“Weird,” Kara muttered, her fur bristling as she sniffed the air. “It’s like it was never there.”

  Karl turned toward the distant blaze. “Come on. Our friends are down there.”

  Without another word, they broke into a run, paws tearing through the snow as the burning village loomed below by the harbor, its flames snapping into the night sky. Karl could only hope his friends were still alive.

  The scent of ash grew as they drew closer.

  It became sharper, bitter in the mouth. Karl’s paws tore across the frozen soil as he and Kara sprinted toward the inferno blazing in the valley. The snow beneath them glowed orange in the reflection of the coming flames. Even the air screamed with the sound of cracking timber and a host of terrified shouts.

  Something white flashed ahead through the smoke.

  Karl barely stopped in time as Glær burst from the trees. His antlers shimmered with light, steam huffing from his nostrils in ragged bursts. For a second, the beast looked ready to gore them—then his eyes softened at the sight of Kara.

  Perched on his shoulder, Ratatoskr clung for dear life, his crimson fur dusted with snow.

  “Well, well,” Ratatoskr said, baring his little teeth in a grin. “Did the two of you finally get a room? And in your werewolf forms, no less? How…. modern.”

  Kara growled low in her throat, lips twitching. Karl rolled his eyes. “We’re stuck like this until morning.”

  “Then you won’t have to wait long,” the squirrel replied, tail flicking with nervous energy. “And neither will they.”

  Glær pawed the ground and tossed his head toward the flames ahead. The light reflected in his crystalline antlers, warping the snowy night into a blood-red shimmer.

  “I know, boy,” Kara said, giving him a comforting pat on the neck. Her claws brushed his fur gently, but Glær’s gaze shifted past her toward Karl, narrow and accusing, as if blaming him for stealing her away.

  Karl sighed. “I thought you were with Björn and the others.”

  “I was,” Ratatoskr said quickly, stroking one of Glær’s antlers. “Then I came to, uh—get help.”

  Liar. Karl didn’t need his wolf senses to tell. But there was no time to press him.

  They ran together now, charging toward the inferno. Smoke clawed the sky as families stumbled through the burning streets, clutching children and half-scorched possessions. The air stank of tar and charred grain.

  Karl dropped to all fours beside Kara, his fur singed at the edges by stray embers. Ratatoskr whooped wildly from Glær’s back as if it were a game, the elk’s hooves pounding furrows in the ash.

  A crimson flash appeared before Karl’s eyes as the System flared to life, adding a new marker to his internal parchment map, along with a new quest.

  Location Discovered: Klintehamn

  New Quest: Burn the Bastards

  “The night was supposed to end with another makeout session, but instead, the world is on fire again. Klintehamn is ablaze, and a band of unknown marauders moves through the smoke, slaying all who resist. Go be a hero, or be a beta.”

  Primary Objectives:

  Slay the Unknown Marauders (0/25)

  Rescue Villagers from the Burning Settlement (30/30)

  Locate and save Harald Bluetooth’s hunting band (20/20)

  Bonus Objectives:

  Extinguish fires using frost or terrain manipulation (0/5)

  Rescue at least one child, elder, or animal from the flames (0/1)

  Rewards:

  Item: Frozen Ember Flask ×10 (Epic)

  Item: Fang of the Lone Moon (Legendary)

  Item: Emberwolf Title (Legendary)

  Bonus Rewards:

  Coastal Trade Route — Unlocked

  Tribute Caravans from saved villages bring +15% Gold.

  Food Production +10% per week (fish and grain shipments from grateful allies).

  Karl accepted the quest without hesitation.

  They reached the outskirts within moments, snow giving way to blackened mud. The nearest houses were collapsing under waves of heat, the roar of the fire drowning out the panicked cries. Through the flames, Karl saw movement: someone was fighting, barely holding their ground.

  “Egil!” Kara shouted.

  The scholar-warrior staggered in the glow of a burning roof beam, fending off two hulking bandits with his shield and spear. One carried a divine shield marked with Týr’s runes, using it to slam Egil backward again and again. Behind him, the wall of a cottage cracked open, spilling fire into the street.

  A third foe—pale with burning blue eyes—lurched out from the smoke. A Draugr. Another followed behind it.

  Egil was cornered, his cloak smoldering at the edges as the Týr-blessed marauder shoved him closer to the flames. He lunged his spear with desperation. Behind him, Karl caught sight of what he was trying to protect—a small boy trapped beneath a collapsed beam, screaming for his mother.

  Kara’s fur bristled beside him, and Karl felt Fenrir stir in him.

  Karl and Kara fell upon the bandits as one. Kara took the Hel-blessed warrior first, tearing through his throat before his curse could even flare. The Týr-blessed brute barely had time to raise his shield before Karl crashed into him, his claws carving deep through plate and spine alike. The bandits’ bones crunched under the wrath, spraying blood into the snow.

  Glær charged beside them, impaling one of the Draugr clean through the chest with his horns and lifting it into the air before flinging it aside like burning refuse. Ratatoskr leapt onto another zombie’s back and stuffed acorns into its open mouth, shouting, “Choke on this, corpse-breath!”

  The Draugr spasmed, choked, and fell still.

  Alpha Path: lvl 5 (90/150 Reiði)

  Wealth (+10): 6,666 Gold

  Slay the Unknown Marauders (2/25)

  Rescue at least one child, elder, or animal from the flames (1/1)

  Egil staggered to his feet through the smoke, his face smeared with soot. He blinked, recognizing the glowing forms of Glær and Ratatoskr—and the blood-soaked werewolves standing amid the carnage.

  “Lad…” Egil rasped, voice trembling.

  “It’s us,” Karl said, straightening to his full height. He wiped blood from his jaws with the back of his claw.

  Egil nodded weakly. “We were completely overwhelmed.” Without hesitation, he ducked into the burning house behind him. Flames clawed the roof, threatening to collapse, but the poet didn’t falter. He emerged moments later with a small boy in his arms, his eyes wide with terror at the sight of the werewolves.

  Egil knelt, setting the child down and pressing a short dagger into his shaking hands. “Run to Visby,” he said gently. “And don’t stop until the walls find you.”

  The little boy nodded before sprinting off into the night.

  “Where are the others?” Kara asked, stepping close beside Karl.

  “They’re just up—” Egil began, but stopped as Karl suddenly bent over and vomited a glittering stream of rainbow sludge onto his boots.

  Everyone froze.

  “Whoa!” Ratatoskr yelped, springing from Glær’s shoulder to Karl’s. “You have been eating unicorns!”

  Kara stifled a laugh. Egil just blinked down at the shimmering mess.

  “Yes,” Karl groaned, wiping his muzzle. “Long story.” The sparkles continued to fizzle in the snow. “Come on. Lead the way before I start coughing rainbows, too.”

  Egil didn’t argue.

  They ran together through the burning street, passing the corpses of fallen villagers and scorched wagons. Smoke pressed down on them, glowing orange with every collapsing roof.

  They rounded the next corner, and the world exploded with thunder.

  Lightning streaked across the sky, crackling through the smoke. The ground shook hard enough to knock Karl sideways. Sparks scattered off cobblestones, no doubt thanks to a Thor-blessed. At the far end of the street, a battle raged.

  Rescue Villagers from the Burning Settlement (28/30)

  Locate and Save Harald Bluetooth’s Hunting Band (17/20)

  Karl’s werewolf senses sharpened. Through the haze, he could see it—a wall of Bifrost light, curved as a barrier dome. Behind it, Harald’s hunting band fought in tight formation. The marauders outside slammed against the rainbow wall, their blades screeching uselessly off divine light, though they had killed two villagers and three of Harald’s men, hence the depleting quest notifications.

  “By the Allfather,” Karl breathed. “Björn’s holding it.”

  And he was. Björn stood at the heart of the shield, rune-etched battleax glowing with the same prismatic energy that shimmered around him.

  “Impressive, Björn!” Harald boomed, laughter echoing even amid the chaos. The old king fought like he’d been born in war, sword flashing as he cleaved through two marauders at once.

  Karl’s gaze swept to the enemy commander—a towering figure at the rear, surrounded by six elite guards. The man’s armor gleamed black as oil, and the ground around him burned. It was hard to make out who it was, given the fires and the chaos surrounding them, but the helmet gave him away: it was the skull-masked bandit Kara had seen. The horns on his helmet curved inwards towards his face, making him look like something that crawled out of hell.

  “Björn!” Karl shouted, charging through the street with Kara at his side. Harald’s men turned at the sight of the blood-soaked werewolf barreling toward them, some raising blades in alarm until Harald himself waved them aside.

  “Let them through!” the king barked.

  Karl and Kara broke through the shield wall to reach the front.

  Björn turned, his grin weary and somewhat annoyed. “You took your time!”

  “Ran into some Dwarves,” Karl said, catching his breath.

  Björn laughed, then raised his hammer toward where Mýra stood beside the Bifrost barricade. Roots erupted from beneath the cobblestones, snaring enemy legs and dragging them screaming into the ground where she snapped their necks.

  Another System ping echoed:

  Slay the Unknown Marauders (3/25)

  Björn’s hammer flared with light as he pointed across the fractured Bifrost barrier. The rainbow sheen shimmered with heat, bending under the weight of the enemy’s presence.

  “We’ve got a nasty one,” Björn said, his grin wide enough to show fang. “That big bastard’s the leader.”

  Karl followed his gaze.

  On the far side of the shield, the massive Viking advanced through the smoke. His warriors parted like worshipers before a god, falling to their knees as he passed. The sound of his boots—heavy, deliberate—echoed against the scorched cobblestones. Six others trailed him in a tight V-formation, their armor glinting with divine runes.

  Björn’s voice dropped low, the thrill of the hunt still burning in it. “He’s Thor-blessed. Halfway leveled in divine rank by the look of him, if my Odin blessing is to be believed. If he summons lightning, it’ll turn this whole square into a crater.”

  Kara’s claws flexed against the ground. “And his entourage?”

  “Each one blessed too,” Björn said grimly.

  Karl’s eyes locked on the towering warrior approaching through the flames. The man was built like a siege tower—broad shoulders, shaved head, black beard thick and braided with iron rings. His scarred arms gleamed beneath strips of chainmail. A warhammer rested easily in one hand, electric runes glowing faintly across its length. It looked heavy enough to crush stone—but he carried it like it weighed nothing at all.

  And that skull mask… it made Karl shiver with disgust.

  When the man raised it toward the light, Karl’s breath caught. The weapon wasn’t the only thing familiar.

  The face beneath the beard split into a grin—one that Karl had seen before.

  “Karla?” the giant sneered.

  Karl froze. That voice. That mocking twist in the syllables of his name.

  “Svensson?” the man continued, eyes gleaming with recognition.

  The sound of his old name in that tone hit harder than any hammer. The years between them collapsed into that single, awful moment.

  Viktor.

  His bully. The boy who’d made his school days a personal hell. And somehow, impossibly, he was here—alive and blessed with far more magical prowess than Karl.

  It seemed that Agnetha’s arrival was not some mere coincidence after all.

  Fenrir stirred within him, a growl rumbling low and amused. Ah… the old enemy returns. You see? The gods have a sense of humor after all.

  Karl’s claws twitched, but his legs refused to move. The battlefield noise faded into a dull hum. All he could hear was the crackle of lightning beginning to dance across Viktor’s hammer.

  A storm gathered behind the man, clouds swirling unnaturally fast. Sparks crawled across the cobblestones, drawn toward him like iron filings to a magnet. The six subordinates behind Viktor lifted their weapons in unison, their eyes glowing faintly with magic.

  Björn’s laughter died in his throat. “Oh, this is going to be ugly.”

  17

  ROCKET MAN

  Viktor smirked, tilting his head. “Guess some things never change, huh, Karla?”

  The hammer in his hand began to glow white-hot, runes flaring brighter than the flames around them.

  Thunder rolled across the ruined village.

  Kara’s breath trembled beside him. “That… that can’t be him,” she whispered. “There’s no way he can recognize you.”

  But Viktor was already laughing, which echoed low and very confident. “The System just told me,” he said, flashing that familiar grin that had haunted Karl through every winter of his youth. He turned to the five shadows behind him. “And guess what? It remembered you, too.”

  Karl froze. Those faces. Their postures. Even in this warped world of gods and monsters, he knew them.

  System Message: “Oh, don’t be too betrayed, Karl. I’ll make it fair for you. Those are the rest of your classmates, here after crashing their car in a drunken bender after a wild party (Viktor was blackout drunk but decided to drive). And here are the Divine Blessings they’ve received, just to make you feel better.”

  Snösikte — Chosen of Ullr

  Magnus Jordhane — Chosen of Freyr

  Signe Silversång — Chosen of Hnoss

  Sten Vakt — Chosen of Heimdall

  Nils Skymning — Chosen of Höðr

  Håkan Vrid — Chosen of Loki

  Karl could barely believe the words, though the drunk driving fatality made sense for Viktor, as he was known to be a party animal.

  Snösikte stood first—pale as frostbite, white hair catching the light like glass splinters. His bow was carved from frozen yew, its string glowing faintly blue. He hummed that same lullaby he’d sung while pinning Karl down years ago—sweet and childish, made monstrous by memory. Every note felt like an icicle sinking into Karl’s ribs.

  Behind him, Magnus loomed—taller than the rest, his shoulders like carved oak. A massive plow-hammer rested in his hands, runes crawling across it like green vines dripping saplight. His eyes flicked up, met Karl’s, and he mouthed sorry. He always had. Even back then, when he’d helped Viktor shove Karl into lockers or snowbanks. Always sorry, yet always complicit.

  Signe Silversång glimmered beside him, her silver braids catching the torchlight. Her armor seemed sculpted more for her looks than war, every curve polished and plate shaped to draw the eye. It was totally unrealistic for battle, but it made her look even more fetching than she already was. A mirror gleamed in her palm as she examined her reflection with lazy interest. But Karl remembered the last time she’d looked at him like that—right before she’d whispered words that made him confess things he didn’t mean. Hnoss’s chosen didn’t need to fight. They could unravel you with a smile and their insane Charisma.

  Next stood Sten Vakt, who was bronze-skinned, red-eyed, with the haunted look of a man who hadn’t slept in weeks, though he was very alert as he kept devouring Signe with his eyes, of whom he had unreciprocated feelings. A golden horn hung at his belt. Karl had once thought Sten was the quiet one, mainly because Sten was the one who held Karl down so that Viktor could pummel him, though never saying a word.

  Nils Skymning swayed beside him, thin as mist, his black hair falling into his pale, almost translucent face. His movements lagged, as if reality itself struggled to keep up. Through Karl’s sharpened werewolf sight, Nils flickered like a candle in the wind, revealing twin frost-tipped daggers beneath his cloak. Even the air around him seemed colder.

  And then there was Håkan Vrid. The bombastic Swede stood wrapped in layers of silk scarves that shimmered with Loki’s mischief. Two of him stood side by side, laughing and playing rock-paper-scissors until one vanished with a smirk. The survivor winked, his voice melodic. “I win. Again.”

  The sight of them all together was worse than any nightmare. The same boys (and girls) who once ruled the hallways of his school now stood before him as demigods. Their power shimmered in the snow, each divine aura weaving through the cold air.

  You remember them well, Fenrir murmured within him, chuckling. Now at last you shall fall.

  Karl swallowed, his throat dry. That same helplessness that once filled school corridors crept back.

  Viktor grinned, lightning dancing across his warhammer. “Can’t believe my luck,” he said, stepping closer. “Little Karly, of all people. And a werewolf, no less.” He chuckled darkly. “Always knew you were a little furry.”

  Laughter rippled through the group. Even Ratatoskr, perched on Karl’s shoulder, squeaked with amusement, though the rest of Karl’s crew had no idea what that meant.