Bjorn, in his perfectly tailored, but undeniably new, persona as a Norse accountant, kept his face impassive. Shane, next to him, maintained the look of a slightly irritated, but ultimately agreeable, small business owner ready to sign a sponsorship deal. They walked through the polished concrete hallways of Olaf's training facility. The air hummed with the contained violence of professional athletes; heavy bags were pounded, weights clanged, and the sharp, rhythmic squeak of sneakers on the mat echoed from the main sparing room.
"So far, nothing," Shane murmured, his eyes flicking away from the athletes to scan the periphery, his internal screen working overtime checking for energy spikes or unnatural anchors.
"Even I am finding it strangely clean," Bjorn replied softly, adjusting the cuff of his jacket. "Considering who they are dealing with, I expected at least some residue from the Apex Negativa operative who previously interfered with El Toro."
They reached the office, less imposing than Shane might have expected, more like a functional executive suite. Olaf's manager, a lean man with hands perpetually crossed over his chest, greeted them with practiced professionalism. "Mr. Albright, Bjorn. Welcome. Olaf is just finishing up a call and will be right with you."
They settled into sterile faux-leather chairs. Bjorn and Shane exchanged glances while making polite conversation with the manager about the success of Olaf's recent fight. Shane ran a slow diagnostic through his system, checking the energy readings around them. Zero celestial interference.
Then the door opened again.
Olaf strode in, radiating raw physical power, looking every bit the champion Shane had seen on the screen. Trailing him was a man of sharp, expensive clothing—perhaps an agent or lawyer—and behind that one, the trainer.
The trainer was a study in contained avarice. His eyes didn't focus on the room, or even Olaf, but darted around like trapped insects. As he positioned himself slightly behind Olaf, whispering urgently, Shane's internal display, which had been blissfully clear, suddenly flashed crimson.
**TIE DETECTED: APEX NEGATIVA OPERATIVE.**
The whisper was cutting, critical: *"...a roofing company? Olaf, this is a distraction. You need focus. We can find a better sponsor, one that understands the commitment required. This man is a laborer—"*
Shane nudged Bjorn subtly with his elbow and whispered across the small space between their chairs. "Trainer. Direct tie to AN. High anxiety radiating from him."
Bjorn's expression didn't flicker, but his focus sharpened, his own internal sensors adjusting.
The meeting officially began. Shane, going over the contract highlights, laid out Albright Roofing's proposition: a substantial sponsorship fee contingent on Olaf attending community events—job fairs, motivational talks at the new satellite locations serving underserved areas.
Olaf listened intently, nodding once or twice. "The community work—I like that. Helping people build something solid. That resonates."
The suited agent nodded in agreement. "We see the value in community engagement, Mr. Albright. It builds a strong brand foundation."
But the trainer sneered. "A distraction! The man needs to train, not hand out flyers. He needs a sponsor who respects his time, not a guy who measures wood!"
As the trainer aggressively pushed against the terms, Bjorn subtly shifted his focus from the contract details to Olaf himself, running a deep, cautious scan. The energy he encountered was minimal, almost like listening to a radio station that was severely out of range—faint, static-laden, but undeniably *there*.
"It is the Raven God," Bjorn thought, the realization hitting him with cold certainty. "Or rather, the residue of him. Trapped, suppressed, maybe interacting through an object or a distant connection. But it's the signature."
The trainer, growing increasingly agitated by the lack of control, felt the pressure from Thorne's ultimatum boiling over. He saw the deal progressing despite his efforts. He needed a reset, a sudden jolt to shatter the momentum. He lashed out directly at Shane.
"You have no idea what you're talking about, roofer! You think because you got lucky with some quick cash, you can buy influence? You build flimsy little houses that the next good storm will tear down!"
Shane felt the familiar heat of anger rising, but his system's training kicked in, applying a delay between stimulus and reaction. He held his gaze steady, his jaw tightening just enough.
Olaf watched the subtle exchange, registering the clear offense taken by the large man beside him. Olaf's deep-seated, pre-reincarnation instincts—even filtered through his current life—demanded resolution when respect was so clearly lost. He clapped his massive hands together, the sound cracking the tension.
"Enough," Olaf declared. "We have a disagreement concerning focus. When tempers fray, a trial by combat is the oldest tradition. A *Holmgang*."
The suited agent immediately paled. "Olaf, this is business, not—"
Olaf silenced him with a look. "The terms are simple. Since we are civilized men and not brutes with axes, we use the Octagon, not stones. Mr. Albright, you look like a man who handles heavy things. Trainer, you have studied martial arts diligently." Olaf looked straight at Shane. "One-on-one. No weapons. First to incapacitate, draw blood, or concede honorably. You, roofer, versus my trainer. Agreed?"
Shane didn't look at Bjorn; he didn't need to. He felt the celestial imperative radiating from Olaf, the necessity of this contest aligning perfectly with the moment. This wasn't just ego; it was ritual. It was a celestial conduit opening.
Shane met Olaf's gaze and nodded once. "Agreed. But I'll need a second." He turned to Bjorn. "Bjorn, will you stand with me?"
"It would be my honor," Bjorn affirmed smoothly, mentally calculating the benefits of being tethered to Shane during a high-stakes confrontation involving a potential Raven God proxy.
The trainer, sweating now, realized he was cornered. If he refused, Olaf would take the sponsorship entirely. If he won, he proved his point about Shane being weak. If he lost… well, Thorne's cryptic warning about "life or death" echoed loudly. He quickly scanned the room, his mind leading him to the operative he knew was likely in this region, somewhere nearby, as backup. He was currently absent because of Olaf's uncanny ability to keep them out of his circle . "I choose my second to be Big Bill Krell, should he be available to stand at the edge of the ring."
They quickly settled the terms: three days later, at this facility. The winner secured the sponsorship; the loser conceded the argument entirely.
As Shane and Bjorn prepared to leave, extending hands for a formal farewell handshake with Olaf, Bjorn braced himself.
The moment skin touched skin, a violent, non-painful electric surge ripped through Bjorn. It wasn't hostile; it was recognition, ancient and deep. Olaf's eyes, which had been friendly, momentarily glazed over, and a faint, knowing smile touched his lips before reverting to his standard champion's demeanor.
Bjorn didn't flinch outwardly, but he pulled his hand back, his heart hammering with the confirmation. *He knows. He knows I am not just Bjorn the accountant.*
Shane felt the static discharge but registered no threat—just a spike in Olaf's energy signature that immediately faded.
They thanked Olaf and his manager and headed back to the rental waiting outside.
***
Gary, Ben, and Amanda had been busy. They'd managed to secure a small commercial property on the outskirts of the nearest reservation boundary. It was modest, requiring significant initial setup, but the location was strategically sound for Albright Roofing's new mission: establishing a visible, positive employment anchor in a community often overlooked by the mainstream.
When Shane and Bjorn arrived late that afternoon, the trio was already clearing out debris and mapping out office spaces.
Shane, keyed up from the meeting, called them over. "Stop the labor for a moment. Big development."
He quickly recounted the essentials: the sponsorship proposal, the trainer's AN affiliation, and Olaf's challenge—the Holmgang, set for three days hence.
Bjorn stepped forward, his calm demeanor settling the initial confusion. "Shane won by default on the point that he must have the skill to face the trainer, who is a practiced fighter. The key is what happened when I shook Olaf's hand. Shane, he is either the Raven God, or he is so intimately connected that he functions as a direct proxy. The energy I felt was ancient, almost dormant, but present. He recognized me as celestial immediately. This isn't just about a sponsorship; this contest is a test, a ritual for him."
Gary frowned, looking from Shane to the celestial without batting an eye—a testament to how accustomed he'd become to Shane's strange world. "So, if Shane wins, we get Olaf, and if he loses?"
"If Shane loses," Bjorn stated gravely, "AN has succeeded in keeping the Raven God's potential path obscured, and the ritual concerning Olaf will fail, likely bringing immense negative feedback upon Olaf himself." Bjorn stressed the importance of Shane winning, and winning cleanly within the parameters of their agreement. "It is imperative, Shane. For the Raven God's memory to stir, the conditions must align perfectly. This fight is one such condition being forced into existence."
While Bjorn remained to begin immediate combat training with Shane, uploading the foundational martial arts curriculum directly into Shane's evolving system, Gary, Ben, and Amanda dove into community outreach. They knew that to truly anchor Albright Roofing in this area, they needed genuine buy-in. They spent the next two days meeting local elders, community leaders, and local workers looking for stable, honest jobs. They were careful, listening far more than they spoke about corporate structure, but they made promises about high wages and excellent benefits.
When they invited several of the energized young men they'd met to attend the fight—to see a local contractor stand up to a recognized local champion—the gesture was met with enthusiastic agreement. They were creating an audience, building visibility, and establishing the human anchors that Veritas Alpha needed while Shane focused on the celestial challenge.
Three days later, the rental vans—branded subtly with Albright Roofing logos—rolled up to Olaf's training center. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation.
The local group, including Gary, Ben, and several reservation residents, filed in, excited to see the spectacle. Shane and Bjorn, dressed in professional but plain athletic wear, followed. Olaf greeted them near the entrance, his smile expansive and warm toward Shane's team, a stark contrast to the contained tension around the trainer.
"Welcome, friends," Olaf boomed. "I trust gentlemen, you are ready for a contest of wills?"
Shane scanned the room as he offered a genuine smile back, but his senses immediately locked onto something alarming. The trainer had indeed brought his second—Agent Krell. And Krell was radiating a signature so foul, so concentrated, it made Shane's inner vision swim. It was saturated with Apex Negativa's energy.
Bjorn felt it simultaneously. His voice dropped to a near-inaudible whisper meant only for Shane.
"Shane, look closely at Krell. That's not residue; that's active deployment. He's loaded with AN's power. This isn't a fair fight anymore. This is a trap disguised as a ritual."
"I see it," Shane confirmed silently, flexing his fingers within the confines of his gloves. The adrenaline rush was manageable, contained by the system, but the threat level had instantly escalated beyond a simple sponsorship negotiation. "This should get *very* interesting."