The temporary event center, usually a hive of controlled energy and anticipation, felt strangely hollowed out. The wreckage of last night's chaos had been mostly cleared by Olaf's security detail, but the lingering scent of adrenaline and fear clung to the air, mingling faintly with the antiseptic smell of institutional cleaning fluids. Boxes, equipment, and personal belongings were being loaded methodically into the waiting transport vehicles—Albright Roofing trucks, a couple of discreet vans, and the massive, silent helicopter parked near the perimeter fencing.
One of Olaf's security men hauled a case of communications equipment toward a van and muttered to another, "Feels weird packing up after something like that."
The second man nodded, glancing back toward the now-quiet arena. "Yeah. Like the place still remembers."
Near the loading area, Ben was carefully wrapping camera gear while Cory checked batteries and hard drives with methodical focus. Mike and Oscar were speaking in low voices over a clipboard, and Gary was hauling boxes like the physical labor helped him process the fact that his life now involved gods, riots, and campaign strategy.
Olaf stood near the edge of the octagon, his massive frame surprisingly still, supervising the last of the clean-up before they dispersed. Jessalyn, radiating a calm that was disconcerting given the surroundings, stood beside him, occasionally murmuring instructions to the security personnel who were breaking down the perimeter cameras. Saul, newly equipped with his proxy system, stood slightly apart, running low-level scans on the immediate vicinity more out of habit than necessity, though the clarity it offered seemed to soothe his nerves. Shane, Ben, Gary, and Amanda clustered nearby, finalizing their travel arrangements.
Saul blinked a few times at the faint system overlays only he could see now.
Emma noticed and smiled faintly. "You still getting used to it?"
Saul let out a slow breath. "Yeah. I keep expecting it to be a dream or a concussion."
Emma patted his arm. "Given the last week, both are fair guesses."
"Veritas Alpha," Olaf's voice was a low rumble, cutting through the low hum of the generators being shut down. "We need to finalize the separation plan. The risk of AN striking the periphery is high now that we've made this much noise."
Veritas Alpha, currently inhabiting his "Bjorn" visage nodded gravely. "Agreed. AN is already calculating our next move. A targeted hit on HQ or the original branch is likely. Splitting our celestial assets is necessary, but it's a calculated risk." VA adjusted the collar of his coat. "I suggest I take the chopper with Mike and Oscar. The original site needs to remain stable under Mike's management, and I can utilize the Calvin visage to blend in there. It's remote enough to monitor HQ through Saul's system link if necessary."
Mike, who had been listening while pretending not to, looked up sharply. "You say 'utilize the Calvin visage' like that's a totally normal sentence."
Oscar didn't even look at him. "At this point, it sort of is."
Mike shook his head. "No. No, it is not."
Shane stepped forward, his expression serious. "Do you think that will delay AN directly? If your disguise fails and he tries something massive—I have three teleports. I can make sure I always keep one in reserve for an emergency. Only me or Olaf can fight him one-on-one right now."
VA turned, his eyes sharp even within the borrowed face. "Shane, you need to save two, not one. AN is smart. He won't waste energy on a single strike now. He can inhabit a shell, hit us, and pull back before we can pin him down. He'll strike HQ, then immediately pivot to the training center. These inhabitations cost him dearly, but he will commit if he thinks he can stagger us. To fight you or Olaf alone, he needs most of his power. Teaming with me, he'll need everything. With three or four of us—you, Olaf, Jessalyn myself—he knows he loses outright."
Amanda folded her arms, already thinking three moves ahead. "So he won't go where we're strongest. He'll go where he thinks the panic will spread fastest."
"Exactly," VA said.
Gary looked between them. "Meaning he'd rather hit a place with civilians, kids, workers—make us choose."
Olaf's deep sigh resonated with ancient weariness. "He used this tactic before. Separated me from the others, and without Gungnir—well, you know the result. He eliminated me, then went after the rest one by one, always appearing or provoking at times beneficial to him."
The words settled heavily over the group. Even among those who had heard pieces of the story before, hearing Olaf say it so plainly made the danger feel immediate.
Freya, Jessalyn, who had been observing silently, her composure flawless, spoke up, her voice carrying the clarity of one who had never slept through the eons. "That is why I kept hidden for so long. When I felt that Apex Negativa no longer viewed me as a threat—I started living a normal life again. He tests the boundaries, probing for weakness."
Olaf managed a short, dry laugh. "Yes, 'normal' as a film star."
Jessalyn smiled, unperturbed. "A few years ago, he started sending minor probing attacks. It was probably because he sensed we would start gathering again, sensing the residual energies."
Silas, loading one of the smaller gear cases nearby, muttered, "Good to know his version of 'probing attacks' includes riots and murder."
Marie, standing near him, gave him a look. "That didn't sound funny."
"It wasn't," Silas admitted. "That's why I said it like a joke."
Veritas Alpha keyed in, his gaze intense. "I believe it has everything to do with you, Shane. Once you were born, and AN started feeling your presence or having visions of your potential, he likely began being proactive, knowing that our gathering was inevitable. Loki could also be involved. I have found Loki's location, but I refuse to share it with the Old Gods yet."
Freya's eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't trust him. We need to keep him missing, VA."
VA scratched his chin, the movement perfectly mimicking the persona. "The Old Gods demand his location. They believe he might be the key to disrupting AN's current narrative, but they don't comprehend his treachery like we do. I believe they will be dangerously deceived."
Olaf looked down, a shadow crossing his face that carried millennia of guilt. "It is my fault. I bound his wolf and caused his serpent to bind itself. I believe Loki was involved in why AN defeated Thor the first time. To properly utilize Mjölnir, Thor needs his gloves, Járngreipr, and his belt, Megingjörð. They were stolen from him just before his first confrontation with Apex Negativa."
"I can confirm that Loki has them," VA interjected, his voice taut. "Along with a newly reincarnated, but unawakened, Sif—Thor's wife."
Olaf's jaw tightened — not anger, but old regret resurfacing.
Olaf shook his head slowly. "All the more reason not to awaken Thor—Harry—until the time is absolutely right. We cannot risk another premature confrontation."
"VA, he also has Sleipnir," VA added, his jaw tight.
Freya's fury was palpable, easily understood by those who knew the old stories. Sif was her own kin, and Loki's betrayal was an ancient wound.
Jessalyn's voice dropped, colder than before. "Then he is sitting on pieces of Ragnarök like a dragon on stolen gold."
Olaf gave one grim nod. "Yes."
Saul, standing near Ben and Cory, who were packing camera equipment, looked utterly bewildered by the rapid-fire celestial jargon.
Ben leaned over slightly and whispered, "You doing alright?"
Saul kept his eyes on Olaf and VA. "No."
Cory, still coiling a cable, murmured, "That's the correct reaction."
VA noticed Saul's confusion and offered a brief, necessary history lesson for the mortals present. "Odin—Olaf—is Loki's sworn blood brother. They were once inseparable, but Loki's capacity for destructive chaos became his defining trait. Thor and Loki were comrades until Loki mutilated Sif. Loki is fundamentally fated to precipitate the end of the world—Ragnarok. I will program the visions regarding Ragnarok into your system later so you understand the stakes."
Mike stared for a second and then said, "You know, there was a time when hearing that sentence would've ended my week."
Oscar looked over. "And now?"
Mike sighed. "Now it's like item six on the agenda."
Shane, who had absorbed much of this through his system's instant clarity, was only puzzled by the specifics. "Is Ragnarok still happening?"
Both Olaf and Jessalyn answered in immediate affirmation.
Jessalyn turned to Shane, her warrior aspect showing through the glamour. "Ragnarok, from our perspective, is the final confrontation for our realm. We must remember that. There are other tales, other perspectives . Shane, your foresight—if it truly mirrors the Norns' weaving—you might be able to see beyond our current timeline or even alter the inevitable outcome. You hold the variable."
Shane rubbed a hand across his jaw. "No pressure."
Gary huffed a laugh from nearby. "Yeah, just fate, politics, and the apocalypse. Nice easy week."
"Hopefully, I can figure out the system well enough before it's too late," Shane murmured, flexing his jaw.
Jessalyn nodded, sharing a look with Olaf. "Olaf and I will teach you what we know. You have the potential to be the fulcrum."
The tactical discussion resumed, focusing heavily on defense and communication redundancies. With the dispersal plan set, the group began filing out of the temporary venue.
The mood shifted from philosophical to practical almost immediately. Bags were lifted. Weapons checked. Routes confirmed. The tension didn't lessen, but it changed shape. Everyone had something to do now.
Jessalyn climbed into the vehicle with Shane, Gary, and Amanda. Gary was still riding the high of seeing his friend's political ambitions take tangible shape, while Amanda was already strategizing the best way to frame Shane's outsider candidacy.
As they got into the vehicle, Amanda immediately pulled out her tablet. "We need clips from last night, but not the impossible parts. The speech, the crowd response, your composure. We package stability."
Gary nodded vigorously. "And the people chanting. That part mattered."
Shane sat back and stared out the window for a second before answering. "No martyr angle. No victim angle. I want strength, clarity, common sense. That's it."
Cory, Ben, Saul, and Emma loaded into a separate company vehicle, heading toward HQ, bringing the small contingent of families and supporters that had come for the event.
Before the door shut, Emma looked back toward Shane's vehicle and then toward Olaf's.
"Feels like we're splitting up in a horror movie," she muttered.
Saul answered, "Yeah, except in this one the gods are on our side."
Emma considered that. "That does help."
Olaf, Erin, and Harry headed for the main training center, only a short drive away. Hugo, Silas, Marie, and Penelope followed in a dependable Albright truck to the same location, as Marie's car was still in the shop after the earlier attack—a timely reminder of the precarious safety they now inhabited.
As Hugo climbed into the truck, Marie caught his hand and squeezed it. "You okay?"
He gave her a tired smile. "I won the fight and survived a riot. I think I'm allowed to be a little confused."
Penelope, climbing into the back, said, "Honestly, if any of us act normal after tonight, that'd be weirder."
Silas snorted from the driver's seat. "That's the smartest thing anyone's said in the last hour."
Veritas Alpha, having switched seamlessly back into the "Calvin" visage—now recognizable as the dependable foreman Shane had hired—climbed into the Albright-owned helicopter alongside Oscar and Mike. They were bound for the original city branch, where Mike was currently overseeing operations.
As the blades began to spin up, Mike leaned toward VA and said, "So if we get attacked in the helicopter, I want you to know ahead of time that I'm going to scream."
Oscar fastened his harness without looking at him. "Noted."
VA, in the Calvin visage, gave the smallest possible nod. "Try to do it after we land."
Mike let out a breathless laugh. "That was almost funny."
Inside the vehicle with Jessalyn, Shane leaned back, the adrenaline finally receding, replaced by acute political focus. "The message has to be sharp, unambiguous. We're not here to pick a side; we're here to expose the division itself. They thrive on red versus blue. We offer only common sense."
Amanda was already taking notes. "Good. Say 'we' more than 'I.' People trust movements faster than personalities."
Gary chimed in, "But they still need you in front of it. They need to believe someone will actually stand there and say it."
Shane looked from one to the other. "Then that's the line. We expose the division, but we build something real in its place."
Gary, ever the loyal friend, chimed in, "It's brilliant, Shane. It cuts through the noise."
Meanwhile, Ben, riding with Cory, was already reviewing the raw footage from the previous night. "Cory, I've got incredible B-roll—the contrast between the outside thugs and how calm those guys kept the inside crowd was insane. I can weave that into the announcement video. It proves Shane's vision works on a micro-scale."
Cory glanced over from the passenger seat. "Keep the parts where security is calm and the crowd listens. Don't make it look like fear. Make it look like order."
Ben nodded, scrubbing through footage. "Yeah. Not panic. Structure."
Saul, sitting behind them, listened quietly for a minute and then said, "Use the part where people waited because they trusted the instructions. That matters."
Ben looked back over his shoulder. "That's actually really good."
Saul blinked. "I know people."
Back in the dark, hidden pocket of reality where Apex Negativa plotted, the news of Thorne's demise had landed like a physical blow. The sheer audacity of the interference—the death of a high-ranking proxy —sent waves of destructive celestial energy radiating outward. AN let out a growl that manifested on the mortal plane as sudden, violent storms in a cluster of unsuspecting suburbs across the ocean.
Windows shattered. Trees bent. Rain came down in crooked sheets under a sky that had no reason to be angry except that something ancient had just been wounded.
He paced in the void, his form flickering with misused power. Thorne was irreplaceable—not for his power, but for the decades he'd spent weaving non-celestial threads into the global tapestry. AN needed those contacts. He needed the high level red and blue leaders. He needed the contacts with the underbelly of the world along with the ruling class. Thorne had handled it for hundreds of years and now… now he was gone.
His rage was not the hot, human sort. It was administrative. Structural. Furious at lost infrastructure. Furious at interruption. Furious that one of the mortals had become too costly to ignore.
He considered promoting one of his minor operatives, but they were all predictable, susceptible to temptation along with incompetent. He needed someone who could maintain the illusion of mortal corruption while serving as a potent vessel. Raw power was easy to inject; careful, societal manipulation required finesse.
Then, a dark, twisted idea solidified. A manic, escalating sound began to escape his form—chuckles at first, then deep, evil laughter bouncing off the void's edges. He controlled the narrative; he controlled the markers placed in the world's sacred texts. He controlled the expectation of conflict.
"Let's see how they deal with this," he muttered, the laughter abruptly silencing into a low, determined snarl. The game was shifting from subtle sabotage to overt destruction, and he was ready to introduce a new level of chaos that relied not on political division, but on raw, untraceable natural disaster. He would destabilize the very ground they stood upon, making Shane's localized 'fixes' look like pathetic sandcastles against a rising tide.
Far away from that dark thought, the vehicles continued to pull away from the event center one by one, each carrying some fragile piece of the resistance with it.
And for the first time since the chaos began, the arena behind them truly looked empty.
⸻
"If you enjoyed Shane's journey, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the Common Sense Party grow!"