eyes,” I said. And somewhere out there, Subi was watching. Waiting. The pyramid’s laboratory was silent, save for the hum of arcane machinery and the slow drip of coolant from ruptured tubing. Dim, sickly green lights cast elongated shadows over the metal walls, giving the room the feel of a tomb more than a place of science. The creature’s severed head lay on a steel slab—bloated, scorched, yet disturbingly lifelike. It hadn’t decayed the way it should have. Not like something mortal. The flesh still twitched, and every so often a faint pulse fluttered beneath the skin, like something was trying to crawl free from inside. The stench was unbearable—charred tissue, bile, the sharp tang of ozone from the equipment. A mockery of life lingered in that grotesque lump of flesh, and we were about to bring it back, if only for a moment. Curiosity had become a weapon, and we were willing to wield it. Emily watched with hollow eyes as Valrra and I inserted electrodes into the creature’s exposed brain stem. The skin split like overripe fruit, revealing layers of alien tissue—flesh that glistened with an oily sheen, crawling with half-dead nerve endings still hungry for instruction. I could feel the creature's presence, even in death. Like its mind hovered just out of reach, waiting for us to knock. When the last wire was in place, I nodded. Emily stepped forward, hesitating only a moment before pulling the switch. A low, mechanical growl filled the room. The containment glass vibrated as arcs of electricity coursed into the head. Its eye fluttered open—milky, but aware. The mouth convulsed, stretching unnaturally wide, leaking dark fluid. Muscles jerked as ancient instincts tried to reanimate what was no longer whole. The eye locked onto mine. Not with intelligence. But with hatred. An instinctual, endless hatred. Valrra’s monitors spiked. The neural activity surged, flashing incomprehensible waveforms across the screen. Not language. Not thought. Just raw signal—chaos distilled. Then, the voice came. Not spoken. Emanated. A low rasp, more vibration than sound, filled the chamber like a plague carried on air. From the depths of its ruined throat came a whisper laced with the cold certainty of death: a hunger older than light, older than time. “…many faces… one voice…” The words weren’t language. They were instinct sculpted into syllables. No emotion. No fear. Only doctrine. I stepped forward and studied it. The thing was not reacting like a prisoner. It wasn't scared. It was curious. Watching us with predatory stillness. Emily gripped the shock baton and pressed it against the base of its jaw. A burst of current lit the chamber. The flesh sizzled. The skin blistered. But the creature only twitched and smiled. Its grin was too wide, too wrong. As if it were wearing a face it didn’t earn. Blood dripped to the floor, black and viscous. Its mouth opened again. “…no stars… no order… only consumption…” That was all it needed to say. I reached for the pliers, and without hesitation, ripped one of its serrated shark-like teeth from the jaw. A hissing noise escaped as fresh bone pushed forward from the socket. Its body was built for redundancy—for endless regeneration. It couldn’t be reasoned with. It could only adapt. And yet, even in pain, it smiled. Its mind was still there. Somewhere beneath the static and rage. We just had to push harder. Another tooth came free. Blood sprayed the glass. And that’s when it broke. The hive, or what was left of it in that decapitated husk, responded. Not with screams, but with doctrine. It spoke of a singular will. Not conquest. Not survival. But erasure. The creature's consciousness, now exposed like a raw nerve, revealed the deeper truth: the Hive didn’t want land or dominion. It wanted extinction. Of everything. Not as punishment. Not as war. “…death is the order of the universe… not life. Not chaos. Not peace. Death is the true constant. We are its harbingers. The old balance must be burned away. All forms… absorbed. All resistance… silenced.” But as cleansing. Life was a disease. They were the cure. Valrra's screen lit up violently, flashing red as the cortical activity overloaded. The creature’s mouth began to convulse, stretching wider than the jaw should allow. Blood, bile, and static poured from its throat. I shouted to shut it down, but Emily was already at the switch. The power cut. The creature spasmed once more, its eye rolling back. And then it went still. This time, truly dead. No breath. No pulse. No signal. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Even the machines seemed reluctant to resume their hum. Emily stood motionless beside the switch, her expression unreadable. Valrra stepped away from the console, pale. “Its cells… even in death… they remember everything they consume.” We stood over the head, gazing into the open jaw of madness. They weren't just enemies. They were extinction made flesh. And now we know the truth. The Hive would never stop. It wouldn’t negotiate. It wouldn’t evolve. It would only spread. And the only way to survive… was to burn it all. The lab had fallen quiet again, the acrid scent of burned alien flesh still clinging to the recycled air. We stood in a solemn circle around the now-lifeless shark creature’s head—still grotesquely twisted in its final, hateful grin. The lights above flickered, almost in acknowledgment of the words we had just heard. Death. Consumption. Cleansing. But something didn’t sit right. There was a pattern here—more than just senseless chaos. A deeper design, so deeply buried in shadows even these monsters chose deception over direct confrontation. That’s when the answer came to me, like a whisper sliding into my thoughts. “They’re hiding something,” I muttered aloud, eyes fixed on the gory remains. “They’re covert because they’re afraid.” Deathskull turned toward me, metal plates creaking. “Afraid? Of what?” “The Immortals,” I replied without hesitation. “They don’t want anyone gaining control of the Immortals. If someone learns how to wield their power—truly harness it—then the Hive loses its grip on domination. They know the Immortals can tip the scales. That’s why they’re targeting people like us.” Valrra narrowed her eyes, processing the idea. “You believe the Hive wants to absorb the Immortals into themselves… to either consume their power or prevent anyone else from using it.” I nodded. “Exactly. They don’t just want to wipe out life—they want to ensure nothing can challenge their supremacy. That’s why they’re taking this infiltration approach. They know if even a handful of beings like us awaken fully to the Immortal bond... we could become unstoppable.” Deathskull and Valrra exchanged a tense glance. The droid’s voice modulated to a lower frequency. “You may be closer to the truth than we realized.” Valrra stepped forward, folding her arms. Her voice was quiet, but heavy with caution. “The Immortals don’t just give power. They... merge. Bonding with a host doesn’t just amplify physical strength or resilience. It changes the host, rewires them. The longer the connection lasts, the deeper it fuses. Eventually, the host and the Immortal become indistinguishable. One will. One being.” I let out a dry laugh, trying to shrug off the implications. “You’re saying we’re gods now? Please. Emily and I aren’t invincible. I still bleed. I still feel fear. Whatever strength I’ve gained—it’s not enough to stop a galaxy-eating parasite.” Emily stood quietly at my side, her expression unreadable. She hadn’t said a word since the interrogation ended, but I could sense something building inside her. A storm beneath the surface. Valrra looked at me with serious eyes, almost maternal in their concern. “You’ve seen what she can do. During the battle with the Red Dragon Empire—her sword didn’t just glow, it transformed. Her aura was seething with energy... and it wasn’t just adrenaline. It was spiritual. Mystical.” Emily flinched slightly at the mention, as if reminded of something she couldn’t fully understand. I shook my head, frustrated. “But why? Why would Subi—of all people—allow us to gain access to that kind of power? Why implant us with Immortals if they’re this dangerous to the Hive?” Valrra’s face was drawn, her ears twitching ever so slightly in thought. “Maybe he didn’t know what he was playing with. Or maybe he did... and he was using you.” The idea churned in my stomach like acid. Subi—always two steps ahead, always playing some long game. Had we been pawns from the start? I stepped away from the table, pacing. “There’s another layer to this. A spiritual one. Maybe these Shark People aren’t just aliens. Maybe they’re... something else. Something older. A corruption, not just of biology—but of soul.” “Demons?” Emily finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. The word lingered in the air like ash. “Maybe,” I said, voice grim. “It would explain hunger. The hatred. The total rejection of life.” Deathskull crossed his arms, his mechanical jaw clicking. “No. That theory doesn’t hold. Demons—true demons—cannot exist permanently in the physical realm. Their matter collapses once the host is destroyed. These Shark People... they’re biological. Fully formed. They bleed. They reproduce. They rot.” “Yet they don’t act like biological entities,” I countered. “They mimic. They infect. They even whisper like devils in the dark. It’s like they’re wearing flesh as a mask.” Emily stepped closer to the containment slab, staring down at the decapitated head. The room's light reflected in her eyes like twin green stars. “Maybe it’s both. Maybe they started biological. And something else found them. Something darker. Something that made them... evolve.” A silence followed. The thought was terrifying—worse than any singular enemy. Not a species. Not an empire. But a perversion. A blending of science and soul-corruption. A fusion of biology and void-born hatred. I turned to Deathskull and Valrra. “If they’re looking for the Immortals... then we have to move fast. We need to find out where Subi went. And more importantly—what he left behind.” Valrra nodded grimly. “We’ll start running a sweep of the Immortal frequencies. If he implanted others, we’ll find them.” Deathskull gestured toward the door. “Then I’ll send a fleet to probe the outskirts of Cybrawl and beyond. If there are more of these... nests... we burn them to ash.” I looked back at the mangled corpse, now motionless, but still exuding an unsettling aura. Whatever it had been in life, whatever malevolence had driven it to spread—its voice still echoed in my head. No stars. No order. Only consumption. This wasn’t just war. This was extinction by design. And unless we uncovered the truth—about the Immortals, about Subi, and about whatever deeper horror guided the Hive—then our galaxy’s end wouldn’t come with a bang. It would come with a slow, suffocating silence. And not even the stars would survive. The stale air of the pyramid chamber seemed to tighten as I stood before them—Emily, Valrra, Deathskull, and the handful of droids still present—my fists clenched at my sides. The weight of Serenity’s death still pressed on our chests like a tombstone, but I wasn’t about to let grief turn into inaction. “We need to start watching the Vikingnar Empire,” I said coldly, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “There’s no guarantee the Shark People haven’t already embedded themselves deeper into our systems—posing as advisors, captains, even generals. If this war turns domestic, it’ll be over before we even raise a sword.” Valrra nodded slowly, her feline features tight with thought. “If they can mimic DNA... they could be anyone. Your advisors. Your cooks. Your soldiers.” “Exactly,” I replied. “We need an antidote—something that detects or neutralizes the shapeshifter cells before they take root. Otherwise, we’ll be exterminated from within.” Deathskull’s voice echoed metallically. “That kind of bioweapon is complex. It would take time. Resources. Authorization.” “Then we start now.” The group exchanged glances, but I didn’t let them interrupt. The fire inside me was roaring too loudly now. “And another thing,” I said, stepping forward into the center of the room, closer to the flickering holographic map of the galaxy. “This monarchy—this outdated tradition of a single ruler holding all the power—it’s a relic. It makes us vulnerable.” Emily’s eyes lifted toward me, her expression already unreadable. “Ragnar is dead,” I continued. “And no offense, but a crown on one man’s head won’t save us from this kind of war. We need structure. We need decentralization. We need something closer to a constitutional alliance—a Galactic Parliament if that’s what it takes. The people of Vikingnar deserve more than tradition. They deserve protection.” Emily’s jaw tightened. “You’re talking about dismantling Ragnar’s legacy.” “I’m talking about keeping his people alive!” I snapped. “You think Ragnar would want the Empire he bled for to be eaten from the inside by monsters wearing our skins? Would he want his people governed by a system too rigid to adapt?” There was a pause. Then, Valrra stepped forward. “You are speaking revolution.” “I’m speaking of survival,” I growled. “These monsters—this hive—they want us divided. They want our empires to rot from the inside because we can’t adapt. A single king is a single point of failure. That’s what they’re counting on.” Emily crossed her arms, hurt flickering behind her eyes. “You sound like you’ve already abandoned him.” “No,” I said, softer now. “I’m honoring him. By making sure we’re not so blind in tradition that we let everything he fought for collapse.” The silence was thick. Then Deathskull moved, his footsteps heavy as iron. “You may be right,” he said. “Even a perfect machine has redundancy. A living civilization should be no different.” Valrra nodded. “We could form a High Council. A governing body to ensure no one leader holds unchecked power. Each planetary system would elect a representative.” I turned to Emily. “Please. I can’t do this alone. That’s what they want. They want us to isolate, to fight each other, to fracture. We have to be stronger than that. We have to be united... not as a hive mind like the enemy, but as one with individuality, conviction, and spirit.” She looked at me long and hard, her green eyes intense with emotion. Then finally, slowly, she nodded. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s make something new. Something that lasts.” Relief hit me like a cold wind. We weren’t just fighting monsters now. We were building something in defiance of them. An alliance forged not in chains, but in conviction. One that wouldn’t just survive... but evolve. As the group turned back to the glowing maps and plans, I looked down at the pale blue light reflecting across my gauntlet. If we were to become a hive of our own... Then let ours be one of fire, freedom, and soul. The flickering lights of the pyramid’s interior bathed us in a warm, sepia hue—ancient yet eerily alive, like the place itself was holding its breath. I stood at the head of the roundtable chamber, the weight of Ragnar’s crown still in my pocket, not on my head. “Before we move forward,” I said, voice firm but composed, “I want full consensus. Vikingnar must evolve. No more blind loyalty to bloodlines. No more thrones forged in the name of dead kings. We build a civilization worth defending—with structure, accountability, and law. From this point on, not defending our people, our system... that’s treason.” There were nods across the table—some slow, others hesitant, but each marked by a quiet understanding. Emily’s hand rested on the edge of the table, fingers flexed like she was gripping the weight of what was lost and what must now be rebuilt. Valrra stood tall beside her, her dark hair dimmed in the lighting, but her eyes sharp with determination. Then, Deathskull shifted, the metal of his body groaning as gears repositioned. His eyes flickered as he cleared his synthetic throat. “If we are to secure Vikingnar against infiltration and corruption,” he began, “we must also secure it against dimensional breach.” I raised an eyebrow. “You mean from the hive?” “No,” Deathskull said. “From beyond even them.” Everyone leaned in slightly. “I’ve been experimenting,” he continued, his voice low, almost reverent, “with ways to stop non-corporeal intrusions—things that don’t bleed, don’t decay. Demonic forces. Entities that phase through physical barriers. I believe their presence is growing... and might be tied to the hive's true origins.” I crossed my arms. “And your solution?” Deathskull lifted a small metallic sphere from his satchel and placed it onto the table. The orb pulsed with a dim blue glow, like a heartbeat. “This device is a frequency anchor. It disrupts the ethereal spectrum and stabilizes the surrounding matter, making it hostile to any entity trying to phase into our dimension. But it needs a mineral to work properly. One that can ground spiritual energy and physical space.” “Let me guess,” I muttered. “It’s rare.” He nodded. “Shungite. Found only on Earth.” Emily blinked. “That old stone? People used it for water purification, not banishing hellspawn.” “That’s what they thought,” Deathskull replied. “But its crystalline lattice has properties that reflect and absorb interdimensional frequencies. With enough of it, I can create a barrier strong enough to protect key strongholds—maybe even shield Immortal hosts from corruption.” A silence settled over the room like a thick fog. Everyone was thinking the same thing. Earth. A place i left behind. A home, a memory... and now, a key to salvation. I exhaled and walked to the map table, swiping my hand to zoom in on Earth’s solar system. The pale blue dot flickered into view like an ember in the void. “Then we go back,” I said. “We assemble a mining team and secure as much shungite as we can. But we do it quietly. No massive fleets. No fanfare. The last thing we need is to draw attention to a vulnerable world.” Valrra stepped forward. “And what if the hive is already there?” “Then we hunt them,” I replied. “From the shadows.” I gave a small smirk. “Good. You’ve got that diplomatic fire now.” Valrra turned to me, serious once more. “If Earth has even one of those nests... it’ll spread like wildfire. That planet isn’t ready.” “Then we make it ready,” I said. “We have no choice.” The pyramid’s metallic halls echoed with the sounds of preparation—clicking armor plates, charging cells, murmured orders. The air felt thick, heavy with the future pressing down on us. But none of that mattered at this moment. Emily stood in the doorway of my quarters, arms folded tightly across her chest, her jaw tense. Her dark hair shimmered faintly beneath the amber lights, but her green eyes—those fire-forged emeralds—held nothing but quiet fear. “You’re going back to Earth,” she said flatly. Not a question. A truth she already knew, and hated. I stood at the edge of the war table, adjusting my gear, pretending I didn’t feel her gaze digging into me like sharpened glass. “Only to get what we need,” I replied, not looking at her. “We don’t have time for full-scale mining. If I can find even a single raw deposit of shungite, Deathskull can replicate it. It’s cleaner, faster, and draws less attention.” “You’re still going alone,” she snapped. “You always want to play the martyr.” I turned, slowly, and met her stare. “This isn’t about martyrdom. Revenge. It’s about protection. We can’t afford to lose the universe to those monsters. I have to go, Emily.” She stepped forward, her voice cracking with pain. “And what if you don’t come back? You think I can run Vikingnar while wondering if you're alive, or being torn apart by something worse than Shark People?” I reached out and took her hand, gently folding her fingers into mine. Her skin was warm, trembling. She was angry, not because I was wrong—but because I might be right. “You have to lead here,” I whispered. “If we both leave, we leave Vikingnar vulnerable. That’s exactly what the hive wants—chaos, collapse, fear. You’re the only one I trust to keep the structure intact. You’re stronger than you think.” She lowered her eyes. Her voice softened, almost inaudible. “I don’t want to be strong if it means losing you.” I pressed my forehead against hers, the silence between us louder than war drums. My voice came out low, resolute. “I’m coming back. That’s a promise.” Behind her, I caught sight of Deathskull lurking near the corridor, his red optic flickering. “I hate to interrupt this... delicate matter,” he said flatly, “but we don’t have long. I’ve pinpointed a few coordinates on Earth where shungite veins might still be exposed. One in Russia, one near Lake Superior, and one buried beneath the African crust. I suggest we leave now while the cosmic tides are low.” Emily exhaled and finally pulled away, her expression hardening like steel cooled in water. “Then go,” she said, biting the words like venom. “But if you don’t come back—don’t expect me to forgive you in the next life.” I nodded once, understanding the weight behind her words. As Deathskull and I walked down the long corridor toward the ship bay, the pyramid groaned around us like it knew we were about to leave something sacred behind. I caught a glimpse of Emily one last time, watching from the observation deck as the doors closed. The shuttle we boarded was sleek, black, and whisper-quiet. Not a war vessel—something fast and cloaked. Something for ghosts, not kings. Deathskull sat across from me in the cramped cabin, adjusting some coils in a scanner with his spindly metal fingers. “I wasn’t entirely truthful,” he said without looking up. I raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.” He glanced at me, visor dim. “Even if we find the sample, replication won’t be easy. Shungite doesn't just matter. It's a memory. It’s ancient... crystallized thought. There are things stored inside it—echoes from another age. Entities that were sealed away in the Earth long before humans crawled upright.” “Of course there are,” I muttered. “Let me guess—opening the wrong vein might wake something worse.” He nodded. “It might. That’s why we go quietly. That’s why we go alone.” The ship detached from the hangar, falling like a shadow into the void. As Vikingnar faded behind us, all that remained was a distant blue planet glowing in the cold distance. Earth. Home of gods and monsters. And soon, perhaps, the final battleground. The descent through Earth’s decaying atmosphere was like sinking into a tomb. Thick clouds hung over the planet like the lid of a coffin. Below, the crust of civilization was broken—fractured highways, rusted skeletal cities, once-great monuments left to the will of time and moss. This was no longer a homeworld. It was a relic. The dropship cut across the sky like a phantom blade, trailing heat and memory as we coasted over a hollow continent. What once had pulsed with human life now sat in eerie silence—an unspoken stillness that gripped everything below. Chicago, Ann Arbor, and Detroit lay scattered in ruin. Buildings leaned on each other like forgotten gravestones. Forests had consumed neighborhoods. Rivers flowed unchecked through highways, nature reclaiming everything with patient, predatory intent. We moved lower, further southwest, into the open fields of what used to be central Illinois. Dead towns passed below in silence, half-sunken into overgrowth. No smoke. No sound. Just broken fences, twisted streetlights, rusting signs, and the ghost of order. Money Creek. We descended like vultures. The dropship came to rest just beside the creek bed—once a peaceful nature spot, now choked by shadows. The trees had grown taller here, darker, their limbs curled inward like clawed hands. The earth felt dense with memory. Not just the passing of time, but something buried deeper—grief, anger, fear. The loading ramp hissed open. A wave of stagnant air rushed in—thick, bitter, laced with metallic dust and old rot. Stepping down into the soil was like stepping into a crypt. This land remembered pain. It was woven into the roots. The sky above was a dull yellow-gray, the clouds bloated with decay and long-forgotten storms. The wind whispered across the landscape with no birdsong to interrupt it, no insects to stir the brush—just the hush of abandonment. I moved slowly across the gravel and weeds, letting the surroundings speak. The creek itself, once crystal and shallow, had become a channel of black sludge. Thick, tar-like mud clung to the banks, bubbling faintly as if something below still breathed. I scooped a bit of it into a vial. The fluid shimmered faintly under the sunlight—magnetic, unnatural, like blood remembering electricity. There was a long silence. Deathskull tilted his head. “There’s nothing in Bloomington but corn on the cob.” “I know,” I said, staring straight ahead. Deathskull surveyed the area, his sensors pinging quietly. He looked at me. “You chose this place for a reason,” he said. “This isn’t about geology. This is about... unfinished business.” I walked past him without answering, boots crunching through dirt and shattered pavement. “William,” he said, following, “this is ridiculous. Everyone you once knew here is either long dead, decayed, or turned into mulch. This place isn’t going to give you closure. It’s just going to feed your ghosts.” I stopped at the edge of the old creek bed. Trees lined the water’s edge, swaying just slightly in the breeze—if it even was a breeze. “I don’t need closure,” I said. “I need the truth. If something happened to Earth—if the Shark People, or something worse, laid the groundwork here—I need to know. This place was my hell. And hell doesn’t burn away that easily.” Deathskull tilted his head, scanning again. “There are trace energy readings here,” he finally admitted. “Buried deep. Something old. Something unnatural. But it’s faint. Could be ancient tech... could be spiritual interference. Hard to tell.” I knelt by the edge of the creek. The water, once clean and shallow, was now thick with black sediment. I scooped a bit into a small vial for analysis. Something about it was off—dense, magnetic. Alive. “This land was cursed before I ever left it,” I muttered. Deathskull finally sighed, mechanical and gravelly. “Fine. We’ll start the scan here. But if I find out you dragged me across lightyears to revisit your high school trauma, I’m logging it as emotional misconduct.” I smirked slightly, despite myself. “I’ll kick your metal ass droid.” Deathskull cracked a dry laugh as his metal feet crunched over frostbitten weeds. “I got an oil change in Money Creek once,” he muttered, eyes scanning the perimeter with half-curious boredom. I didn’t respond with a smile. Not this time. “This isn’t a road trip. Be considerate,” I warned, tightening the grip on my sword as the creek murmured behind me. The air was growing colder now, unnaturally cold for late summer in what used to be the Midwest. Mist laced the tree roots, curling up from the dark waters of the creek like ghost breath. The place didn’t feel abandoned—it felt sealed. Forgotten by time, yes, but protected. Or perhaps buried on purpose. We continued our sweep. The water lapped at our feet as we stepped into the creek bed—shallow, slow-moving, and bone-chilling. That’s when I felt it. A clank beneath my foot. Not stone. Not mud. Metal. I knelt, brushing aside a film of silt and algae. My fingers struck smooth steel—flat and wide, stretching beneath the water in rigid, man made patterns. “Platform,” I muttered. “There’s a structure under us.” Deathskull splashed over to my side. We moved slowly, palms grazing the submerged surfaces, piecing together what our feet couldn’t see. Then, near the shoreline, half-buried in the mud and cattails, I found it—a keypad panel coated in rust and dried moss, nearly invisible unless you were looking. “Over here,” I called. Deathskull approached, wiping muck from the interface. The panel blinked dimly—still powered, after all these years. Solar? Geothermal? There was no way to know. “Want to guess the password?” he grinned, already tapping in a sequence. The first two tries were met with angry red lights and a low mechanical buzz. On the third attempt, the light turned a faint green, and a deep mechanical hum resonated through the waterlogged ground. The creek shifted. With a dull groan of ancient hydraulics, a hidden hatch cracked open. The water frothed, pulled down into unseen drains as sections of the creek began to lower, revealing steel chambers and pillars that hissed and rose from beneath the surface. The moss-coated structures shimmered with a faded NASA insignia. Cryogenic pods—at least a dozen—emerged, their metal frames beaded with condensation and time. Inside them... faces. Human faces. Some old, some young. Some are almost too familiar. I stepped closer, my breath catching in my chest. I could see the frost-ringed glass of the nearest pod. Deathskull said nothing. For once, even he was quiet. We circled the array, the fog curling around our legs as if the earth itself was whispering warnings we couldn't hear. Pod after pod. People who hadn’t aged in decades—maybe longer. Some of them bore uniforms, others civilian attire from a time long gone. Some had data tags. A few were labeled as missing persons. Some had no identification at all. They were frozen, preserved beneath the surface. Deathskull knelt by one of the control consoles, his fingers dancing over the corroded interface. “This was no emergency protocol,” he muttered. “This was deliberate. A whole chamber hidden under a damn creek.” The machine hummed louder now, as if acknowledging its long-overdue awakening. I stared at the pods again. There was a purpose to this. Not just survival. Not escape. Preservation. And then the data stream cracked open. Deathskull pulled it up on his retinal HUD and patched it into mine. A security log. Last entry: August 19th, 2018. Keywords: Solar flares, deep black project, alternate dimensional incursion, early Shark mutations observed in ocean biomes… high-risk infiltration detected within military chains of command… Operation Ice Veil enacted. All assets moved to Cryo Site Delta—Money Creek, Illinois. I felt the cold creep into my bones—not just from the water or the air, but from the implications. Earth hadn’t just died from war or plague or collapse. It was hunted. They knew it. They had seen it coming. And they hid the last survivors of something—a final, desperate breath sealed under a quiet country creek. I turned to Deathskull. His expression was unreadable behind the glow of his lenses. “The sharks got them.” I said. He didn’t answer right away. Just stared through the fog at the unmoving bodies inside the pods. “I think we’re standing in a graveyard,” he finally said, “for people who weren’t allowed to die.” CHAPTER 4: "BENEATH THE BONES OF CYBRAWL" "VIKINGS WAR IN VALHALLA"