Chapter 795

Sometimes, reality had a peculiar sense of humor. The most unexpected things could happen for the most ridiculous reasons.

Imagine a truck barreling down the road before suddenly swerving off a bridge and plunging into a river. By sheer bad luck, it hits a fish and kills it.

That fish could never have imagined that its life would end in a traffic accident.

Nastrond and his followers were that fish.

They had managed to hide their headquarters so effectively that even the Norwegian police hadn’t found them. Yet somehow, a husky had led two people straight to their doorstep.

And those two people had arrived alone.

Once Nastrond got a proper look at his visitors, he found himself wondering what was going on. One was a blond, blue-eyed man wearing a black trench coat. The other was a woman whose sharp features and composed demeanor suggested she was more than capable of handling herself.

Just two people.

If they had come to arrest him and his followers, surely they’d have brought more than that. His organization had over a hundred members. Even the police would have assembled at least two hundred officers for an operation of this scale.

Unless...

Perhaps these two had come to join them.

Nastrond immediately adopted his most imposing expression.

"Only the mightiest warriors are worthy of joining our ranks!"

He grandly swept an arm toward the underground compound behind him.

"Behold! Our Valhalla!"

The blond man’s mouth twitched several times.

"I hate that line."

There was no mystery about the identity of the newcomers. They were Evenson and Melinda May.

The rest of SHIELD’s team had remained aboard the aircraft, ready to provide support if necessary.

Before the pair departed, Coulson had tried to talk Evenson out of going alone.

"This isn’t in accordance with SHIELD’s operational protocols. We should accompany you and provide backup."

Evenson had simply glanced back at him.

"I’m worried I’ll lose control once things get started and accidentally kill all of you, too."

That had ended the discussion.

Coulson had witnessed enough of Evenson’s large-scale destructive magic to understand the danger. Though they were operating in Norway’s densely populated capital, Nastrond’s followers had isolated themselves inside an underground facility. There were no innocent bystanders inside the compound to worry about.

Besides, their hideout wasn’t even remotely fit for purpose.

The underground structure lacked meaningful defensive positions and had only a handful of narrow access routes. If Evenson decided he couldn’t be bothered with a prolonged confrontation, he could simply collapse the place and bury everyone inside.

Their supposedly glorious Valhalla would become a mass grave without Evenson having to lift another finger.

This place is supposed to be Valhalla?

Evenson looked around with contempt.

Even if Odin lived in some miserable suburb, he wouldn’t be living in a dump like this.

He was about to say something when he abruptly stopped himself.

Glancing toward Melinda, he pointed at his throat.

She understood immediately. She removed her SHIELD communications earpiece and crushed it in her fist.

Only then did Evenson relax.

"We’re agents of SHIELD, here to carry out an official operation."

He addressed the assembled cultists without bothering to look them in the eye, reciting his declaration in the tone of someone reading a grocery list.

"We’re placing you under arrest. Your rights have been explained in advance. You have no right to remain silent, and you won’t be getting the opportunity to present evidence in court. Now, you little degenerates, could you stop wasting my time and tell me what the hell you’ve been doing?"

Nastrond didn’t look intimidated.

Instead, he laughed.

Was this some kind of joke?

Two people had come to arrest more than a hundred members of his organization? Had SHIELD gone bankrupt? Was this all the manpower they could afford?

He had no intention of taking the pair seriously.

"Whoever you are, you won’t stop us!"

"Whoever we are?"

Evenson looked at him in disbelief.

"Did you not hear a single word I just said?"

"Hmph!" Nastrond declared, apparently trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. "Nothing can stand in the way of our great cause!"

His confidence spread through the crowd. His followers began cheering, their excitement rising until the entire compound seemed to shake with their shouts.

"Fine. Your great cause," Evenson muttered. "Your great cause can go to hell."

He rubbed his eyes and looked at Nastrond as though the man were a particularly disappointing student.

"What exactly do you think you’re going to accomplish with all this nonsense?"

"Nonsense?" Nastrond grew even more animated. He had started this entire undertaking to demonstrate his superiority, and having an audience was precisely what he wanted. "You foolish man! You cannot see what is happening before your eyes!"

He spread his arms.

"The gods are taking our world from us. If we are to defeat them, we must first become gods ourselves!"

Evenson stared at him.

He’d already heard variations of this speech, but listening to it in person somehow made it worse.

You’re holding half a magical stick, and you think that makes you a god?

Were divinities that cheap these days?

Picking up a staff and swinging it around didn’t make someone a god any more than putting on a costume made them a superhero.

"All right," Evenson said, stroking his small goatee. "Let me offer you some advice about your great cause."

He studied Nastrond with an almost pitying expression.

"First, you need to grow another twenty centimeters. Hit the gym and put on at least ten kilograms of muscle. Shave your head, keep a short black goatee, and stop worrying about wearing too many clothes. A loincloth should be enough."

Nastrond blinked.

Evenson continued, warming to his subject.

"Then paint red tattoos across your body. Finally, get yourself two short blades attached to chains around your wrists."

He nodded approvingly.

"If you looked like Kratos from God of War, you might actually have a chance of accomplishing something."

Nastrond rubbed the back of his head.

"Do I really have to shave my head? I’ve spent years growing this hair."

Evenson closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"This is impossible."

He turned toward Melinda with a helpless sigh.

"Remember how I told you that your enhancement was only one step away from completion?"

"Mm-hmm." Melinda’s expression didn’t change. "When exactly do you intend to finish it?"

"Soon. But first, I need to conduct a practical assessment and make some final adjustments to the next stage of your enhancement."

Melinda glanced at Nastrond and the crowd behind him.

"So you want me to deal with these people."

"Exactly."

Evenson nodded.

"I’m mainly here to handle the interrogation. To save time, we’ll conduct the arrests and questioning simultaneously."

Nastrond still hadn’t accepted that the two strangers had come to arrest him.

The entire idea was ridiculous. Even if they really were SHIELD agents, surely they wouldn’t attempt something like this with only two people.

Then Evenson stepped forward and bared his teeth in a ferocious grin.

"Get him, doggy!"

"Huh?"

Hobus, who had been sitting on the ground, turned his head with a bewildered expression.

He clearly hadn’t been expecting that.

Not that Evenson had actually been counting on him.

Two lean felhounds burst out of the darkness.

They moved with terrifying speed, one lunging from either side to clamp its jaws around Nastrond’s arms.

Blood sprayed across the floor.

"AAAH!"

The pain didn’t register immediately. By the time Nastrond understood what had happened, the felhounds had already seized him.

The Berserker Staff’s magic still strengthened his body, but that didn’t make him invulnerable. No matter how powerful someone became, severed muscles and torn tendons were difficult to overcome.

What good was superhuman strength if he could no longer use his arms?

Could he power his way through it by sheer enthusiasm?

Nastrond’s screams echoed through the underground compound as the felhounds dragged him away.

The other cultists stared, stunned by the sudden appearance of the two demons. By the time they began to react, their leader had already disappeared into the darkness.

Evenson clapped a hand on Melinda’s shoulder.

"I’m taking him somewhere quiet to improve his conversational skills. I’d like your side finished by the time I’m done extracting the truth."

Melinda nodded.

For once, there was nobody else around to witness her abilities, and she could finally put her recent enhancement to the test. Ever since Evenson had strengthened her, she hadn’t had a proper opportunity to see what she could do.

Green flames blossomed in one palm.

With her other hand, she crooked her fingers toward the waiting cultists.

"Come on, then."

Her expression was a challenge.

"Show me what you’ve got."

Petra, Nastrond’s girlfriend, had been growing increasingly frantic since her boyfriend was dragged away. Now, faced with Melinda’s obvious confidence, she finally snapped.

With a furious cry, she retreated a step, seized two sections of the Berserker Staff from a nearby table, and charged.

Petra’s attacks were powerful and aggressive, each blow driven by the staff’s supernatural enhancement.

Melinda barely seemed to exert herself.

Every time Petra attacked, Melinda intercepted the strike at precisely the right moment. A light touch against the wrist, a subtle push against the elbow, a small adjustment to the angle of an incoming blow.

She redirected Petra’s strength instead of meeting it head-on.

Not a single ounce of Petra’s force went to waste—except that Melinda made sure none of it accomplished anything.

Petra was baffled.

How was this possible?

She could understand Melinda blocking her attacks, but how could the woman redirect them so effortlessly? Sometimes Melinda barely seemed to touch her. A hand against her waist, a gentle push, a slight turn of the body—and suddenly Petra was flying through the air.

Where was all that force coming from?

It was as though Melinda had discovered some secret that made the laws of motion optional.

"Are you all just going to stand there?" Petra shouted at her followers. "Get over here and help me!"

She wasn’t about to worry about fair play when dealing with enemies.

Unfortunately for Nastrond’s followers, Melinda wasn’t intimidated by a numerical disadvantage.

The room was cramped enough that only about a dozen people could attack her simultaneously. The others had no choice but to hang back, waiting for an opening.

Melinda wasn’t going to give them one.

She raised her right foot and slowly traced a small arc across the floor before settling into a balanced stance.

Her hands moved in smooth, controlled circles.

Green flames followed their movements, leaving luminous trails in the air. The overlapping arcs formed a strange geometric sigil around her, the burning lines seeming to join into a single protective pattern.

"All right," Evenson muttered from a distance, watching the fight with fascination. "A ridiculously flashy blend of redirection-based martial arts and fel magic. That’s one way to make a point."

He shook his head.

"Honestly, it’s a bit much."

Then he turned his attention back to Nastrond.

The leader was still writhing under the effects of Evenson’s interrogation spell.

"Hey! Are you going to talk or not?"

Evenson leaned forward.

"I’m asking you a question. Are you going to answer?"

"I... I..."

Nastrond glared at him, grinding his teeth as he tried to endure the agony of the curse.

"Just kill me!"

He sucked in a shuddering breath.

"You keep telling me to confess! Confess to what? You haven’t even asked me anything!"

"Oh."

Evenson paused.

"Right. Sorry. Let’s start over. I’ll try to be more professional this time."

Meanwhile, Melinda continued to dismantle the attackers’ coordinated assault.

Her movements remained fluid and economical. Her hands circled, redirected, and deflected, while the green flames surrounding her formed what looked like a wall of invisible force.

Every time someone attempted to break through, the flames swept across their path and pushed them back.

The cultists had begun to believe that Melinda possessed some impossibly advanced internal martial art.

How else could they explain the woman’s ability to repel a crowd of opponents without even appearing to struggle?

Their attacks simply couldn’t reach her.

"RAAAH!"

Frustrated by her inability to land a clean hit, Petra’s anger surged.

The Berserker Staff responded to her fury.

Yellow light flashed across the two fragments in her hands, and her already considerable strength increased again.

Petra launched herself into the air.

Raising both sections of the staff above her head, she brought them crashing down toward Melinda with overwhelming force.

This time, the attack broke through the defensive circle.

Melinda had no choice but to raise both hands and deflect the descending weapons.

The moment she touched them, yellow light flared across the staff fragments.

And with it came the memories.

Bali.

The little girl.

The terrible incident Melinda had tried so hard to leave behind.

The images flooded her mind, dredging up emotions she had buried deep within herself.

Melinda clenched her jaw.

Then, instead of recoiling, she grabbed both fragments.

Green flames surged from her hands.

The yellow glow on the Berserker Staff rapidly turned green, the magic being consumed and overwhelmed by the power flowing through Melinda’s palms.

Evenson had taken this ability from the Ghost Rider. Its most fundamental principle was simple: the Rider was never truly unarmed. Anything he seized could become a weapon, and his supernatural fire could transform what he held into an extension of his power.

The Berserker Staff possessed its own magic, which was why it had managed to affect Melinda for that brief instant.

But that resistance couldn’t last.

The green flames swallowed the yellow light completely.

"AAAH!"

Melinda roared.

She was furious, but not simply because of the Berserker Staff’s influence. The magic had forced her to remember something she desperately wanted to forget, and now that memory burned alongside her anger.

She brought the two fragments together and crushed them between her hands.

The Berserker Staff shattered into pieces.

"You..."

Melinda looked at Petra, her expression cold.

"Are guilty."

Petra wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I’m not afraid of you!"

The prolonged influence of the Berserker Staff had ravaged her emotional restraint. Fear no longer seemed to exist within her.

She charged again.

This time, Melinda abandoned her defensive style.

Until now, she had contained the green flames within her hands, allowing only a little of their power to escape. Now the fire blazed fiercely around her fists.

"Go ahead," Melinda said coldly. "Cry. Scream."

She stepped forward and slashed her flaming right hand across Petra’s face.

Before Petra could recover, Melinda struck again with her left hand, knocking her backward.

Then she brought both hands together and drove them forward like a pair of heavy hammers, smashing into Petra’s chest.

Petra staggered, lost her balance, and collapsed.

She lay sprawled on the floor, barely conscious.

Melinda followed her down.

She crouched beside Petra, raised her right hand high, and brought it down toward her head.

"And now..."

The final blow came crashing down.

"Go to sleep."

BOOM!

The impact sounded like a small earthquake.

Cracks spread outward across the concrete floor, radiating from the spot where Petra lay.

For a moment, the entire underground chamber seemed to shake.

Evenson watched from the side, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"Of course. The Yagami-style fighting manual."

He gave Melinda a sideways glance.

"You kept insisting you didn’t need those techniques, but you still bought Claire’s manual in the end."

He shook his head.

"All that talk, and you couldn’t resist."

With Nastrond finally reduced to a barely functional state, Evenson tossed him toward the mass of cultists and strolled over to Melinda.

She was breathing heavily, but the release of pent-up anger had clearly helped. Some of the tension had left her expression.

She swept the hair away from her forehead and looked at him expectantly.

"Well? How did I do on your assessment?"

"Failed."

Evenson didn’t hesitate.

Melinda’s expression darkened.

"Excuse me?"

"You should have been able to convert the Berserker Staff’s magic the instant you touched it. Instead, you allowed it to affect you."

Evenson folded his arms.

"That means you still don’t have sufficient control over your power. Your final enhancement will have to wait a little longer."

Melinda shook her head in frustration.

There wasn’t much she could do about it. Evenson was the one responsible for her enhancement, and she knew better than to expect him to change his mind simply because she was unhappy with the result.

"What about the interrogation? Did you get anything useful out of him?"

"Naturally."

Evenson smirked.

"Nastrond isn’t exactly made of steel. Generally speaking, the more self-righteous someone is, the less actual backbone they have."

He chuckled.

"If I hadn’t forgotten to ask him a question at the beginning, he would have confessed much sooner."

He looked around at the remaining cultists.

"Although, it seems your side of the operation isn’t quite finished."

Only Petra had been taken out of the fight. The rest of the followers were still standing, even if they had become considerably less confident.

To Melinda’s credit, she’d remembered at the last moment that she was a SHIELD agent. When she’d brought her final strike down, she’d diverted it away from Petra’s head and slammed it into the concrete beside her instead.

Otherwise, Petra’s skull would have been reduced to something resembling a bowl of mashed brains with hot sauce.

"Never mind," Evenson muttered. "I’ll handle the rest."

He brought his hands together with a sharp clap.

Between his palms, darkness began to gather.

It wasn’t ordinary shadow. The blackness shimmered with the color of twilight, spreading like a fragment of the dying evening sky trapped between his hands.

The remaining cultists immediately sensed that something terrible was about to happen.

Panic swept through the room.

They surged toward Evenson, desperately trying to reach the exit behind him.

Even Petra, having somehow regained enough consciousness to move, staggered upright. She grabbed the badly injured Nastrond and half-carried, half-dragged him toward the same exit.

There was nowhere else to go.

Unfortunately, Evenson was standing directly in their path.

"Off you go."

He thrust both hands forward.

The twilight darkness exploded outward, swallowing the charging cultists in a wave of blackness.

One by one, their bodies vanished.

There was no flash of light, no spectacular explosion, and no dramatic farewell.

They simply disappeared, as though someone had erased them from existence.

Evenson watched the darkness spread until the last of them was gone.

Then he smiled.

You were so eager to fight the gods. You were so certain that you would become gods of death and destruction yourselves.

Well, I’ve just done you a favor.

I’ve sent you straight to meet her.

He brushed his hands together.

Sorry, though. This is a one-way trip.

...