While Shane and Jessalyn were breaching the Trickster's cage, Veritas Alpha stood in a realm of shimmering, fading light. This was the Hall of the Old Gods, a space that felt like a library at the end of time. Around him, the remnants of ancient pantheons sat in a circle of high-backed stone chairs—entities of Greek, Egyptian, and African lore, their forms flickering like dying candles.
The hall itself seemed carved from memory rather than stone. Columns rose into a ceiling that was not truly a ceiling but a dim firmament of forgotten constellations—stars that mortals had once prayed beneath but had long since stopped naming. Dustless shelves lined the perimeter, filled not with books but with faint, translucent echoes of temples, shrines, and sacred fires that had gone cold centuries ago.
The Old Gods sat like relics in a museum no one visited anymore.
A towering figure of pale Greek marble leaned against the arm of his chair, the suggestion of a thunderbolt resting across his knee. The once-king of Olympus—Zeus—still carried the authority of storms, but the lightning within him had dimmed, reduced to flickers that crawled weakly beneath his stone skin.
Beside him sat a tall Egyptian form wrapped in shadowed linen, the long jackal-headed mask of Anubis barely illuminated by the fading gold glow of funerary magic. His presence carried the dry scent of desert wind and ancient tombs.
Across the circle, a towering African war-spirit leaned forward on a spear carved from obsidian and bone. His dark skin shimmered faintly with the memory of lightning storms and tribal drums that had once shaken entire valleys. The old Yoruba thunder god—Shango—watched the hall with restless impatience, his crown of red beads glowing faintly like coals.
Further down, a regal woman draped in jade and gold silk sat perfectly still, her posture unbroken despite the centuries. The faint outline of a serpent-dragon curled behind her like a shadow. She was a remnant of the Eastern heavens—Nuwa, the ancient mender of the sky.
Near her sat a feathered figure with bronze skin and obsidian eyes, adorned with a headdress of emerald quetzal plumes. The old Mesoamerican wind-bringer—Quetzalcoatl—watched the chamber with a quiet sadness, his once radiant feathers faded to ghostlike translucence.
They were gods.
But they were tired gods.
Veritas Alpha maintained his "Bjorn" visage, but internally, his essence was far older and more complex. To the indigenous people of the Huron nation, he had been Deganawida, the Peacemaker who traveled in a stone canoe to bring the Great Law of Peace. He was the messenger of the Creator, the one who had appointed the thirteen original Pine Tree Chiefs to anchor harmony on Earth.
But he held a deeper secret, one he had cloaked even from his own kin. In the halls of Asgard, he had been Baldr, the son of Odin and Frigg. He was the god of light and joy, the one whose death was supposed to signal the beginning of the end. But Baldr hadn't stayed dead; He still remembered Frigg's grief. That memory never dulled, he had transformed, creating the identity of Veritas Alpha to stay under the radar of Apex Negativa and honor a secret deal with Hel. He was the God of Selflessness, the one who never sought worship, only the betterment of the mortal coil. It was why he was slow to anger and why no one—mortal or divine—could ever find a reason to speak ill of him.
He was the absolute opposite of the Architect.
"The time of the Great Darkening is upon us," Veritas Alpha stated, his voice echoing with the authority of the Peacemaker. "Apex Negativa is moving to the apocalyptic stage. He is hijacking the sacred markers of every faith to force a global surrender."
A figure of fading Greek marble leaned forward. "And why should we stop it? If the modern world collapses, the survivors will crawl back to our altars. Desperation breeds worship, and worship is the only thing that can restore our light."
The marble figure's eyes flickered faintly with stormlight as he spoke, but the lightning no longer cracked across the sky the way it once had. Zeus had once commanded empires. Now he spoke like a dethroned king remembering what it felt like to be feared.
A murmur of agreement rippled through the council. Most of these gods were tired of being forgotten. They viewed AN's apocalypse as a necessary forest fire—one that would clear the "Common Sense" of the modern age and replace it with the primal fear they once ruled.
Shango struck the butt of his spear against the floor once, the echo rolling across the chamber like distant thunder.
"Fear builds temples," he rumbled. "The mortals have grown comfortable. Comfortable men do not pray."
Across from him, the jade-robed Nuwa lifted her gaze slowly.
"Fear also breaks the sky," she said softly.
Her voice carried the weight of someone who had once stitched the heavens back together after catastrophe.
"It is too soon," another voice countered, this one sounding like the dry rustle of papyrus. "The world is not yet whittled down enough. We risk being consumed by AN's entropy before we can reclaim our thrones."
The speaker was a tall, ibis-headed figure robed in layered gold script—Thoth, the ancient keeper of knowledge. His eyes glowed faintly with the remnants of cosmic mathematics.
"The Architect does not burn forests," Thoth continued quietly. "He sterilizes the soil."
Quetzalcoatl shifted in his seat, feathers whispering softly.
"And yet mortals still build," he said. "They always rebuild."
Suddenly, a violent spike of celestial energy ripped through the hall. It was a soundless scream, a jagged vibration of pure Trickster fury.
The Old Gods stood in unison, their eyes widening.
"Loki," one whispered. "Has the Architect finally moved against him?"
Even Zeus straightened slightly at that.
The Trickster was a variable none of them fully trusted—but many of them secretly admired.
"No," Veritas Alpha said, his expression remaining a mask of calm. "It is Odin and Freya. They are reclaiming what was stolen. They have retrieved Sif and the artifacts of the Thunderer."
"You have found the King." the Greek entity said, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "With Odin awake, we must find Loki. We need the Trickster's chaos to disrupt AN's order. Loki is the only one who can fight a war without rules. The two of them are needed."
Shango nodded slowly.
"Storm fights storm."
Quetzalcoatl frowned slightly.
"Or storm destroys storm."
Veritas Alpha felt a surge of frustration. "You do not need Loki. You need Shane Albright. He is the Scion of the Present, and he is building a fortress that can survive the Architect's storm."
"A roofer?" the papyrus voice sneered. "We will place our hope in the Blood Brother of Odin. Loki is a known variable. This 'Albright' is an anomaly."
Thoth tilted his head slightly.
"Anomaly," he murmured. "Or correction?"
No one answered.
The meeting ended in a stalemate. The Old Gods were hopeful for Loki's return, while Veritas Alpha was left with the grim realization that the "Old Guard" was just as blind as the mortals they sought to rule. They didn't understand that Loki's "chaos" was a joke that always ended in blood.
⸻
Veritas Alpha reappeared in the Albright Roofing HQ just as the first light of the "Shadowed Dawn" began to touch the horizon. He didn't waste time. He began calling his contacts—the descendants of the Pine Tree Chiefs and the few "Clean" operatives left in the federal agencies—directing them to rendezvous at the HQ.
Minutes later, the sports car screamed into the parking lot. Shane and Jessalyn climbed out, looking exhausted but triumphant. Shane was carrying a heavy iron belt and oversized gloves, while Jessalyn held the sleeping Sif. A small, confused golden retriever puppy trotted behind them.
"We got them," Shane said, his eyes finding VA. "But Loki is awake, and he's not happy."
"I know," VA replied. "The Old Gods felt him. They think he's their savior. We have very little time."
Shane handed the Belt and Gloves to Olaf, who was waiting by the entrance. The King's eyes blazed as he touched the iron of his son's legacy. "The Thunderer's gear is home. Now, we just need the Hammer."
Jessalyn hurried Sif and the puppy toward the inner offices, where Erin (Frigg) and Emma were waiting. Erin's eyes filled with tears as she saw the girl. Her memories were fully back now, and the maternal power of the Queen was radiating from her in a warm, protective aura.
"I've got her," Erin whispered, taking Sif into her arms. "And I'll deal with the nanny's spell. Loki's magic is a knot, and I was always the one who taught him how to tie them. I can untie them just as easily."
Shane turned to his team. The HQ was a hive of activity. Hundreds of "Purified" employees were already there, their minds clear and their loyalty absolute.
"Listen up!" Shane's voice boomed, amplified by his 80% Celestial Power. "The world is going to change today. The lights might go out. The phones might stop working. But this roof is not going to leak."
A few of the older roofers actually laughed at that.
He began barking orders with the precision of a general. "Oscar, Mike—you're on perimeter security. I want barricades at every entrance. Use the heavy equipment. Gary, take the company credit cards. I want every MRE, every gallon of water, and every roll of paper towels you can find in a fifty-mile radius. Buy it all. Now."
Gary grinned like a man who had been waiting his whole life for someone to say that sentence.
"Yes sir."
He turned to Ben. "Ben, I need EMP blockers on every server and every truck. And I want weapons. Ammo, survival gear, hunting bows—anything that doesn't require a computer chip to function. If the world is going back to the 1800s, we're going to be the ones with the most 'stuff.'"
Ben was already typing before Shane finished speaking.
"Already on it."
Finally, Shane reached out to Sól and Máni. "Erik, Liv. Can you hold the sky?"
"We can't stop the eclipse," Liv's voice echoed in his mind. "But we can alter the trajectory. We can buy you an extra four hours of light before the shadow takes hold. It will cost us, Shane. We will be dormant for days afterward."
"Do it," Shane commanded. "We need every second."
Shane looked at his hands. They were steady. He was Level 4.2, a Scion of the Present with a fortress of a thousand souls. He was up against the wall, but for the first time in his life, he knew exactly what he was building.
⸻
[SYSTEM STATUS: LEVEL 4.2]
[CELESTIAL POWER: 85/100]
[NETWORK STATUS: 10/10 ACTIVE]
[ACTIVE QUEST: PROTECT YOUR PEOPLE (27 DAYS REMAINING)]
[GLOBAL STATUS: THE DARKENING (ETA: 4 HOURS)]
⸻
"If you enjoyed Shane's journey, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the Common Sense Party grow!"