The announcer's voice boomed through the outdoor arena, finally cutting through the roar of the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner by Unanimous Decision—!" A pause, almost too long, let the anticipation build before he yelled, "Hugo Fernandez!"
For half a heartbeat the arena seemed to hold itself still.
Then the sound hit.
A deafening wave of cheers erupted. Hugo, hands raised by the referee, took a deep, ragged breath, tasting coppery sweat and victory. He looked over at his corner, where Silas was already scrambling over the cage to join him, his face a mixture of scraped knees and elation. Marie and Penelope, seated near the front row, were on their feet, waving wildly.
Hugo barked out a laugh that was half joy, half disbelief.
"I got it," he muttered to himself, still breathing hard. "I actually got it."
The referee leaned toward him.
"Hell of a fifth round," the official said quietly.
Hugo nodded, still staring toward Marie.
"Yeah," he answered. "Yeah, it was."
Silas finally got over the cage and gripped Hugo by the shoulders.
"You ugly, beautiful genius," Silas said, grinning ear to ear. "I told you to stop wrestling him."
Hugo laughed, then winced.
"Pretty sure he did most of the wrestling."
Marie was shouting something from the front row, but the crowd noise swallowed the words. Penelope was clapping like she was trying to set a speed record.
Olaf's voice crackled in the earpieces of the team members scattered near the octagon. "It's done. Get out there, Silas, do what we planned. Cory, Ben, keep filming. Everyone else, clear the venue."
Gary, hearing the instruction from farther along the aisle, immediately turned to Amanda.
"Alright," he said. "Now the real work starts."
Amanda was already gathering her things.
"It always does," she replied.
The main card was winding down, but the job wasn't over. Olaf had instructed the announcer to make a specific statement before dismissing the general audience. "Folks, we thank you for a wonderful night of professional fighting! We will hold a security sweep for a few minutes before the exits are fully opened. If you are willing to wait, our security teams will escort you safely out of the venue. Please stay calm and follow instructions."
This time the crowd didn't just cheer. It listened.
There was nervous energy in the stands now, the kind people got when they knew something had happened outside the normal shape of an event, even if they didn't know exactly what. Still, the announcement had the right effect. Fans looked to one another, shrugged, sat back down, or remained standing in clusters rather than rushing for exits all at once.
A man a few rows behind Gary muttered to his wife, "That's probably smart."
She nodded.
"After tonight? I'm not walking into that parking lot without a police escort and a prayer."
Ben adjusted the camera strapped to his chest, Cory a step behind him, their lenses sweeping the jubilant, buzzing crowd. They captured the moment Hugo embraced Marie and Penelope, Silas clapping him firmly on the back, the sheer relief evident on all their faces.
"Keep that shot," Cory said quietly.
Ben tilted the camera for a better angle.
"Oh, I'm keeping that shot," he murmured back. "That's the kind of thing people remember."
Hugo leaned down over the barrier and pulled Marie into a quick, sweaty, exhausted embrace.
"You came," he said, still sounding like he couldn't quite believe it.
Marie laughed through the tears in her eyes.
"Of course I came."
Penelope pointed at Hugo and grinned at Silas.
"And he won."
Silas put a hand to his chest in exaggerated relief.
"I would like everyone here to acknowledge that my coaching was invaluable."
Hugo looked at him deadpan.
"You told me not to let him lay on me."
"Yes," Silas said. "Elite advice. Priceless really."
Marie laughed again, and for a brief second the whole thing looked almost normal.
Then, the footage shifted.
Security details, solid men bolstered by Olaf's recent influx of powerful followers, began organizing the exits, guiding streams of attendees through the throngs still lingering near the food vendors and merchandise stands. Beyond the venue's controlled perimeter, however, the atmosphere was rapidly souring. Agitators, masked and aggressive, swarmed parking lots, harassing anyone leaving early.
Ben filmed the tense standoff where some exiting patrons tried to form defensive corrals, while others, impatient, darted through the potential danger zones.
A woman near one of the outer gates shouted, "Stay together!"
Two security men echoed her.
"Stay in groups! Move slow!"
"Do not break line!"
Ben lowered the camera slightly and whispered, "This is insane."
Cory kept glancing at his internal comms, waiting for Olaf's signal.
"It's coordinated," Cory said under his breath. "Not random panic. They're trying to create separation."
Ben swung the camera back toward one of the outer edges where a small group of spectators were being boxed toward the wrong corridor.
"Got that too," he said. "If this goes bad, we'll have clean footage on every piece of it."
Shane, still feeling the adrenaline crash from his own brief, brutal confrontation, leaned against the office wall, trying to process the speed of the evening. From the fight with Zabit, to the immediate, violent rush of agitators, to the necessary deployment of his skills, the political announcement—and then the shocking visitation from Verdandi—it felt like a lifetime had passed since he first stepped into the octagon.
He rubbed one hand slowly across the back of his neck, eyes shut for just a second.
"Too much," he muttered.
Mike, standing a few feet away asked,
"You say something?"
Shane opened his eyes and let out a short breath.
"Just thinking."
Mike gave a nervous laugh.
"Seems dangerous lately."
That earned the faintest smirk from Shane.
The memory of his mother's voice, the dizzying download of Celestial Magic slot five, and the blinding flash of his new 'Transformation' skill were still settling like sediment in his mind. He was grateful for the lull before his scheduled fight, but it seemed the universe rarely afforded him genuine rest.
He found Veritas Alpha—currently in the persona of Bjorn, looking appropriately stoic near the secure holding area established earlier. This temporary office, set up in a seldom-used storage area backstage, was where the remnants of the evening's troubles were being consolidated.
Inside, Harry (Thor), looking a bit too comfortable with the serious men surrounding him, was animatedly recounting a story to Saul and Emma, who sat nearby.
"And then," Harry said, gesturing wildly with both hands, "the guy on the cartoon had a hammer bigger than this table."
Saul nodded with appropriate gravity.
"That is a very big hammer."
Harry leaned forward.
"You think I could lift a hammer that big?"
Emma answered before Saul could.
"Not tonight."
Harry sighed dramatically.
"That's not the answer I wanted."
Saul, ever the rock, listened patiently, while Emma kept a gentle, maternal watch on the children gathered in a separate, surprisingly calm corner. Erin, still noticeably shaken from her own revelation, sat close to Emma, her eyes wide, trying to absorb the controlled chaos of their support network.
Erin looked from Harry to the men by the tactical map and back again.
"This still feels unreal," she said softly.
Emma touched her arm.
"It is unreal," Emma replied. "But at least the people are real."
That seemed to settle Erin, if only a little.
Shane focused on VA, who was standing near a tactical map projected onto a temporary screen.
"The Fimbulvetr Shot," Shane muttered, still processing the Norn's message. "That's what the slot unlocked. Decisive Execution. Absolute."
Veritas Alpha nodded, his expression one of profound, if controlled, shock.
"That is not a minor gift," VA said.
Shane let out one humorless laugh.
"No," he said. "No, it is definitely not."
"It confirms a high celestial lineage, Shane. A direct line to destiny itself. The Norns only interfere for what they deem existential necessity. What you described about their intervention when you were young… that wasn't luck. It was charting."
Shane stared at the floor for a moment.
"A charted life," he said quietly. "That sounds comforting and awful at the same time."
VA's expression softened for just a second.
"That is because it is both."
"And the name itself," Shane added, running a hand through his hair. "Fimbulvetr. The great winter. Precursor to Ragnarok. If my mother is Verdandi, one of the arbiters of time, it suggests my father is someone pivotal to that final conflict."
VA steepled his fingers.
"If he were Odin or Thor, logic dictates you would possess some signature aspect of their power—lightning, overt magical aptitude, perhaps even a stronger innate sense of warcraft."
Mike, who had drifted closer without fully meaning to, looked between them.
"So when y'all say things like that," he said carefully, "am I supposed to understand every third word or just nod like it makes sense?"
Oscar, standing beside him now, answered quietly.
"Nod first. Ask questions later."
Mike nodded once immediately.
"Got it."
The door opened, and the second wave filtering in confirmed the gathering. Olaf, towering and radiating a quiet intensity now that his spear Gungnir was secured and slung over his back, entered first, followed by Jessalyn (Freya), who seemed to carry herself with an almost disconcerting smoothness, Mike, Oscar, Gary, Amanda, Ben, Cory, and Silas. They nodded greetings, taking in the strange assembly of workers, political strategists, and actual deities.
Silas stopped just inside the room and looked around.
"Every time I walk into one of these meetings," he said, "I feel less qualified."
Gary snorted.
"That makes two of us."
Freya's mouth twitched faintly, amused.
Emma gently guided Harry away from the immediate intensity of the adult conversation, whispering something to him about needing to rest before the long drive.
Harry looked disappointed.
"But I want to hear the secret stuff."
Emma crouched slightly to his level.
"That," she said, "is exactly why you don't get to hear the secret stuff."
Harry thought that over.
"Fair."
Shane took a steadying breath, preparing to address the unified front.
"Everyone, thank you for staying. Tonight was… eventful. I learned why things have been so unstable around us, and why we keep running into these specific problems."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the team—the people whose lives he was trying to stabilize. This was the core he now had to protect.
Mike folded his arms.
"Eventful," he repeated. "That's one way to put it."
Amanda gave him a sidelong look.
"What word would you use?"
Mike didn't hesitate.
"Apocalyptic."
That got a few tired smiles.
He explained, keeping Vedic and Norse terminology as simple as possible for the mortals present—Gary, Amanda, Oscar, Mike, and Silas—while explaining the deeper context to the celestials. "My mother is Verdandi, one of the Norns. She controls the present moment. The system recognized this connection and unlocked new levels. I have the Transformation skill now, but my new celestial ability is something else entirely. And I have access to a restricted time travel function."
A visible murmur rippled through the group.
Mike's face went completely blank for a second.
Gary looked at Amanda.
Amanda looked back at Gary.
Neither of them seemed surprised anymore—just tired in a way only repeated impossible events could produce.
Silas broke the silence first.
"So your mother is one of the beings who basically run reality."
Shane nodded once.
"Apparently."
Silas inhaled slowly.
"Alright."
Jessalyn leaned forward, her eyes sharp. "Verdandi. Remarkable. They rarely interact directly with anyone, even gods. If she is actively guiding your system, Shane, your trajectory is immensely significant."
Erin looked at Freya.
"You say that like there's no room for debate."
Freya answered her without hesitation.
"There isn't."
Shane continued, linking the celestial intelligence with the immediate physical threat. "More practically, the thugs we encountered—the ones targeting the judge's family—they were working under direct orders from someone named Thorne. We managed to intercept enough information before ending him to know Thorne is currently operating out of an office downtown. He is clearly a lieutenant for Apex Negativa, AN himself, but if we take him out now, we might disrupt their immediate plans, get intel on AN's current whereabouts, or draw AN out of hiding."
Ben shifted his weight and adjusted the camera hanging at his side.
"So we're not talking about a future problem," he said. "We're talking about tonight."
"Tonight," Shane confirmed.
Oscar pondered the tactical map.
"Older commercial building, fake company front, limited foot traffic after hours," he said. "He picked it because nobody would care what happened there after dark."
Cory nodded.
"That's exactly the kind of place you run coordination out of if you're trying to look invisible."
Olaf remained silent for a beat longer than necessary, his massive arms crossed, absorbing the fallout. He looked at Shane, a deep appreciation mingling with the seriousness of the situation. The others offered their immediate thoughts: Ben was concerned about the implications for their unfinished video production; Oscar pondered the logistics of such an operation mid-cleanup; Gary just looked ready for any fight that came his way.
Gary finally spoke.
"We go now, right?"
Freya (Jessalyn) spoke next, her voice clear and commanding, already settling into the role of warrior-counselor. "First, Shane, your Transformation skill. Most of us possess similar abilities; the capacity to shift visage. Yours, resonating with the Norns' blessing, is clearly more potent. Secondly, Verdandi's involvement is key. The Norns are the apex of stability; they are fate itself. Your access to their influence through your lineage puts you outside the conventional power structure of gods and rivals."
Mike looked at Oscar again.
"Still nodding," he muttered.
Oscar gave the smallest nod in return.
"Wise."
She continued, detailing the immense leap in powerShane had taken. "Your remaining four celestial magic slots will be proportionally more powerful as you unlock them—the lower the number, the stronger the effect, as Slot Five is already proving. Coupled with time travel, Shane, you likely possess the capacity to enforce your will on virtually any entity not possessing a superior connection to fate itself—meaning anyone below the Norns."
Ben gave a low whistle.
"That is… not subtle."
Freya paused, considering the identity of Shane's father. "As for your parentage, it is impossible to say definitively yet, but we must search for all possibilities: Baldr, Bragi, Tyr, Heimdall, Njord, Vidar, Hod, Loki, or even Odin or Thor. Loki is unlikely, given your clear moral compass. Thor is ruled out by the lack of overt lightning powers. Odin's inheritance would likely manifest as superior cunning or foundational magic, not this precise, decisive execution power you describe. My strongest feeling is Tyr or Vidar. Both embody traits you display: Tyr, the steadfast, selfless champion of law and trial by combat; Vidar, the quiet, vengeful force devoted to natural balance. We must find them all to see who resonates."
At Loki's name, a few of the humans shifted slightly.
Mike looked openly disturbed.
"Just to be clear," he said, "if Loki is on the board, that's bad, right?"
Olaf answered first with a look alone.
Freya answered second with words.
"Yes."
Olaf finally broke his silence, his deep voice filling the room. "Shane, your actions have impressed me deeply. You have the potential of a true leader—a true god now, perhaps. Your mother is correct: any other mortal gaining unilateral access to unlimited wealth, foresight, and temporal manipulation would have retreated into self-service. You have used it to shore up your friends, improve the lives of strangers, and now you prioritize excising a clear threat to social stability. That is the essence of true creation, not mere power."
Shane looked down for a moment, uncomfortable with praise that direct.
Olaf straightened, a flicker of ancient authority in his eyes. "If you are the son of Tyr or Vidar, you should be immensely proud. Both were selfless heroes. Tyr upholding oaths; Vidar, the silent protector of the primordial order. Your drive aligns perfectly with either and I should know…they are MY sons."
That landed heavily in the room.
Mike blinked.
Silas looked at Gary.
Gary looked at the floor.
Oscar just stood there processing the phrase they are MY sons as if he'd heard it in a board meeting and had no choice but to continue.
Olaf then turned his attention to the immediate threat. "Now, Thorne. He is the immediate vector for Apex Negativa's localized chaos. We strike him tonight."
Amanda nodded, already checking routes on her tablet. Gary was standing by the door, ready to move the moment a target was named.
"Olaf is right," Shane confirmed, pulling up the internal schematics he'd been scanning from the thugs' minds while the others were dealing with the crowd. "Thorne is running operations from an older commercial building downtown—a shell corporation office, all fake paper trails. It's exactly the kind of isolated, high-value target AN would use. He is too entrenched for random thugs; he's coordinating whatever big play is coming next."
Cory stepped closer to the projected map.
"There," he said, pointing. "Those alleyways behind it would make for easy rear exits."
Ben followed the line with his eyes.
"So if he runs, he runs that way."
Olaf rose, Gungnir shimmering slightly as it hung across his broad back—a promise of terrifying power now tempered by recent awakening. "Then we conclude this evening's business with a raid. Shane, can you use your skills yet? (Shane nods) If so, you handle Thorne. Veritas Alpha and I will manage any celestial interference. The rest of you, secure the perimeter and ensure no one escapes to feed intelligence back to the main body."
Shane looked at his core team, the familiar faces that had gone from roofers and assistants to security and support for celestial operations. "Gary, Amanda, you coordinate extraction with Oscar and Mike. Make sure everyone we brought tonight is out the back exits first. Ben, Silas, Cory—you are on covert surveillance and egress. Prioritize the safety of the group. If it looks like AN himself might show, break contact and retreat to designated collapse points."
Gary nodded immediately.
"Understood."
Amanda was already typing.
"I'll get the noncombatants shifted first."
Ben lifted his camera slightly.
"I'm still filming unless someone physically takes this off me."
Silas pointed at him.
"That sentence is why you get in trouble."
The plan was swift, brutal, and necessary. Shane felt the familiar flush of righteous anger, but this time it was colder, honed by the Norn's lesson in consequence. He had a skill now, Transformation, that could be used to bypass initial perimeter defenses. He didn't need to be subtle about the fight if he could ensure entry without immediate alarm.
"I'll go in first," Shane stated, already picturing the drab, poorly lit security lobby Thorne favored. "I'll use the transformation skill to get close to the main office door—the thugs we dealt with tonight will provide the template needed. I have 2 slots for systems left at this current level. I will give one to Freya and one to Mike."
Mike looked up sharply.
"What?"
Shane toggled the system and clicked "skill reset". All his skills, that he had used in the course of the last 24 hours, all showed in his options again - cooldowns reset. He then clicked sub systems and granted one to Freya (Jessalyn) and one to his longtime friend Mike.
The reactions couldn't have been more different. Jessalyn calmly started exploring the system.
Mike froze completely.
Then blinked three times.
Then looked left, then right, as if someone else in the room might also be seeing what he was seeing and explain it for him.
"What is—" Mike started. "What is—what is in my eyes?"
Oscar quickly came to his rescue, showing him the functions.
"That's the interface," Oscar said. "Don't panic."
"I am panicking."
"Reasonably."
Mike pointed at apparently empty air.
"Why is there a tab called— no, no, don't answer that yet. I need smaller information first."
Freya, by contrast, was already scanning through her new subsystem with cool precision.
"Interesting," she said. "Very elegant structure."
Silas looked from her to Mike.
"Well that's a nice little contrast."
Olaf nodded. "We will be supporting you from the street level—Veritas Alpha and myself. We'll draw any celestial response away from you while you handle the physical threat of Thorne."
With the plan solidified, the group dispersed rapidly, blending their unique skills—celestial might, systemic processing, and human loyalties—to converge on the target downtown. Shane felt the weight of his new destiny settle onto his shoulders, the knowledge of his parentage and his god-killing magic a terrifying, electrifying foundation beneath his worker's boots. He wasn't just a roofer anymore; he was a fulcrum point in an ancient war. He walked toward the exit, ready to become the chameleon needed to breach the darkness Thorne inhabited. The chaos outside the venue had subsided thanks to Olaf's timely intervention with high-ranking federal allies, but downtown, the real battle was about to begin.
As they started moving, Mike fell into step beside Shane for half a second.
"So," Mike said carefully, still looking mildly traumatized by the subsystem interface, "just so I'm tracking this right—"
Shane glanced over.
Mike continued.
"You're maybe the son of a fate goddess and either a god of justice or a silent apocalypse survivor, and now we're raiding a demon lieutenant's office downtown."
Shane thought about it.
"Yeah," he said. "That's about right."
Mike shook his head slowly.
"Man. I remember when roofing problems were the worst thing in my week."
Shane gave him the faintest grin.
"Me too."
⸻
"If you enjoyed Shane's journey, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the Common Sense Party grow!"