The Farmhouse - Smallville, Kansas
Ernst was finally free.
He had handed over the authority of Devil's Cabin to Chris.
He was initially worried about this decision.
He had shadowed Chris for the first few trading cycles.
His fears were entirely unfounded.
Chris managed the negotiations with terrifying, flawless precision.
The boy was a natural predator in the boardroom of souls.
Ernst felt a sense of liberation.
But with absolute freedom came the creeping shadow of boredom.
Spending his days cultivating his vineyard and his nights with Tina was idyllic, but Ernst's mind craved friction.
"Red Queen," Ernst murmured, sitting on the porch and swirling a glass of the Elixir of Life.
"Any news on the hidden groups I asked you to find?"
"Negative, Dr. Ernst," the AI replied smoothly.
"However, during my global sweep, I stumbled upon a peculiar biological anomaly you might find interesting."
Ernst set his glass down.
"Report."
A holographic dossier materialized over the porch railing.
"Subject name: Elliot Randolph," the Red Queen recited.
"Currently operating as a professor of Norse mythology. He is being actively hunted by several national intelligence agencies."
Ernst scanned the file.
"He has lived for centuries," the AI continued.
"He possesses physical strength and durability five to six times the human baseline. His cellular regeneration allows him to heal non-fatal trauma within an hour."
Ernst tapped the glowing projection. He knew exactly what this was.
"He's an Asgardian," Ernst whispered.
He recalled the lore of his past life.
Elliot Randolph was an Asgardian mason who had stayed behind on Earth centuries ago.
He was the architect of the Berserker Staff, a weapon that tapped into the dark, feral rage of the human heart to grant temporary, god-like strength.
But Ernst didn't care about the staff. He cared about biology.
Asgardians looked entirely human, yet their cellular density, lifespan, and physical thresholds were exponentially superior.
Ernst wanted to dissect that disparity. He wanted to understand the genetic architecture of a god.
"Pinpoint his coordinates, Red Queen," Ernst commanded, standing up.
"Coordinates locked. Rural Ireland."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Rural Town - Ireland
Ernst materialized in the shadows of a quiet, cobblestone alleyway.
He waited until dusk to approach the small, inconspicuous townhouse.
As he raised his hand to knock, his hyper-evolved senses caught a faint, rapid vibration from within.
Someone was moving with terrifying speed.
Ernst extended his perception just as the back window shattered.
Elliot Randolph vaulted into the alley, carrying a heavy duffel bag, and sprinted toward the edge of town.
"Impressive instincts," Ernst murmured.
He didn't bother shouting. He gave chase.
Elliot moved with an agility that defied his middle-aged appearance.
He was fast, but Ernst was merely playing with him.
Ten kilometers outside the town, the terrain opened up into empty, rolling green hills.
Ernst accelerated.
The air warped around him. He crossed the distance in a microsecond, executing a sharp aerial flip to land squarely in Elliot's path.
Elliot skidded to a halt, his chest heaving slightly.
"Mr. Randolph," Ernst smiled, projecting an aura of absolute calm.
"There is no need to run. We can have a very fruitful conversation. I propose a mutually beneficial collaboration."
Elliot didn't relax. He dropped the duffel bag, his eyes hardening.
"I don't see any grounds for discussion," Elliot spat.
"And I don't collaborate."
Elliot sighed bitterly. After centuries of hiding, a single slip-up had brought the hounds to his door.
He had prepared for extraction, but this hunter was entirely different.
This man moved like lightning.
"Enough with the charade," Elliot growled, assuming a combat stance.
"You want my blood for your government labs. I've spent centuries enjoying the quiet life and Earth's delicacies. But today... let's revel."
Elliot's eyes burned with ancient, suppressed rage.
"I may be a glorified mason," Elliot roared, "but I am still of Asgard! I will not be caged like a beast!"
Before Ernst could correct the misunderstanding, the atmosphere violently ruptured.
A deafening, booming roar split the sky.
A massive column of blinding, kaleidoscopic light slammed down from the heavens, engulfing Elliot.
Ernst felt a terrifying, irresistible gravitational pull.
The sheer kinetic force of the beam dragged him inward.
He experienced a stomach-churning moment of absolute weightlessness.
Ernst recognized the exotic energy signature instantly. It was the Bifrost.
He smiled bitterly. He ceased all resistance.
He knew that fighting the Rainbow Bridge mid-transit could shatter the wormhole, violently scattering his atoms across the deepest, uncharted voids of the cosmos.
He let the light take him.
- - - - - - - - - -
The Bifrost Observatory - Asgard
The blinding colors vanished.
Ernst slammed feet-first onto a floor of solid, intricately carved gold.
He looked up.
He was standing inside a massive, spherical observatory overlooking a sprawling, majestic city suspended in the cosmos.
Standing before him on a central dais was a towering warrior clad in heavy, ornate golden armor.
He wielded a massive broadsword and possessed piercing, all-seeing orange eyes.
Heimdall. The Guardian of the Bridge.
Heimdall looked perplexed.
He had received a desperate, localized distress ping, a frequency that hadn't been utilized in a millennium.
Asgardian warriors operating off-world possessed the absolute privilege of calling the Bifrost for emergency extraction.
Failure to respond was considered treason.
Heimdall had opened the bridge for the stranded Asgardian, Elliot.
But he hadn't expected the human to be dragged along with him.
More alarmingly, Heimdall recognized the dangerous, compressed energy radiating from the human interloper.
Heimdall gripped his massive sword, leveling the heavy blade directly at Ernst.
"Release the Asgardian immediately," Heimdall's voice boomed, deep and resonant, "or face the absolute judgment of the realm."
Ernst sighed, taking a deliberate step back to relieve the immediate tension.
Elliot, recovering from the violent transit, scrambled to his feet and moved to stand beside Heimdall, glaring warily at Ernst.
Ernst casually brushed a speck of dust from his coat.
"Where exactly is this?" Ernst asked dryly, feigning ignorance.
"And who are you?"
Heimdall remained stoic, the tip of his sword unwavering.
"This is Asgard," Heimdall proclaimed.
"The realm eternal, ruled by Odin Allfather. Surrender your weapons and await His Majesty's judgment. He may show mercy for your trespass."
Ernst scoffed, his eyes flashing with irritation.
"Your arrogance is staggering," Ernst retorted.
"Surrender is never an option. And regarding trespassing, your citizen, initiated the conflict on my planet. I was dragged here against my will."
Heimdall glanced briefly at Elliot. The mason was breathing hard, clearly terrified of the man standing before them.
Heimdall didn't care about Earth's politics. His duty was to neutralize threats to the observatory.
"The fate of our citizens rests solely with the God-King," Heimdall stated coldly.
"Disarm. Surrender. Or die."
Ernst cracked his neck.
"A peaceful resolution was always a long shot," Ernst murmured.
With a flick of his wrists, two sleek, vibranium long-knives materialized in his hands, humming with lethal kinetic energy.
"In every realm across this universe," Ernst declared, dropping into a combat stance, "the size of the fist dictates the truth. The winner is king."
Heimdall and Elliot exchanged a grim look. They nodded simultaneously.
They lunged.
Heimdall swung the massive golden broadsword in a devastating, horizontal arc aimed to cleave Ernst in two.
Elliot drove forward, utilizing a heavy, blunt staff to sweep Ernst's legs.
Ernst moved with blinding, fluid grace.
He caught the colossal weight of Heimdall's sword with a cross-block of his left knife, the vibranium absorbing the kinetic shockwave.
Simultaneously, he drove his right knife downward, violently deflecting Elliot's staff.
Ernst spun.
He unleashed a blistering, rotational assault, forcing both Asgardians onto the defensive.
Heimdall and Elliot fought back-to-back.
They were gods, boasting centuries of combat experience.
Their weapons blurred, creating a desperate, defensive wall of gold and steel to weather Ernst's relentless storm.
The clash echoed through the observatory like thunder.
For ten minutes, the vault rang with the horrific screech of metal on metal.
Finally, the combatants broke apart, skidding across the golden floor to reassess.
Ernst stood perfectly straight. He wasn't even breathing heavily.
He looked entirely relaxed, casually twirling one of his knives.
The Asgardians were a different story.
Heimdall's pristine golden armor was gouged and shattered in a dozen places.
Deep, bleeding lacerations covered his arms.
Elliot was battered, bleeding heavily from his brow, his chest heaving with exhaustion.
Ernst raised his knives, preparing to finish the dissection.
Before he could strike, a deafening crack of thunder shook the observatory.
"Who dares defile the Bifrost?!" a booming, arrogant voice roared from the grand entrance.
"Let the Odinson answer this audacity!"
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