The rented SUV hummed along the unfamiliar streets of the new city, the neon glow reflecting dully on the polished dashboard. Shane gripped the wheel, Gary bouncing beside him with an energy that still surprised Shane sometimes, even with the clarity the system provided. This was it. Reconnaissance, expansion, and now, a much-needed break Shane had insisted on. He had seen the spreadsheets, the reports Saul sent, the meticulous records kept by Sue, the bookkeeper. They were doing well, too well perhaps, considering the undercurrent of chaos AN was spreading nationwide. But tonight wasn't about ledger sheets or structural integrity; it was about letting the guys breathe.
"You sure about this four-ticket splurge, Shane?" Gary asked, adjusting his seatbelt unnecessarily. "Looks expensive."
"We earned it, Gary," Shane replied, glancing in the rearview mirror. In the back, Amanda was laughing, a light, genuine sound that made Gary flush a deep crimson. Sue, sitting ramrod straight next to her, offered a tight, almost imperceptible nod that Shane read instantly via his system: *Costly, but within acceptable risk parameters for morale maintenance.*
"Besides," Shane added, a grin beginning to form, "I figure if we can spend a few thousand on a night out, we're doing something right. Keep the foundations solid, remember? Happy roots make strong structures."
They pulled into the parking lot of a high-end steakhouse. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and cooking meat. Shane made sure Gary and Amanda were seated close enough for their conversation to flow naturally, strategically placing Sue directly across the table from him. It was a calculated maneuver. Sue, bless her efficiency, was meticulously combing through receipts even while sipping her iced tea.
"So, Amanda," Shane began, leaning back slightly, giving Gary a subtle, almost invisible nod toward his date. "How's that new sobriety consultation group going? Gary mentioned you've been checking out the daytime meetings."
Amanda brightened, taking a small sip of water before answering. "It's… grounding, Shane. Really realizing how much I was missing, how much noise I was making just to feel something. Gary's been huge, too. He gets it."
Gary, emboldened by the direct praise, leaned forward, his eyes locked on Amanda's. "It's just, you know, it's a different kind of clarity than what you get from... well, from what you *don't* take. It's more real. I look at you, Amanda, and I just think about how much I want to keep seeing that clear picture with you around."
Shane watched the interaction, a small, internal chime indicating *Relationship Progress: Gary/Amanda (Significant Step Taken)*. He coughed lightly, drawing Sue's attention away from the receipts.
"Sue, speaking of the bottom line," Shane continued, expertly launching into a dry recitation of quarterly projections for the new city division, keeping her focus entirely on him. "When we look at potential overhead increases for localized advertising in competitive markets, should we lean toward high-visibility print or targeted digital based on projected lead conversion rates for commercial versus residential leads?"
Sue immediately shifted gears, the critique coming sharp and fast. "Digital, Shane. Always digital. Print is a waste of your capital. We need tangible ROI metrics, not glossy paper."
Shane kept her talking, nodding sagely, letting the conversation ebb and flow while Gary and Amanda managed to slip into a much deeper, quieter exchange. By the time they paid the bill—Shane insisting on covering everything, much to Sue's silent chagrin—Gary was beaming, holding Amanda's hand almost tentatively as they walked out to the waiting rental minivan.
The atmosphere in the car shifted slightly on the way to the arena. Shane kept his internal sensors running high. The city felt different from the last one, less overtly chaotic on the surface, but the baseline interference readings felt jittery.
As they lined up for entry, the familiar, almost invisible notification flashed in the corner of Shane's vision: Fluctuating Celestial Activity Detected.
His entire body tensed. This wasn't the gentle hum of Calvin's presence or the familiar, unsettling static of AN's influence from afar. This felt immediate, powerful, and localized right through the concrete floor of the venue.
"Hold up," Shane murmured, placing a hand firmly on Gary's shoulder, stopping him just short of where Amanda and Sue paused waiting for the others. Gary frowned, trying to look back at Amanda.
"What is it, man? We're almost in," Gary whispered, his eagerness for the night overriding his recent discipline.
"Listen to me, Gary. Something's not right in there. Stay close. I need you guys to hang back for a second."
Shane leaned in, lowering his voice. "Amanda, Sue, you two head into the women's restroom area. Just wait there. Take your time. Gary, stay right here with me. Five minutes, tops."
Amanda looked concerned, but Gary, perhaps sensing the genuine alarm in Shane's voice that cut through the usual calm, nodded seriously. The women moved off, disappearing into the throng of people.
"Okay, Gary. I need a system Level up to see more clearly, but I'm getting a massive spike. It feels… powerful, but not immediately malicious like the general background noise. It's focused." Shane rubbed his jaw, frustrated. He wished Calvin were here.
The system chirped its usual, maddening response when queried about the nature of the spike: *Insufficient Level/Data Access. Upgrade required.*
"Damn it," Shane muttered, channeling his frustration into a controlled burst of negative energy output. "Just tell me if it's AN."
*Low probability of direct Apex Negativa manifestation in the immediate vicinity. Energy Signature Mismatch.*
"Good enough for now," Shane said, shaking off the tension. "Let's go see what's causing the ripple."
They found their front-row seats—a sprawling, unobstructed view of the octagon barrier. The noise level was astronomical, a raw sound of anticipation and aggression that vibrated in Shane's chest. He kept his eyes locked on the entrance ramp, ignoring the initial preliminary bouts where two less-heralded fighters tested each other's baseline competency. Shane watched them through the system's analytical lens. Even here, he saw hints of the background interference—a subtle nudge toward an overzealous attack for one, a momentary hesitation for the other—but nothing monumental.
Then the main event was announced.
The air seemed to thicken.
The first fighter entered, wearing a custom outfit reminiscent of a Spanish matador, complete with a heavy, stylized bull's head mask that obscured his face entirely. His nickname echoed over the speakers: "El Toro."
Even without the system, the man radiated a confidence that bordered on arrogance. But with the system active, the glow was unmistakable. El Toro was saturated in the sickly, corrosive signature of Apex Negativa. AN wasn't just watching; he was lending power, ensuring a favorable outcome for his chosen brute.
Then came the champion.
The crowd noise spiked again, this time imbued with a different kind of reverence. The man who strode out was immense, dressed head-to-toe in authentic-looking Viking regalia—leather pauldrons, thick, fur-trimmed padding, and braided hair hanging around eyes that were sharp and focused. His entrance music was a deep, resonant chant. Olaf. The Viking Berserker.
Shane leaned forward so hard his knuckles gripped the metal railing. As Olaf stepped fully into the arena lights, Shane's system flared with a reading unlike anything he had encountered since meeting Calvin.
There was a celestial signature emanating from Olaf, faint, like a single banked coal next to a roaring gas fire. It was not the structure and calm of Veritas Alpha (Calvin). It was ancient, wild, completely distinct. It was an ember, perhaps, but one that held the potential to explode into a conflagration that could rewrite the atmosphere.
*Unknown Celestial Energy Detected. Origin Unknown. High Potential Volatility.*
AN's influence, flooding El Toro, was designed to crush anything that stood in its way. If El Toro won, Shane knew instinctively that Olaf, and whatever faint hope he represented, would be swept away, perhaps permanently erased from the current reality by the force of AN's momentum.
The bell rang.
El Toro charged immediately, relying on the borrowed, brute-force confidence AN was feeding him. He threw wild, powerful shots designed to intimidate and batter. Olaf, despite his size and technical skill, fought defensively, his movements tight, perhaps subconsciously resisting the very energy he carried. He relied on solid blocking and measured counter-punches, allowing El Toro to dictate the pace.
Shane watched the clock tick down in the first round. AN was winning. The system was screaming confirmation: *Projected Outcome: El Toro Victory in Round Two via Stoppage.*
Shane couldn't allow it. If this faint ember of power—this potential link to the Raven God—was snuffed out, Veritas Alpha's entire strategy stalled.
"Gary," Shane hissed, gripping his friend's bicep so tightly the man winced. "Watch this. Nobody else see this."
Gary, already hypersensitive after their earlier talk, focused his gaze where Shane pointed—at the fighters.
Shane didn't even pause to confirm the skill upgrade. He didn't think, he just *chose*. The game interface shimmered, and the newly available physical skill materialized: Super Speed. This was beyond the tackle from the previous week; this required sustained velocity and precise motor control within a chaotic environment.
He activated the skill.
The world around Shane dissolved into slow, syrupy motion. The roar of the crowd became a long, drawn-out drone. El Toro's fist, thrown for what should have been a knockout blow, curled lazily through the air inches from Olaf's chin.
Shane launched himself forward. He covered the ten feet to the cage in less than a perceived second. He didn't touch El Toro; that risked an obvious disruption. Instead, moving with impossible dexterity, he subtly nudged the railing right where El Toro's lead foot was planted for his subsequent pivot.
The nudge was microscopic, a barely perceptible shift in the balance point on the slick, padded floor. Shane was back in his seat before the visual distortion of his speed fully resolved in Gary's eyes.
To the rest of the world, it looked like El Toro took a slight stumble mid-swing. He recovered instantly, but the split-second failure of balance cost him the momentum. Olaf, seizing the unexpected opening, executed a perfect, low leg sweep Gary recognized immediately as textbook technique. El Toro crashed hard. Olaf exploded onto him, delivering three perfectly timed hammer fists before the referee could dive in.
*Fight Outcome Changed. New Projection: Olaf Victory via TKO in Round One.*
The arena erupted in confused shock, then roared its approval. El Toro lay stunned, AN's borrowed energy receding, leaving behind simple exhaustion.
Shane slumped back, breathing hard, the exertion of that single burst of speed draining him more than he'd anticipated.
"What the hell was that?" Gary breathed, eyes wide, pointing at Shane. "You moved like… like a blur!"
"Don't talk about it," Shane warned, his voice scratchy, scanning the crowd. "Just know it was necessary. That bull needed to lose."
They waited almost half an hour, navigating the excited aftermath of the fight, trying to catch Amanda and Sue, who finally reappeared—Amanda flushed with excitement from the matches, Sue already calculating the financial implications of the unexpected upset.
Shane intercepted Olaf's manager, a harried-looking man yelling into a Bluetooth headset near the locker room entrance.
"Sir, Shane Albright, Albright Roofing. Congratulations on the win. That sweep was incredible." Shane tried to ooze sincerity.
The manager glanced at Shane's expensive, clean blazer, then down at the security guards forming a perimeter. "Yeah, yeah. We're busy, man. Champ needs rest." He barely spared a glance for Shane, completely dismissing him as just another overly enthusiastic fan.
Shane tried again, pulling out a business card from his wallet—a solid piece of card stock, not the cheap day-laborer passes anymore. "Just one meeting. We're looking to sponsor athletes who represent strength and community rebuilding. I want to discuss a long-term partnership."
The manager waved him off dismissively. "No meeting. Beat it, buddy."
It was a dead end. Shane felt the familiar helplessness of dealing with the mortal world's gatekeepers, only this time, he had the power to bypass them, yet the system barred direct interference without sufficient level or specific knowledge gained from interaction. He couldn't just *copy* the manager and interrogate him; that was a month away.
As they left the venue, the energy spike was gone, replaced by the low, steady awareness of the surrounding populace—just regular people fueled by cheap beer and momentary excitement.
"Sue," Shane called out as they walked toward the exit tunnel, his voice tight with purpose. "Log a new project request. Medium priority, high potential value. I want to investigate sponsoring Olaf—the Viking fighter."
Sue stopped dead, pulling out her smart tablet with an expression of profound disapproval. "Sponsor? Shane, we're here to scout commercial contracts in the tri-county area, not bankroll glorified street scufflers. What's the ROI? Does he even have a sustainable platform?"
"His platform is this," Shane said, gesturing back toward the arena, then lowering his voice just enough so only Sue and Gary could hear clearly over the dispersing crowd. "He represents something solid, Sue. Something that hasn't been totally corrupted yet. Find his agent. Offer a substantial retainer for an introductory meeting, explicitly tying it to our company's rebuilding mission. Tell them we want to invest in his *long-term stability*."
Sue frowned, shaking her head. "This is fiscally irresponsible, Shane."
"It's mine to spend," Shane countered, his tone leaving no room for argument, though he kept the edge dulled for Gary's sake. "Do it."
Back in the rented SUV, heading toward the hotel, the success of Gary and Amanda's budding romance was palpable in the quiet backseat. Gary was practically vibrating with happiness, whispering sweet nothings that made Shane inwardly roll his eyes but outwardly approve of.
Once they were settled into their adjacent rooms, Shane called Gary into his suite. He locked the door, needing privacy for the analysis.
"Gary, that speed I used back there," Shane began, pacing. "You saw it. You're the only one who's seen me use it twice now."
Gary nodded slowly, soberness kicking back in with the adrenaline fading. "Yeah, man. It's like you blinked, and the world did a full reel."
"It's not something I can teach you, not yet. But I need you to trust me on this. That Viking, Olaf? He's important. He had something faint, but it felt… correct. Like it was fighting the bull's energy. AN was pushing that fighter, and if he won, I'm convinced Olaf would have either been destroyed or erased from the spotlight entirely."
Shane stopped pacing, looking directly at Gary. "If AN can't corrupt the thing he can't control, he removes it. If Olaf is tied to the Raven God somehow—another thread Veritas Alpha needs—then AN will cut that thread immediately."
Gary looked thoughtful, leaning against the doorframe. "So, what does that mean for us?"
"It means we have to get to Olaf before AN realizes how dangerous we perceive him to be. If we sponsor him, we get access. We can see if he's a true source or just a minor play. If he *is* connected to the Raven God, Gary, that's massive. It's how we fight the systemic rot AN is spreading."
Gary puffed out his chest slightly, the new man standing tall. "Whatever you need, Shane. I'm clean, I'm focused. I'm your wingman now, whether it's talking to Amanda or going toe-to-toe with whatever cosmic nonsense you're fighting. I owe you that much."
Shane nodded, a heavy sense of camaraderie settling over him. Calvin had aimed him toward fixing the local environment; the million dollars had paved the way for the first major expansions. Now, with the unexpected appearance of the Viking, the battle was escalating beyond construction sites and sobriety checks. It was becoming directly about the celestial conflict, and he was playing right into the crosshairs. He could only hope that LVL 4 Super Speed, and the glimmer of foresight, would be enough to keep the next move from going sideways.