Kara’s sense of danger flared. Karl surged forward again, but the Titan Hook shocked him once more.

  Desperate, Karl scooped dirt from the ground and flung it forward to Elf Leap. He vanished from the hooks. Before he could reach Kara, the Emperor was already there.

  In a blink, without a weapon, the Emperor moved with impossible speed, snapping the bones in Karl’s hands, elbows, and femurs. Karl collapsed beside the charred remains of the Vikings slaughtered earlier, writhing in agony.

  “What do you want from me?” Karl screamed, pain exploding through him with every second.

  “An ultimatum,” the Emperor replied. He returned to Kara and withdrew an ornate dagger glowing with an inner light, adorned with gold and ruby inlays and a sun carved into its hilt. “I borrowed this from my son for the occasion,” the Emperor said, kneeling behind Kara as she shouted and strained against her bonds. Through the Pack Link, Karl knew this was truly his mind and that Kara was suffering with him.

  “I want to see just what kind of man you are,” the Emperor continued, carefully peeling back her flesh around her ribs. “So often we reveal what we really are in hell.”

  Karl lay broken and helpless as the Emperor broke Kara’s ribs, slow and precise. Kara bit her tongue to keep from screaming until blood ran from her lips. From what Karl knew of Blood Eagle torture, the Emperor would reach for her lungs to drape over her shoulders.

  “Use your abilities!” Karl cried.

  Kara understood and activated her Moonlight Meter, becoming a werewolf. Instead of breaking free, the bindings reinforced around her wrists and ankles, trapping her in place. She snapped her head toward the Emperor, trying to reach him. He placed one hand on her throat and forced her down, pinning her as if a mountain weighed on her back.

  Moments later, Kara reverted to human form, the transformation useless.

  “I have the power to grant her all the Glory she needs and for Odin to accept her,” the Emperor said, finishing his flaying of her back; he was seconds away from cutting out her lungs. Kara did not scream, though her body shook violently. “You need only decide her future, and I’ll stop the Blood Eagle.” The Emperor paused, the dagger dripping blood as his hidden gaze fixed on Karl. “If you decide to let her become one, you will lose her forever.”

  He leaned closer. “And once Odin takes her, she and your child will be gone. You’ll be alone, able to see her only when you die.”

  The Emperor straightened.

  “Or, you can say no, and I will suppress her ability to achieve the quest. So, what will it be, Karl?”

  If the Emperor had asked this question before they left for Sweden, Karl would have said no to keep her with him forever.

  But now, watching Kara strain beneath the Emperor’s blade, and feeling through the Pack Link how desperately she wanted to be a Valkyrie, even if it meant leaving him behind, Karl knew he could not hold her back. She would be dead inside every day if he did, even as a mother.

  He had to let her go, unlike the Emperor.

  Karl drew a deep, heavy breath, briefly forgetting the agony in his shattered arms and legs. There was no more waiting for the end. He had to choose.

  “Let her become a Valkyrie,” he whispered, blood spilling from his lips into the dirt.

  He looked up to see that the Emperor stopped performing the Blood Eagle. The Emperor rose and sheathed the golden blade, then summoned his golden pilum, humming with electric energy.

  “If you can truly live without your beloved,” the Emperor said, “then you will be one of the strongest men in history.” There was a flicker of envy in his voice as he looked between Kara and Karl.

  The Emperor leveled the pilum at her neck. “If you win, I will grant her the Glory to become a Valkyrie. See you in tomorrow’s games,” he said, and severed her head in a single motion.

  Karl and Kara woke at the same instant, hearts racing. Moonlight glistened off the sweat on their bare skin as they sat upright. Kara’s eyes met Karl’s, both of them drenched in tears.

  The dream was too horrific to fully grasp, but she was alive, her neck whole. “Oh, Karl,” Kara said, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight as she wept. They stayed like that for hours, neither finding the strength to speak.

  They simply rested in each other’s arms, perhaps for the last night of their lives.

  The next morning, Karl did not receive a well-rested bonus, leaving his Mark of Sæhrímnir tattoo inactive for the day. If he died in the Games, that would be the end. The only comfort was that he ate two slices of his Swedish meringue cake.

  As they donned their armor and strapped on weapons, Karl noticed the improved durability, likely from Titus working through the night. A bundle of new arrows sat beside his bed, along with resupplies of Venomcore Fanghead and Resonant Pullhead Arrows.

  He lifted a set of watery blue arrows etched with Greek glyphs that shifted along the tips.

  Item: Currentsteel Tidemarch Arrows (Dei) — Damage: 20 per arrow. On hit, releases a violent burst of superheated steam and compressed water in a 3-meter radius, dealing 50 water/steam damage and knocking enemies backward 6 meters. While submerged, the explosion radius increases by +50%, and knockback distance is doubled.

  Kara, fastening her Spangenhelm, touched one to check its effects.

  “That should help today,” she said with a weak smile. She looked as exhausted as he felt. Karl kissed her deeply before they went downstairs.

  Breakfast waited for them. Alongside several pots of coffee that Livia and the slave girls had started earlier, there were eggs, bacon, fruit, toast with butter and lingonberry jam, and blood pudding cakes. It felt oddly American and Swedish at the same time.

  “Does it remind you of the modern world?” Livia asked, dusting her apron as Karl and Kara joined Björn and Mýra at the table, the children already eating.

  “Yes,” Karl said, smiling as he sipped some coffee.

  “Can I have more cake?” Justus asked, earning a giggle from Sabina and an eye roll from Constantia.

  “Cake is not for breakfast,” Livia said, making Titus chuckle.

  “But the Trickster’s having it,” Tullus said from Titus’s arms.

  “That’s why he’s fat,” Kara said, making all the kids laugh.

  “You know I can’t become obese now, right?” the Trickster said, his red mechanical eyes glaring at Karl as he shoved down another slice of Mýra’s spiced cake.

  Karl still couldn’t understand his obsession with that cake.

  “That’s a good thing,” Karl said, offering a tired smile as he drank generous amounts of coffee, his Stamina increasing along with his heart rate.

  “I tried to take inspiration from the Emperor’s descriptions of modern life,” Livia said as she joined them for their last breakfast together. “And the blood pudding recipe you shared with me,” she added, pointing to the gelatinous tray of puddings, which all the Vikings, including Kara, immediately seized and began scarfing down.

  “These taste wonderful,” Karl said. It was mostly true; it wasn’t as savory as he would have made it, but it was still an impressive attempt. The pudding was spiced with black pepper, thyme, and cinnamon, mostly firm, with traces of oatmeal and beef fat.

  Karl let himself enjoy the food, holding Kara’s hand with his left as she traced his fingers with her right. It reminded him of the divine gifts and Skill Points he had sacrificed to restore her hand after Fenrir had eaten it.

  She did not speak to him about the nightmare. That didn’t matter. As long as she knew how he felt about her, that was enough.

  A crushing weight settled in his chest as he realized that if she died today, it would be the end for her and their baby. If they lived, the Emperor would grant her the remaining Glory to become a Valkyrie.

  Either way, this was their last day.

  His appetite vanished as the gravity of the moment grew heavier by the second. He dimly noticed the children talking about staging a mini gladiator fight in the backyard, Björn giving Marcus and Quintus tips on forming a shield wall, while Sabina and Constantia debated which gladiator had been the most dashing.

  Constantia avoided mentioning Sporus. The absence hung over everyone, including Karl.

  With a little time before they left, Karl spent the last of his four Skill Points. He put one into Endurance of the Einherjar, tripling his Stamina and Health regeneration, and invested the rest into his dagger abilities, knowing how often he relied on them.

  Dagger (+3): lvl 5

  Knife attacks deal 40% more damage, and slashing speed is increased by 10% for quicker strikes.

  Attacks cost less Stamina (4 per strike).

  Landing consecutive strikes increases damage by 5% per hit, up to +15% bonus damage.

  Knives gain a +5% chance to critically hit, dealing 1.5x damage on a successful critical strike.

  Endurance of the Einherjar (+1): lvl 3

  Increases your Stamina and Health regeneration by 3x (Every 3.33 seconds, regain 3 points for each).

  “Will you be joining us for the final game?” Björn asked once breakfast ended.

  “I don’t think that would be wise,” Titus said, glancing at Livia.

  “It may sound silly,” Livia said, folding her hands in her lap, “but I had a terrible dream last night.” Karl and Kara exchanged a look as she continued. “I don’t think we should go today. It felt like a warning, especially for the children, to stay far away.”

  Silence followed her words.

  “You’re wise to trust your instincts,” Mýra said, earning a small smile from Livia.

  “Just make sure you come back so you can bake us more cake,” Titus said, trying to lighten the mood as he smiled at Karl.

  “We’ll do our best,” Karl replied, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Livia’s dream was tied to theirs, even without the Rune of the Night-Mare.

  At the doorway, Kara lingered, her eyes fixed on the children as they gathered around Livia, who rested a hand on her belly. Kara’s grip tightened around Karl’s as Titus escorted them out.

  “If I don’t see you again,” Titus said, “then I’ll see you in Elysium. Just make sure to visit from Valhalla from time to time.”

  Björn and Titus clasped arms, and then the man did the same with Karl. The blacksmith’s grip was thick and powerful, and strangely reassuring.

  “Thank you for everything,” Karl said, feeling the finality in his voice.

  “I should be thanking you,” Titus replied with a smile. “You’ve given me more children. I’ve always wanted to be a father, and caring for Livia’s children has been the greatest blessing of this second life. Now my heart has grown with these orphans, and soon, my own.”

  They all looked back at the children, laughing and playing as Livia sat reading to them.

  Ratatoskr, perched on Karl’s shoulder, spoke up. “I’ll make sure to visit, even if these guys die.”

  Titus chuckled.

  “Thanks,” Karl said dryly. “How reassuring.”

  “Good luck,” Titus said. “May Fors Fortuna be in your favor.”

  40

  FREE FOR ALL

  Karl and his friends were treated like kings on their way to the Colosseum. Hardly a minute passed after they left Titus’s house when they were swarmed by wealthy fans praising their name.

  Ratatoskr relished in the praise, jumping off Karl’s shoulder repeatedly to sign with an inked claw his signature on the breasts of willing women. The ladies weren’t used to the modern celebrity signing move, but they were enthused nonetheless.

  It was only because of Björn summoning a Bifrost barrier on their right side and threatening the left side with his glowing battle ax that they were able to push through the horde of fans.

  They are rather intense this morning, Kara noted once they reached the guarded, descending ramp to the hypogeum.

  Maybe it’s from all that free bread, Karl replied, seeing imperial clerics still handing out the strange stuff.

  Looking up one last time at the Colosseum tower, he could see that only one floor remained on top of the original three rows.

  Today was the day.

  Although he felt no fear, he still felt the adrenaline coursing through him with unrelenting aggression; it didn’t help that he had chugged nearly a whole pot of coffee, too.

  Walking down the damp, smooth ramp, illuminated by the flickering sconces, Karl became unnerved by how quiet the waiting room was. Only seven hundred gladiators remained. Oddly, when Karl and his friends joined them at the center, almost everyone complained at the same time about how hungry they were.

  “Say, can I have an extra slice of your cake, Karl?” Ratatoskr said on his shoulder.

  Karl frowned. “What happened to your two slices? I made you plenty.”

  The Trickster patted his metal belly. “I guess I’m just a bit hungrier on game day. You know what they say about carb-loading.”

  “Carp loading?” Björn asked, fingering his chest armor, just over the spot that the werewolf Lagertha had torn deep gashes into.

  “Ignore him,” Karl said, trying to smile despite the jitters.

  Kara gripped his hand and gave him a tender smile as Björn and Mýra shared one last embrace. Above them, the ceiling began to open, and the hypogeum platform started rising toward the final floor.

  “I love you,” she whispered to Karl, gently grabbing him by his Hrimnir’s Crown and pulling him in for a kiss. Karl’s stomach filled with butterflies and a longing for more, as it did whenever they touched. He was breathless by the time she pulled away.

  His gaze dropped to her belly, where their child grew. He had no idea what would happen to the baby if—or rather when—Kara became a Valkyrie, assuming they lived. His only hope was that their child, boy or girl, would be allowed to live in Valhalla.

  “When you leave,” Karl whispered, holding her close by the hips, “and if our child is a girl, will you have her visit me as a Valkyrie?”

  Kara looked at him, speechless. Tears gathered at the rims of her eyes and traced the blue tattooed lines that framed them. She nodded without a word.

  As the platform ascended to the arena floor, Karl was surprised to see it flooded with natural sunlight blazing down from above. He had grown used to the arena ceilings of the lower floors, but with this being the last, there was no need. The Colosseum Tower had shrunk back to its normal size, three massive tiers packed with bloodthirsty spectators, not a seat left empty.

  High above them flew the red dragon, Umbra, accompanied by a flock of golden mechanical eagles, clearly meant to prevent any escape. What struck Karl as most unsettling, however, was the simplicity of the arena floor. It was nothing more than a flat blanket of sand, just as it was in the beginning, before the hexagonal platforms had risen on earlier floors.

  He had expected something far grander for the final phase. Instead, it was simple. Too simple.

  Seeing the Emperor and his two sons seated in their box near the arena floor, Karl felt a chill crawl over his skin. Memories of the Emperor severing Kara’s head surged back, and he knew how easily it could happen again with that unmatched strength.

  Karl and the remaining gladiators stayed close together, seeing no reason to spread out with their numbers so few. The emptiness of the vast arena made the sight eerie.

  Karl tightened his grip on his Tentacle Bow, keeping a Currentsteel Tidemark Arrow ready, knowing he would likely need something powerful immediately. He only had around twenty of them. He would have to be careful.

  As on the previous floors, the Emperor raised his hand for silence. Like obedient sheep, the crowd fell still.

  “Welcome to the final round of the Colosseum Tower,” the Emperor announced, his voice magically amplified across the stands.

  The roar of applause that followed nearly burst Karl’s eardrums. The crowd hungered for destruction, and the Colosseum itself seemed to tremble with anticipation. When the noise finally died down, the Emperor spoke again.

  “Only one team shall remain victorious today. In Rome, there is only the victor and those he conquers. There is no room for second place, or anything less than total triumph.”

  The gladiators glanced at one another with growing suspicion.

  Then the Emperor withdrew a single loaf of bread, the scent carrying all the way to the arena floor. “I regret to inform you, my beloved people, that the Moratus Bread will never again flow freely to you.”

  The Colosseum erupted, this time with fury—shouts, threats, and violence shaking the stands.

  Ratatoskr growled low, his hatred unusually raw.

  “I’m going to kill whoever took my bread,” the Trickster snarled.

  Karl glanced at Björn and Mýra. They were the only ones not reacting with the same feral intensity as the rest of the arena.

  Beneath the lowest bleachers, metal platforms and diagonal ramps extended outward, granting easy access to the arena floor from all sides. Karl’s Moonlight Meter spiked, preparing him for whatever was coming.

  “I know the culprit behind such treasonous acts,” the Emperor continued, lifting the loaf high.

  In a blur of lightning-fast motion, he summoned his pilum through the bread, skewering it like a kebab before hurling it downward with flawless precision.

  Karl had no time to react.

  The golden pilum tore through five gladiators directly in front of him and slammed into the sand at his feet in a spray of blood.

  Contestants Remaining: 695

  “Karl Svensson is the villain to blame,” the Emperor announced.

  At once, the entire arena—audience and gladiators alike—turned on Karl, weapons raised and ready to destroy him.

  The Trickster was the first to attack.

  The metal squirrel whipped out his stolen katana and slashed with all his terrible might, the Japanese blade crashing into Karl’s Moltenveil bracer. The Dwarven dark steel was enough to keep the blade from severing his bow hand. But the Trickster’s rage, packed into his small body and amplified by Dwarven gears and pistons, crippled his left hand.