The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, a wave of sound that washed over the octagon, making the entire structure vibrate.
Fans were on their feet in several sections, clapping, shouting, whistling.
"ALBRIGHT!"
"COMMON SENSE!"
A man in the lower rows shouted to his friend over the noise.
"Did you see that blur earlier?!"
His friend shook his head in disbelief.
"I still don't know what I saw."
Shane stood there, heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the sudden, impossible intrusion into his reality. He was dripping sweat, the adrenaline from the brawl with the agitators still coursing through him, mingling now with the lingering exhaustion from the time travel reset—a resource he barely understood but knew not to waste.
One of the nearby referees quietly muttered to another official.
"Kid's been through a war tonight."
The other nodded.
"Looks like it."
Jessalyn Ingalls, the star, the supposed Freya, was doing a masterful job of controlling the narrative.
She smiled, radiant under the stadium lights, her eyes holding a depth that Shane now recognized wasn't just acting.
"Zabit is an outstanding fighter first and foremost," Shane said, his voice surprisingly steady as he kept his gaze fixed on Jessalyn, hoping the practiced delivery would mask the seismic shift occurring internally.
A few fans close to the cage applauded respectfully at the compliment.
"Good sportsmanship," someone said approvingly.
He transitioned seamlessly, moving into the explanation he'd rehearsed in the brief, terrifying seconds after time rewound.
"I knew he would be aggressive so I threw that overhand left thinking that he would step back in after it missed and my momentum let me twist my hips and catch him with the kick."
Zabit, standing a few feet away with ice already being pressed to his eyebrow, gave a small nod.
"Good kick," he said quietly.
Jessalyn's smile didn't waver, though Shane noticed the slightest tightening around her jaw when he mentioned the hip twist.
"That was a great move. That kick was devastating."
She tilted the microphone slightly.
"You could feel the entire arena react to it."
She kept the conversation moving, a crucial distraction.
"Then the fight with the agitators rushing the ring—how did you eliminate so many of them? I was fighting a couple of them and suddenly you disabled them. I saw you take out a few more nearby as well."
Shane leaned into the adrenaline lie, nodding soberly.
"Well, I was worried about my friends, I was really hyped up and angry and I guess I had a serious adrenaline surge."
A group of fans near the cage shouted support.
"That's adrenaline alright!"
"I wish mine worked like that!"
"I wasn't the only one taking them out. Zabit's family helped immensely, and Jessalyn, I think you took a couple out too. Those movies must teach some serious martial arts."
A ripple of laughter spread through the audience.
Jessalyn allowed herself a quick amused glance toward him before turning back to the crowd.
She accepted the explanation with a graceful nod, smoothly pivoting to the next programmed event.
"I hear that you have some big news, Shane. Would you like to let everyone in on your plans?"
Several fans leaned forward.
"What news?"
"Is this about the company?"
This was it.
The moment he had been building towards, the conscious effort to climb out of the earthbound, finite struggle of construction and into the sphere where the real war was being fought.
He took a deep breath, channeling the practiced poise of a man who unexpectedly owned a national business, and delivered the rehearsed statement.
"I would like to Announce my Candidacy for Senator of this State. I hope that I can help the people of this state by giving them common sense leadership. I will not run as red or blue. I will run as the representative of common sense. You are all being lied too and taken advantage of. This event was a small sample of that. All the division and chaos outside and then spilling into our small Utopia that was disturbed by just a few agents of chaos. As your Senator I will use my discernment to weed out the chaos in our government and use common sense to expose the corruption from both sides. Just know that both sides serve the same master so they will come for me but I say let them come. I have friends and as you have seen my friends are awesome. In closing I hope you all support me and can start to see thru the confusion."
The crowd erupted, a genuine, unifying sound that momentarily drowned out the usual static of division.
Cheers rolled through the arena.
"COMMON SENSE!"
"ALBRIGHT!"
Jessalyn, stepping in instinctively, used the microphone to add her booming endorsement.
"After that I know who I am going to vote for! If he fights corruption like he fought tonight our government may be cleaned up in no time!"
The audience roared even louder.
Several cameras zoomed in on Shane.
Olaf, stepping up to the mic with the familiar, imposing presence of the recently returned champion, brought the immediate focus back to the ring.
"We have one more fight folks. Our main event - Hugo Fernandez vs Jason Bowen!"
The crowd immediately shifted gears again.
"HUGO!"
"LET'S GO!"
They quickly exited the octagon.
Jessalyn paused, touching Shane's arm fleetingly.
"I think the coast is clear," she murmured, her eyes wide and serious now that the performance was over. "I haven't sensed anymore attacks, but stay aware. We need to talk later."
Shane nodded.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Definitely."
He needed distance—distance from the noise, distance from the adrenaline, distance to address the impossibly large flashing notifications on his internal screen.
He walked toward the dressing rooms.
Jason Bowen was already heading out, likely prepping for the main event.
Jason gave Shane a brief nod in passing.
"Nice finish."
Shane returned the nod.
"Good luck out there."
Shane saw Hugo waiting near the door, pacing slightly, the tension of the final fight clinging to him.
"Hugo," Shane said, clapping him on the shoulder, keeping his voice low and encouraging. "You look ready. Last bit of focus, you got this."
Hugo exhaled slowly.
"Man… this night."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"I was worried sick about Marie."
Hugo nodded, relief washing over his features.
"Thanks, man. I needed that. I was worried sick about Marie and her friend . Silas is with them?"
"Safe and sound," Shane confirmed. "Silas is watching them like a hawk, probably getting bored stiff, but they're secure. You go out there and show them what a true fighter looks like."
Hugo laughed quietly.
"Silas bored means everyone else is safe."
He clasped Shane's hand briefly.
"See you after, champ."
With Hugo gone, Shane allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection.
He pulled up his system, the interface shimmering into view only for his eyes.
The cascade of rewards from the day—the successful political announcement, the defense of his people, the victory in his bout—was overwhelming.
He had several skill points to allocate, but the most immediately attention-grabbing addition was the new skill entry: Transformation.
Already?
He hadn't even completed the quest fully, but the system seemed eager to grant him tools for espionage now, perhaps sensing the need now that the public stage was set.
He navigated to the Master Tab.
Slot #6 was Celestial Power-Time Travel.
Slot #5, however, was blank, an empty slot waiting to be filled.
He noticed the reverse unlocking order—6 then 5.
"Of course it's backwards," he muttered quietly.
Perhaps the most potent skills were revealed last.
He clicked on Slot #5.
The world around him didn't just slow; it stopped.
The distant roar of the crowd muted instantly.
The harsh lights of the hallway faded to a dim, internal luminescence.
And the very air seemed to solidify.
Everything ceased—no noise, no light, just a profound, echoing nothingness that felt both terrifying and sacred.
A figure coalesced in the sudden stillness.
She was robed, her appearance strikingly human, possessing a maternal grace that settled the frantic energy in Shane's chest immediately.
She looked like someone who understood continuity, who knew exactly how things were supposed to flow.
"Shane Albright," the figure spoke, her voice resonating not in his ears, but in the space where his system communicated with him. "You have shown great restraint with your powers. If we gave any other mortal your strength and powers I fear what they would have done with them."
Shane stood paralyzed.
"You're… one of them," he finally managed to say quietly.
The unspoken title of 'mortal' ringing hollowly against the reality unfolding before him.
"You could have used time travel or foresight for monetary gain," she continued, her expression soft but firm. "Instead you have done nothing but try to help people. Sure some were your friends, but most are strangers."
A profound shift occurred in her eyes, a momentary softening that felt profoundly personal.
"I would expect nothing less from a child of my own, and I know that your father will be proud of you as well."
Child of my own.
The words hit him with the force of a physical blow.
He stared at her.
"You're serious," he whispered.
Severing the last thread tethering him to the mundane life of a construction boss.
A deity, a source of absolute cosmic law, claimed parentage.
He was stunned.
His mouth opening and closing silently.
The mental checklist he usually kept to manage system notifications failing entirely.
He, Shane Albright, adopted son of good, hardworking people, was the progeny of… of this.
And she mentioned his father—not someone who had passed, but someone they knew and who would eventually be revealed.
He didn't know how to process the implications for his entire identity.
He looked down at his hands, momentarily forgetting the million dollars, the MMA fight, even the impending political battle.
The Norn—for he knew, instinctively, that this must be one of the sisters Olaf had described—continued, her voice regaining its measured, cosmic weight.
"You must continue your growth. Your father will soon be revealed when the time is right. There is a reckoning coming soon for this world, and you must be strong enough to face it. You, my son, will be what allows it to survive."
She stepped closer.
The air around her crackled with latent potential.
And gently touched his forehead.
It wasn't a painful surge like the upgrades; it was a clean infusion, a direct input of cosmic mandate.
His system screen erupted into a frenzy of light directly behind his eyes.
All previous data momentarily overridden by the flashing text.
"Celestial Magic Slot # 5 Decisive Execution (The "Fimbulvetr Shot"): Fimbulvetr Shot - focus divine aura into your feet or fists for a devastating punch or kick. Every blow lands at the exact, most vulnerable millisecond. This kick will incapacitate any celestial or god."
Shane stared at the description.
Awe battling the sheer terror of realizing his mother dictated existence.
Incapacitate any celestial or god.
It implied he could fight the true source of the Apex Negativa entity.
Assuming AN was below the god tier, or perhaps just one level below.
He managed to stammer out the only question that his human mind could formulate against such a divine revelation.
"Why?"
Verdandi, the sister of the Present, smiled softly.
Her form, which had begun to look reassuringly motherly in simple robes, seemed to ripple with profound contentment.
"Because it is so."
And then, she was gone.
The lights of the venue snapped back to full illumination.
The muffled roar of the crowd slammed back into his hearing like a physical wave.
He blinked rapidly, fighting the disorientation.
His elbows resting on his thighs.
His head bowed until the edge of his vision blurred.
He was grasping for the last year's worth of chaos—Odin, AI, AN, time travel, politics—and trying to slot this impossible truth into the framework.
Son of a deity.
The Norns were watching.
His father was alive.
He lifted his head just as the system confirmation flashed, the reward for the Norn encounter arriving instantly, tying the experience to his ongoing system progression.
His celestial power bar now at 25%.
Shane leaned forward, catching his breath, the reality of his lineage settling like a heavy mantle.
He didn't speak.
He couldn't.
The knowledge was too large, too raw.
Olaf's voice, distant but clear, called out from the direction of the ringside.
"We have one more fight folks!"
⸻
"If you enjoyed Shane's journey, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the Common Sense Party grow!"