"Hydro…" The excitable voice sputtered to a halt as a firebolt blasted the driving game to pieces. The fiery pieces struck a nearby cabinet for a racing game, lighting the aged wood ablaze.
"What power! And she's just playing with me," Yareli thought. The fire from the collateral of their fight was spreading quick. Yareli feared it wasn't long until the entire building went aflame. Worse, the maze of arcade games blocked her path, making dodging rather difficult.
Fire burned in her chest as several blasts connected, dropping her to one knee. She still hadn't recovered from her previous fight with Wilson.
"Tsk. Fight better than that. You're making this too easy," Reine said, slinging her gun across her shoulder.
Yareli charged, but a shot to the leg, sending her tumbling to the floor. Her opponent shoot her twice in the chest and Fenrir's transformation failed, her armor dissipating into nothing. She collapsed, flames surrounding her, eager to engulf her.
"And that's that," Reine said. "I hope Doctor Halvorsen gives me a better fight."
Father? Rage blinded Yareli's vision, and she pushed herself to stand. It'd been a calculated insult, but she was too furious to care. Despite her terrible relationship with him, Yareli refused to allow anyone to touch him. The sudden lunge caught Reine by surprise. For several seconds, they fought over Hel's weapon. Despite the discrepancy in strength, Yareli's grip refused to break.
"Just a little closer." Yareli's hand reached to remove the Uhyre Key from the weapon's base. A support beam dropped behind them. The flames crept ever closer, their boundless appetite hungry to consume all. They'd get caught in the Data Pirate's Den's death throes if they didn't escape soon. An old beat-'em-up game crumpled when a sudden punch drove Yareli back, leaving her helpless on the floor.
"You are persistent. It's a good thing I'm killing you now," Reine said coldly, standing over Yareli with her gun pointed at her exposed skull. Her helmet had fallen off during the scuffle.
"Late president—what did you mean?" Reine's offhand earlier comment about President Wilson had bothered Yareli.
"Mark Wilson is dead. I killed him," Reine said, confirming Yareli's worst fears. Her voice held not an ounce of regret. She'd enjoyed the deed. What the hell was this girl? "And you're next."
Yareli's head slumped. In her condition, she couldn't fight back. But she took some comfort knowing that with Wilson gone, Ymir's Ragnarök plan had hit a serious snag. Could it survive without a visionary like its late president? Yareli went to her grave without regret.
"Who am I kidding?" Yareli thought. "Of course, I have regrets." She'd made a terrible mess of her relationship with Johan and the other Jotnars. While still furious about their deception, her anger seemed pointless on her deathbed. And she'd failed to protect her father or untangle the web between them.
"Goodbye."
Hel howled as a blade slashed across her chest from nowhere.
Yareli glanced up to find Abbey, donned in her Valkyrie armor, standing protectively over her, guarding her with the Valkyrie's life.
"What are you doing, Abbey?" Reine asked, her voice icy. "Isn't Fenrir an enemy?"
"She's also the doctor's daughter." Despite the difference in power, Abbey stood ready to fight. "It doesn't sit well with me."
"Your death warrant," Reine said, showing no hesitation in pointing her weapon at a former ally.
The emergency sirens blared in the distance, growing louder by the second. The building shuddered. For a tense moment, Yareli feared it would collapse. It thankfully didn't—but it wouldn't last long.
Abbey stood her ground, ready to fight despite the dangerous circumstances. The two combatants remained stationary, their eyes locked as the fire blazed around them and the sirens drew closer.
"Fine. We'll settle this later, Fenrir," Reine said, lowering her weapon. "It was too easy, anyway. I'll be watching, Ilma. And Abbey—I won't hesitate to destroy any of you Valkyries if you impede me again."
Glass shattered as the Ymir idol dove through a nearby window, disappearing into the chilly night air.
"Let's go." Abbey reached down, pulling Yareli into a fireman's carry. The floor trembled beneath them, but the Valkyrie held firm. She seemed to have some training in search and rescue. Her wings extended, and she flew through the window Hel had smashed.
If Yareli had a heart, it'd be soaring as they took to the air, flying high over the burning Data Pirate's Den. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Emergency vehicles stood parked around the bar, and firemen rushed to attach a hose to a nearby hydrant. Water shot from their hoses as they battled the blaze. Thankfully, no one noticed the two women hovering above, flying in the opposite direction.
After several blocks, Abbey flew toward a roof and dropped Yareli. "Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine." Yareli struggled to stand, but pride made her straighten. They stood on the roof of what seemed like an office building. Abbey tapped her helmet, speaking to someone.
"I've awoken the doctor. He needs to know about Reine going rogue."
"Good plan." Yareli paused, hesitant to speak her terrible news. "Reine told me she killed President Wilson."
"What?" Abbey retreated a step, stunned. She hurriedly spoke into her comm. "Doctor Halvorsen says he knows nothing about this. Are you sure?"
"It's what she told me." Yareli could only offer a shrug.
"It can't be. She'd never…" Abbey looked troubled, her eyes fretful. Reine had once been the Valkyrie's friend. For her to be a crazed killer was inconceivable. The entire ordeal left a bitter taste in Yareli's mouth.
"I'll talk with the doctor. Watch yourself." Without another word, the Valkyrie flew off, leaving a downcast Yareli.
---
"You're back? Later than I expected. Did something happen? You've lost your helmet," Rebecca said, still working hard on her computer. She wrinkled her nose. "Why do you smell like smoke?"
"Gather everyone. It's important," Yareli replied, ignoring the question. "Call the detective, too."
"Okay." Rebecca tapped on her phone, summoning a drowsy Anderson. While displeased, Yareli's serious tone got his attention. In ten minutes, they'd all gathered, with Anderson on speaker.
"What's this about, Ilma?" a groggy Samuel asked.
"So, what did Simensen say?" a pensive Johan added, no doubt fearing what secrets the businessman had spilled.
"Simensen doesn't matter. Something terrible has happened." Yareli considered her troubles with the Jotnar and Simensen a distant tenth issue. "President Mark Wilson is likely dead."
"What?" Johan asked, flummoxed.
"Sorry?" Anderson said over the phone.
"Are you sure?" Rebecca scanned her news feed and several forums, frowning as she uncovered nothing.
"Ymir has likely covered it up. With their plans in such a late stage, it's not surprising," Yareli replied.
"Who told you this?" Anderson asked, not missing a beat.
"His killer herself." Yareli paused, realizing how insane she'd sound if she named Wilson's killer out loud. It seemed beyond farfetched, so she changed tactics. "She stole the newest Ragnadriver and tried to kill me. Calls herself Kamen Rider Hel. The Data Pirate's Den got burned down in our scuffle."
"Another Kamen Rider?" Johan said, amazed.
"Oh my god, you're right." Rebecca stared at a text message the bar owner, Alex, had sent her. It showed a picture of the burned-out remains of the bar. The hacker girl redoubled her efforts in searching for info about Wilson's death.
"Huh. Apparently, there was an attempt on President Wilson's life," Rebecca said, reading. "No one got hurt, but someone placed a small bomb in his office. There's a short article about it, but the details are vague. Says it's an ongoing investigation. Nothing about Wilson getting hurt, though."
"So President Wilson is dead!" Samuel said, both astonished and excited. "Stands to reason."
"Whoa, let's not jump to conclusions," Anderson said. "They only claimed to be Wilson's killer. I'll dig on my end. Well, Ilma, who attacked you? Don't keep us in suspense."
Yareli grimaced. "Reine Blouin."
Johan almost burst out laughing at the absurdity of the statement. "What?" His friends gave similar incredulous looks.
"Really?" Thankfully, the detective wasn't as skeptical, remaining thoughtful instead. For a police officer, nobody was beyond suspicion. "Did she mention why?"
"You're not believing this, right? She's a pop star and Ymir's breadwinner! Why would she kill Wilson?" Johan said, remaining obstinate.
"She's Mallory Cotillard's friend and near sister. They grew up in the same orphanage. She blames Ymir—and me—for her death."
This caught everyone's attention. Yareli heard scratching from Anderson's end, presumably as he took notes. She gave her friends a brief description of what had happened at the Data Pirate's Den.
"No, this can't be right." Johan palmed his forehead, fighting back a headache. "It's utter nonsense!"
"I suppose it explains why she became an idol." While still doubtful, Rebecca seemed more open to the odd story. "As a cover?"
"It's a plausible explanation." Anderson paused before uttering a curse. "Sorry, but I need to cut this meeting short. I'm getting a call from work. I'll look into this. Thanks for the lead, Ilma."
Moments later, the detective hung up. The room broke into a buzz of chatter, debating the facts Yareli had presented.
"I told you she was no good, Johan," Samuel said, not hiding his smug satisfaction. "Terrible music, terrible soul."
"No, the whole story is impossible! She must be an impersonator. It's the only explanation!" Johan shot back, and the two squabbled while Rebecca meditated.
Yareli watched in amusement before pausing as someone placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Are you okay, Yareli?" Gramps asked, still using the name he'd given her ages ago. It brought Yareli an odd comfort. "You've suffered quite an ordeal."
"I'm fine. I'd hoped to put Mallory's passing behind me, but I suppose that was naïve." While it had been a terrible accident, it did little to assuage her guilt.
"Death hurts people. Humans aren't islands. Their lives touch many others, and loss diminishes everyone," Gramps' voice held an inner pain, knowing death's sting all too well from his long years. "Worse is when a party feels wronged and demands vengeance. Some people allow it to turn them into monsters."
"I'll stop her. She's a cold-blooded murderer," Yareli said with feeling. "We had our differences, but Wilson was my father's dear friend. He deserves justice."
Her second father nodded, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Your father has his faults, but he raised a wonderful young woman."
"Ah, thanks." If Yareli had cheeks, they'd be on fire right now. "But I do have a problem."
"Oh?"
"My sword got destroyed." Yareli winced, recalling how she'd lost it in the remains of the Data Pirate's Den. If it hadn't been melted, tons of rubble had buried it. It'd be difficult to retrieve, regardless.
Gramps stroked his smooth, wrinkled chin. "Is that right? I'll see what I can do."
"I'm a lot weaker without it." It'd make her fight with Hel pathetically one-sided.
Yareli pondered Johan's sword, briefly considering going to the Ophion president for help—an idea she dismissed as soon as it formed. She refused to run to that sleazeball with her tail between her legs.
The older man muttered to himself and pulled himself into his favorite chair, tapping at his ancient computer.
Speaking of Johan… Yareli dreaded this conversation, but they needed to resolve the issue, regardless of the outcome.
"Johan, may I speak to you for a moment?"
"Sure." The Jotnar gave the fakest smile Yareli had ever seen. They exited Gramps's shop for a back alley.
"So, what's up?" Johan asked, his tone light.
"Quit the BS. You know what's up. You've been working for Simensen behind my back this entire time. That's why he has a Ragnadriver!"
For a moment, Yareli feared he'd offer some lame excuse. Instead, he nodded, shamefaced. "You're right. He's the one who hired us for that first job in the secret Ymir lab."
"Well?"
"Well, what? I'm sorry for lying to you, but he was paying us. Unlike some people, we needed bread to eat."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Yareli asked, her temper reaching a boiling point.
"None of us Jotnar were born rich like you, Ilma. Some of us needed to dirty our hands to survive!"
"It doesn't matter," Yareli said, refusing to budge. "You gave dangerous technology to a slimeball like Simensen! Do you even consider the consequences?"
"That's why I hesitated to tell you. I knew you'd get all moral on me."
"Because I'm right."
"Spoiled little princess." Johan ground his teeth together. "You rich people are all the same. You don't know what it's like pulling yourself from the gutter! Morals mean little when you're trying to survive."
"No, it matters more than ever!"
"And why are you complaining?" Johan gestured toward the sword Simensen gave him. "It worked out in the end. Didn't Simensen save your sorry behind? Hm?"
"It still isn't right." It was Yareli's turn to grind her teeth together.
"Whatever," Johan said, jerking his head away.
"Whatever." Yareli's vision went red, and she stomped away, not wanting to argue any further. She needed to get away.
After returning to her room for another biker helmet, she rode off on her motorcycle. After its terrible wound, Bifrost's streets had mostly returned to normal. Most roads were clear of debris from the previous day's riots, and people had resumed their daily routines. Yet, Yareli still sensed an odd tension in the air, putting everyone on edge.
"What's with today?" It was barely past dawn, and the day had already proved a miserable one. Yareli spent the next hour racing across Bifrost's downtown streets to clear her head.
"Did I overreact?"
The Jotnar possessed a very different view of the world. From the scattered details she'd learned of Johan's past, it hadn't been a happy one. He'd abandoned everything to find a new life in Bifrost. After some dead-end jobs, he'd ended up in a gang. While she couldn't condone his actions, Yareli supposed she could understand them. Still, it rankled her that Johan had lied to her. If he apologized, maybe she'd find it in her heart to forgive him.
---
"Doctor Halvorsen is a certifiable genius!" Doctor Nomikos announced for the umpteenth time. Once he'd learned about the duplicate Ilma, Nomikos couldn't stop gushing about the achievement. ID-1 was so human-like, it had fooled everyone.
"Just imagine the implications," Nomikos continued. "With little effort, human beings can upload their consciousness to robot duplicates and live forever!"
"Yes, Doctor," Lauper replied, keeping a hold on her temper. "First, can we focus on resurrecting our president?" She had little desire to live forever. All she cared about was bringing her friend back and creating the peaceful world her daughter Rebecca deserved.
"Right." Nomikos coughed, fiddling with his computer console.
Wires grew from Surtur's computer bank, connecting to a blank-faced dummy sitting on a nearby chair. Its limbs were gangly, with exposed metal joints. On the surface, it barely seemed different from a mannequin you'd find in a clothing store window.
While Lauper didn't understand the science, the dummy contained nanomachines that would duplicate muscle, skin, and fat to specified instructions. In short, it would recreate Mark Wilson's body once they inserted his personality.
In theory, this should restore their president like nothing had ever happened. They were lucky that Doctor Halvorsen had a prototype in storage. Otherwise, it'd have taken months to construct a dummy body. While this version had slight bugs that the Ilma copy didn't possess, it otherwise suited their needs.
"Ah, so here you are, Jessica," a newcomer said. "I've been trying to contact you for the last three hours."
"Oh, Szymon, I didn't realize you'd arrived in Bifrost already."
Ymir's vice president was smooth-faced, with handsome dark features and in his early middle years. While his dazzling, piercing blue eyes showed unbridled kindness, Lauper also knew they hid a keen shrewdness. Though a decent man, Ymir's vice president was more an opportunist than a visionary like their late president, Wilson.
"I arrived an hour ago. They told me you were here." Gertruda gazed around the laboratory with equal parts wonderment and incredulity. "It seems you've been busy."
"Someone has to continue the work after the president's passing." Lauper kept her expression stony, restraining her whirling emotions. "With Surtur, we can restore President Wilson back to life."
"I heard rumblings of an attack on the president's life. There are news crews swarming outside demanding answers," Gertruda replied. "Imagine if they saw this. You can't be serious. Wilson is dead. We should focus on the future, not some crazy science experiment."
Lauper gazed away. "It needs to be done."
"Have you been sleeping?" Gertruda's face scrunched with concern. "You don't look yourself, no offense. You're not thinking straight. Stop the experiment and get some rest. We can discuss this matter when you're fresh."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Doctor Nomikos said, his voice incredulous. "We're on the brink of the breakthrough of the century—no, the millennia!"
"You've both had a rough day. President Wilson's death stung me too," Gertruda replied. "But bringing him back is beyond a long shot."
"We have the data from his brain. While slightly incomplete, it should be enough to reconstruct his mind," Doctor Nomikos said. "Fenrir's mind was in worse condition, and her memories returned in full!"
"And another thing—you still haven't explained what this Fenrir business is about." Gertruda didn't hide his annoyance. "Apparently, much has happened since I left Bifrost."
It was true. Lauper was exhausted, so focused on restoring Wilson that she'd forgone sleep or food. Was Gertruda right? Was she only pursuing this impossible goal out of desperate grief, having lost all perspective?
"You're right, as usual, Szymon." Lauper paused, noting the dirty look Doctor Nomikos gave her. "But we have to at least try. Give us five minutes, and we'll go for a late breakfast. I want to talk with Wilson—see what remains of his mind."
"Okay." While unhappy, Gertruda didn't argue. "Do your experiment."
"The transfer is ready—beginning now." Nomikos pressed a control console, and everyone watched the robot body for any sign of movement. Several minutes passed in utter silence as they waited with bated breath.
Then, a miracle happened.
The skin of the doll shifted. It coalesced, taking shape into a vague facsimile of a human face. Flabby flesh filled its skeletal body, strengthening into hardened muscle from years of avid boxing. Before the figure's face had finished sculpting, its eyes shot open. The irises blazed an almost radiant orange. Lauper's heart skipped a beat as Copy Wilson surveyed the room.
"Where am I? Who are you?"
The face finally solidified into Wilson's proper features, but Lauper frowned when she heard his voice. It contained a certain mechanical quality.
"What's wrong with his voice?" Lauper asked. "Why are his eyes orange? That wasn't Wilson's eye color."
Nomikos tensed and grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Remember, this was a prototype. It remained unused because it didn't match Halvorsen's specifications to revive his daughter."
Great. Still, these were problems easy enough to bypass.
"Hello, Mark. It's me, Jessica. Do you recognize me?"
"And of course, surely you recognize me—your old friend Szymon?" Gertruda asked, stepping next to her.
Lauper's heart seized as Wilson stared at her, unsure if she found recognition there. The tension hung like a thick fog, refusing to lift. The further she searched Wilson's eyes, the less humanity she could find. Finally, Wilson spoke.
"Error. You are unknown to me." Wilson's eyes passed over her like she didn't matter. "You never answered my question."
"We're in the Surtur server room, Mark. This might be a little confusing, but you've suffered a terrible accident," Lauper said, keeping her voice steady and compassionate. "Your memories might be a little jumbled."
"Yeah, the original transfer of your memories wasn't complete, but this shouldn't be an issue," Doctor Nomikos added.
"You are in error," Wilson said.
Lauper backed away in fright as the straps holding the duplicate in place burst into flame. They melted into plastic goop. Wilson stood up, showing not a hint of emotion. He didn't even twitch when molten plastic dripped across his naked chest.
"I am not incomplete. My purpose is known. You are also in error about my name. I am Surtur, the Flame-Bringer."
Wilson extended a hand, and flame gathered around his palm.
Doctor Nomikos screamed as his lab coat caught fire. He howled and rolled, trying to put himself out. Lauper gasped in horror and disgust as the scientist's skin charred and blistered before her eyes. His flaming body ceased all movement—even breathing.
"Doctor!"
What was happening? She didn't protest as Gertruda pulled her from the room. In his hand was his phone, yelling for reinforcements.
Wilson continued to stand in place, examining his new body. He flexed his fingers, testing its properties, and flame danced between them.
When he glanced over Doctor Nomikos's burned-out corpse, the Copy Wilson showed his first smile—satisfied with his handiwork. It contained no emotion, only the cold logic that he had completed his task.
Wilson extended his arms, revealing his power and majesty. The room's temperature became scorching. Unable to bear the heat any longer, Surtur's servers exploded. The lights failed next, casting the room in darkness.
Only Wilson's form remained illuminated, glowing with radiant energy—mighty and terrible.
"And now," he declared, "Ragnarök shall begin."
Oh my God. What have we done?