Chapter 792

Nastrond and his followers were a collection of fools who would probably destroy themselves even if everyone simply left them alone.

They were attention seekers chasing thrills, little different from people who built their lives around livestreaming. They had chosen to cause trouble in a country with a generous welfare system, and their slogans were all grand promises with nothing substantial behind them. Once the public lost interest, their movement would likely fade away on its own.

The Berserker Staff made things even simpler. Its magic forcibly pushed their bodies beyond their natural limits. Given enough time, they would destroy themselves without anyone needing to lift a finger.

From a global perspective, the situation wasn’t particularly concerning.

Coulson, however, didn’t have the luxury of looking at it from such a distant perspective. These people were already causing trouble, and innocent bystanders could be injured or killed if SHIELD allowed the situation to continue.

Their current plan was to let Nastrond and his followers collect the remaining pieces of the Berserker Staff, then swoop in and arrest the entire organization at once.

Coulson wasn’t satisfied with that.

If they could use their existing intelligence to locate the other pieces before Nastrond did, they might be able to put a stop to the group’s activities sooner and prevent further casualties.

The available clues suggested that the missing pieces might be hidden somewhere along the ancient routes traveled by Viking raiders. It wasn’t an unreasonable theory, given the historical connections between the Vikings and Asgard.

"There’s been an interesting discovery on Baffin Island, off the coast of Canada," Ward reported to Coulson. "Some Viking ruins have apparently yielded artifacts of extraordinary historical value. Potentially priceless."

Ward had been working hard to prove himself recently. If anything, he was becoming a little too eager to distinguish himself.

Coulson, however, seemed unimpressed.

"Have you heard of Mount Thor on Baffin Island?"

"No," Ward replied promptly.

"Do you know what’s on top of it?" Coulson continued. "Nothing that has the slightest connection to Asgard. We already sent agents there, and they came back empty-handed."

Ever since the incident involving Thor, the world had learned that Norse mythology wasn’t simply a collection of stories invented by ancient Vikings to frighten their enemies. The myths were rooted in the history of an extraterrestrial civilization.

SHIELD had subsequently investigated locations around the world associated with Norse mythology.

The results had been thoroughly disappointing.

Political considerations meant that Asgardians rarely visited Earth. When they did, they generally had little reason to leave behind anything of importance. And if something had been left behind by accident...

Well, the Ancient One could be remarkably tight-lipped about the contents of her private collection.

Coulson was already frustrated by their lack of progress. Unfortunately, when he and Ward entered the aircraft’s command center, the sight awaiting them nearly sent his blood pressure through the roof.

"Oh, dear. This is a serious problem."

Evenson was sitting opposite Skye, holding her hand and studying her palm with an expression of utmost gravity.

"Your love life doesn’t look promising at all."

He wore a tiny pair of sunglasses and stroked the little beard on his chin as though he were a master of the occult.

"You don’t have a boyfriend right now, do you?"

"No," Skye answered.

Obviously. I did have one, but you know perfectly well how that turned out.

"Exactly as I suspected."

Evenson nodded solemnly and traced a finger across her palm.

"Your romantic prospects are terrible. Men will come and go, one after another, and none of them will stay for long."

He tapped her cheek twice.

"Romance will bring you nothing but trouble. Misfortune follows your love life like a shadow, and disaster is waiting just around the corner. My advice? Keep your mouth shut, avoid getting on anyone’s bad side, and be extremely careful about choosing a boyfriend."

Ward watched the exchange in bewilderment.

Then a thought struck him.

His superiors had specifically told him to pay attention to any unusual connections between Evenson and Skye.

Could this be some kind of coded conversation?

Perhaps Evenson was passing along intelligence through an elaborate fortune-telling routine. His gestures, the strange terminology, even the deliberate pauses might all mean something.

"Wait... what does that actually mean?" Skye asked, her eyes wide.

Evenson raised a hand and drew an imaginary line across the front of her neck.

"It means your romantic destiny is practically a death sentence. Either you or your future boyfriend is going to meet a horrible end. One of you is doomed."

Ward felt his stomach tighten.

Does he know?

Was Evenson aware that Ward intended to pursue Skye? Was this his way of warning her away from him?

And what exactly did he mean by a death sentence? Was he threatening Ward, or telling Skye that someone would kill her if she accepted his advances?

Skye, meanwhile, looked ready to swallow her tongue.

She had originally approached Evenson for a very different reason. She’d hoped that flattering him might persuade him to remove her electronic bracelet.

Somehow, after listening to his ridiculous predictions, she’d completely forgotten about that plan and become genuinely invested in her supposed romantic doom.

"Can you do anything to change it?" she asked anxiously.

"That’s fate. Not even a celestial being could save you."

Evenson paused dramatically.

"But while even a celestial being can’t help you..."

Smack!

He slapped his own chest hard enough to make himself cough.

"Cough! Cough! I—I can!"

He finally caught his breath and extended both hands toward Skye.

"Come here. Don’t move. Let me examine your bones and see if I can find a way to dispel this misfortune."

Ward couldn’t quite make sense of those words, but he had noticed the forceful slap to Evenson’s chest.

Was that a signal?

Perhaps Evenson was reminding Skye to remain true to herself. Perhaps there was another layer of meaning he hadn’t yet uncovered.

He was still trying to decipher the exchange when a sharp smack rang through the room.

Melinda had slapped Evenson’s hands away. His fingers were now bright red.

"Honestly, Skye, do you never learn?" she demanded, turning toward the younger woman with exasperation. "How did you end up on this aircraft in the first place? Have you already forgotten what he did to you last time? You haven’t suffered enough at his hands?"

So that’s it!

Ward’s eyes flickered.

His superiors had also warned him to pay attention to Melinda’s relationship with Evenson. Now she had suddenly interrupted their exchange, and her warning to Skye seemed suspiciously pointed.

She was reminding Skye why she’d joined SHIELD in the first place. And since Coulson and Ward had just arrived, she was probably signaling that their coded conversation needed to stop.

Whatever Evenson and Skye had been discussing, it had apparently been important enough for Melinda to intervene.

Skye, on the other hand, finally came to her senses.

She remembered her first encounter with Evenson at his shop. He’d conned her out of a hundred dollars and then promptly sold her to SHIELD.

Oh, right. That’s what he did.

She immediately pulled her hand away and scooted to a safer distance.

Coulson took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger building in his chest.

"Tell me something, Evenson. Are you planning to take responsibility for every superstition in America by yourself?"

"What’s wrong with you?" Evenson protested. "This is traditional wisdom! There’s a long and distinguished metaphysical basis for my methods. If you don’t believe me, I can tell you everyone’s birth date and the details of their horoscope right now."

"Of course you can! You’ve read our files. At this rate, you’d probably be able to tell us what our great-grandparents had for breakfast."

Coulson caught himself before his irritation got the better of him. He rubbed his temples, then turned toward Skye.

"Have you found anything useful lately? Please tell me you’ve been doing more than visiting fortune-tellers."

"There’s been some progress. Not much, but technically, it counts."

Skye tapped the command platform, bringing up a collection of messages.

"The most relevant information comes from the message boards on Nastrond’s private network. There’s a whole crowd of lunatics talking nonstop about how they’re about to ascend to godhood and become gods of death and destruction."

She shook her head.

"They’re all completely out of their minds."

"If I were you, I wouldn’t insult Asgard’s goddess of death behind her back."

Evenson made the remark from his seat across the room, sounding almost too distracted to care.

Everyone turned toward him.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just a friendly warning."

An idea had suddenly occurred to him.

Perhaps Nastrond and his followers weren’t entirely useless after all.

A whole congregation of self-proclaimed future gods could make excellent offerings for a certain goddess who had currently been deprived of her freedom. At the very least, they might provide some entertainment during her imprisonment.

Of course, entertainment wasn’t free these days.

"Anyway," Skye continued, "they’ve also been discussing their underground activities at length. I’m guessing it has something to do with searching for the next piece of the Berserker Staff."

Coulson stared at the messages.

"What kind of people discuss their next move on a public message board? At this rate, if someone told me the President was going to announce the dissolution of the government on social media, I’d believe it."

"There’s also the search of the old Viking routes," Skye said.

She moved her fingers across the command platform, marking several locations on the electronic map.

"There are ruins along the Volga River in Russia, and some around Kyiv as well."

Coulson nodded.

The connections between the Vikings and the Slavic peoples were well established, so those locations were worth investigating.

In fact, when Sif had once been stranded on Earth, SHIELD had gone so far as to assign her a team of Russian agents recruited locally to accompany her.

According to the stories that circulated afterward, the agents had retired as soon as the assignment was over.

SHIELD still paid them substantial disability benefits every month.

Apparently, most of the damage had been done to their livers and stomachs.

It was certainly generous compensation. Not that anyone else was particularly eager to earn it.

"But there’s something stranger," Skye continued, pointing to another mark on the map. "Seville, Spain. There are Viking ruins there, too."

"That must be where they’re headed."

Coulson immediately began connecting the pieces.

"Nastrond and his followers didn’t travel to Spain because they’re trying to escape into another country. They’re looking for something. If a piece of the Berserker Staff is hidden there, that would explain everything."

Melinda had been investigating the historical records as well.

"Vikings raided Seville twice. There’s a site called Eldevinonino with an old church built over eighth-century ruins. Those ruins, in turn, stand on top of a Roman site dating back to 206 BC."

She studied the information for another moment.

"There are also a considerable number of human remains in the area. It appears to have been a communal burial site used by the Vikings."

"Then that’s where we need to go."

Coulson straightened.

"We’ll head there immediately and see what we can uncover."

"Uncover?"

Evenson clicked his tongue.

"So we’re going grave robbing?"

Coulson nearly stumbled as he turned away.

"Why do you insist on describing everything in the least flattering way possible? There’s a considerable difference between what we do and grave robbing."

"Right, right. We have permits."

Evenson grinned.

"That makes it legal grave robbing."

"I prefer the term archaeology," Melinda said pointedly. She took the distinction rather seriously. "Archaeological research and grave robbing are fundamentally different things."

There had been a time when scholars dismissed places like Troy as little more than legends because convincing physical evidence was lacking. Archaeological discoveries eventually changed that debate.

Yet some of the same people who demanded proof were quick to condemn anyone who went looking for it, insisting that archaeology was nothing more than the desecration of graves.

The hypocrisy was rather remarkable.

"So, in that case..."

A peculiar smile spread across Evenson’s face.

He closed his eyes and briefly communicated with one of his demons.

Then he snapped his fingers.

A purple magic circle appeared beside him, and a moment later, a plump demon named Dumen materialized out of thin air.

The others immediately tensed.

Skye and the agents who hadn’t yet witnessed Evenson’s summoning magic were understandably startled by the sudden appearance.

Coulson and Melinda, however, had a different concern.

"Why did you summon him?" Coulson demanded. "Is there something dangerous about that location? Something dangerous enough that you need backup?"

"No."

Evenson patted Dumen’s belly.

"I just thought that if we’re going grave robbing—sorry, doing archaeology—we ought to have a fat guy with us. That’s practically a requirement."

He glanced around the aircraft.

"Do you have an AK-47 available? An M4 would do. We should arm him, too."

Coulson and Melinda exchanged an exhausted look, rolled their eyes, and walked away.

Some things simply weren’t worth arguing about.

When the aircraft landed outside Seville, the agents began preparing for the operation.

Coulson gathered everyone before they moved out.

"Given the nature of this mission, we’re dealing with a potentially dangerous extraterrestrial artifact. Evenson, if there’s anything special the team needs to know, tell them now."

The previous mission had taught them a painful lesson. During the investigation involving another alien helmet, Simmons had been infected by extraterrestrial bacteria and nearly died.

They weren’t going to repeat that mistake.

Evenson stepped forward with an expression of profound mystery.

Then he delivered a solemn, ominous chant in a language none of the agents recognized.

The words sounded like something a graveyard occultist might mutter over a coffin.

Everyone turned toward Melinda, silently asking for an explanation.

She stared at Evenson for a moment before the corner of her mouth twitched.

"He’s saying..."

She sighed.

"Nothing useful."

"Anyway, take these."

Evenson ignored the looks he was receiving and began distributing small pendants to everyone. Each one was fashioned from what appeared to be an animal’s claw.

"I couldn’t afford proper silver charms, but these will have to do. If you run into something undead, shout for me. I’ll come running."

He grinned.

"Trust me, I’m much more useful than a piece of jewelry."

Melinda held up her pendant and examined it with deep suspicion.

"Silver charms? And what exactly is this? A dog claw? It certainly looks like one."

She turned it over.

"Actually, it looks as though someone pulled it out of an animal a few minutes ago. There’s still blood on it."

"You’re showing your ignorance."

Evenson looked offended.

"I specifically had Dumen pull these from Hobus’s claws before he left. Do you seriously think an ordinary animal’s claw has the same ability to ward off evil?"

Melinda stared at him.

Then she lowered the pendant and decided not to bother responding.

With their preparations complete, the team entered the old church and made their way down into the catacombs beneath it.

The air grew colder as they descended. Damp stone walls pressed in on either side, and the narrow passageways were poorly lit. The deeper they went, the more the place began to feel like a tomb that had been waiting centuries for someone foolish enough to disturb it.

Eventually, the team split up to search the underground chambers.

Evenson went with Dumen and Skye. Since Skye was the least capable fighter among them, the arrangement seemed sensible enough.

Unfortunately, the darkness and oppressive atmosphere were already getting to her.

Then Evenson suddenly shouted.

"Oh, no! Something’s wrong!"

Skye nearly dropped her flashlight.

A chill raced down her spine as she spun toward him, her nerves stretched to the breaking point.

Evenson pointed at a candle that had gone out.

His expression was deadly serious.

"The flame has died! That’s a terrible omen. When the candle goes out, you leave the tomb. We need to get out of here!"

Skye stared at him.

The look on her face was the sort of expression one might give a national symbol after discovering that it had somehow managed to do something spectacularly stupid.

You absolute bald-headed idiot.

"Aah!"

A scream suddenly rang out from somewhere nearby.

Judging by the voice, it was Ward.

Skye froze.

Wait. That actually worked?

Had Evenson’s ridiculous superstition somehow been right?

Evenson, meanwhile, looked delighted.

No way. Is there actually a mummy down here?

He immediately turned toward the source of the scream.

If something undead really was lurking in these catacombs, he certainly wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to get a closer look.

In fact, he was rather eager to see what sort of trouble they had stumbled into.

And perhaps, if they were lucky, he might even get to have a little fun.