Bjorn walked beside Shane through the polished concrete hallways of Olaf's training facility, his expression calm and unreadable beneath the mask of his newest identity.
Bjorn the accountant.
The suit was perfectly tailored, conservative, and respectable—everything a man in finance should be. It was also completely different from the personas Shane had seen him wear before.
Shane himself played his part well: a mildly irritated small-business owner trying to finalize a sponsorship deal.
The facility hummed with contained violence.
Heavy bags thudded under brutal combinations.
Weights slammed against racks.
Sneakers squealed across training mats as fighters drilled takedowns.
Professional athletes moved with controlled intensity all around them.
Shane's eyes scanned everything.
His system ran quietly in the background.
Searching.
Analyzing.
So far… nothing.
"So far, nothing," Shane muttered under his breath.
Bjorn adjusted the cuff of his jacket without looking around.
"Even I find it unusually clean," he replied softly. "Considering who interfered with El Toro, I expected at least some residue from Apex Negativa's operative."
They reached the office area.
It wasn't the flashy executive suite Shane had imagined. Instead it looked practical—desks, whiteboards, and shelves full of training plans and fight contracts.
Olaf's manager greeted them immediately. A lean man with permanently crossed arms and the posture of someone used to negotiating difficult personalities.
"Mr. Albright. Bjorn. Welcome. Olaf is finishing a call. He'll be right with you."
They sat.
Faux-leather chairs.
Minimal decoration.
Bjorn and Shane made polite conversation with the manager about Olaf's recent victory while Shane ran a deeper diagnostic through his system.
Energy scan.
Environmental check.
Threat probability.
Result:
Zero celestial interference detected.
Clean.
Too clean.
Then the door opened.
Olaf entered.
Even inside a training facility full of professional fighters, Olaf dominated the space immediately.
Broad shoulders.
Controlled movement.
The quiet confidence of a man used to winning.
Behind him walked two others.
First, a sharply dressed man—likely an agent or attorney.
Second… the trainer.
The moment Shane saw him, his system reacted.
The man's eyes darted constantly, never settling. His expression carried a thin mask of confidence stretched over raw greed.
And then Shane's vision flashed red.
TIE DETECTED: APEX NEGATIVA OPERATIVE
The trainer leaned toward Olaf, whispering sharply.
"…a roofing company? Olaf, this is a distraction. You need focus. We can find a sponsor who understands real commitment. This man is a laborer—"
Shane nudged Bjorn lightly.
"Trainer," he murmured. "Direct tie to AN. High anxiety."
Bjorn didn't react outwardly, but his attention sharpened instantly.
The meeting began.
Shane slid the proposal across the desk.
"Albright Roofing would like to sponsor you," he explained calmly. "The sponsorship includes community engagement—job fairs, mentorship talks, appearances at several of our satellite locations. Areas that could benefit from someone who represents discipline and hard work."
Olaf read the first page carefully.
Then nodded slowly.
"The community work… I like that. Helping people build something solid. That resonates."
The suited agent leaned forward.
"There's real branding value in community outreach. We could build something strong here."
The trainer snorted.
"A distraction. The man needs to train, not shake hands and hand out flyers. He needs sponsors who respect his time—not some roofer measuring lumber."
Bjorn ignored the argument and focused on Olaf.
Carefully.
Slowly.
He probed the faint energy signature surrounding the fighter.
The signal was incredibly weak.
Like hearing a radio station buried under static.
But it was unmistakable.
Ancient.
Bjorn's thoughts sharpened.
The Raven God.
Or something connected to him.
Not power.
Not fully awakened.
But the signature was there.
The trainer grew more agitated the longer the conversation continued.
Thorne's instructions burned in his mind.
Stop the deal.
Break the momentum.
Now.
He slammed his hand on the table.
"You don't know what you're talking about, roofer!" he snapped at Shane. "You think winning a little cash makes you important? Your company builds flimsy little houses the first good storm will tear apart!"
Shane felt anger flare.
But the system intervened.
Reaction delay.
Emotional buffer.
He held the trainer's gaze calmly.
Jaw tightening.
Saying nothing.
Olaf watched carefully.
Something deeper than irritation stirred behind his eyes.
Not anger.
Principle.
Respect had been challenged.
And disrespect demanded resolution.
Olaf clapped his hands together.
The sound cracked through the room.
"Enough."
Everyone went silent.
"When disagreement becomes personal," Olaf continued, "the oldest tradition applies."
He looked directly at Shane.
"A Holmgang."
The word felt old.
Not modern.
Remembered.
The agent went pale.
"Olaf, this is business—"
Olaf silenced him with a glance.
"The terms are simple."
He turned toward Shane.
"Mr. Albright. You look like a man used to heavy work."
Then toward the trainer.
"And you are a trained fighter."
He spread his hands.
"Civilized men do not fight with axes anymore. So we use the Octagon."
He nodded once.
"One-on-one."
"No weapons."
"First to incapacitate, draw blood, or concede."
"You, roofer… versus my trainer."
He met Shane's eyes.
"Agreed?"
Shane felt it immediately.
This wasn't ego.
It was ritual.
Something older had just opened.
He nodded.
"Agreed."
Then he turned.
"But I'll need a second."
"Bjorn… stand with me?"
Bjorn inclined his head.
"It would be my honor."
The trainer was sweating now.
If he refused, Olaf would approve the sponsorship.
If he won, he proved Shane weak.
If he lost…
Thorne's warning echoed.
Life or death.
He forced a smile.
"My second will be Big Bill Krell," he said. "If he is available."
The terms were finalized quickly.
Three days.
Same facility.
Winner takes the sponsorship.
Loser concedes the argument completely.
As the meeting ended, Olaf stepped forward.
"Until then."
He offered his hand.
Bjorn accepted it.
The moment their skin touched—
The world detonated silently.
Recognition.
Ancient.
Deep.
Like thunder with no sound.
Olaf's eyes flickered for a split second.
A faint knowing smile appeared.
Then vanished.
Bjorn released the handshake calmly.
But inside his heart hammered.
He knows.
He knows I'm not just an accountant.
Shane felt the surge too—just a brief spike of energy.
Then it disappeared.
They said their goodbyes and left.
⸻
Gary, Ben, and Amanda had been busy.
They had secured a small commercial property near the reservation boundary.
The building was modest.
Dusty.
In need of work.
But the location was perfect.
When Shane and Bjorn arrived that evening, the three of them were already clearing debris and sketching office layouts.
Shane waved them over.
"Stop for a minute."
"Big development."
He explained the meeting.
The sponsorship.
The trainer's AN connection.
The Holmgang.
Bjorn stepped forward once Shane finished.
"What happened during the handshake is the important part," he said calmly.
"Olaf carries something ancient."
"Whether he knows it or not, he is deeply connected to it."
Gary crossed his arms.
"So if Shane wins, we get Olaf."
Bjorn nodded.
"And if he loses…"
Bjorn's voice turned serious.
"…Apex Negativa keeps the Raven God's path hidden."
"The ritual fails."
"Possibly with consequences for Olaf himself."
Silence settled.
Gary nodded slowly.
"Alright then."
"So Shane wins."
Bjorn immediately began training.
Relentless drilling.
Movement.
Reaction timing.
Pattern recognition.
The system assisted quietly in the background.
Meanwhile Gary, Ben, and Amanda worked the community.
They met elders.
Workers.
Local leaders.
They listened far more than they spoke.
When they invited several young men from the community to attend the fight—seeing one of their own employers stand up to a champion—interest exploded.
By the third day, anticipation had spread through the small area.
⸻
Three days later the vans arrived.
Albright Roofing logos subtle but visible.
Gary, Ben, and several reservation residents filed into the training center.
Excited.
Curious.
Shane and Bjorn followed behind.
Olaf greeted them at the entrance.
"Welcome, friends," he boomed.
"Are we ready for a contest of wills?"
Shane smiled.
But his system was already screaming warnings.
The trainer's second had arrived.
Big Bill Krell.
And the energy radiating from him was monstrous.
Pure Apex Negativa power.
Bjorn felt it instantly too.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Shane."
"That's not residue."
"That's active deployment."
"He's carrying AN's power."
Shane flexed his hands inside the gloves.
"I see it."
His eyes narrowed.
"This just became interesting."
*******************
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