Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 96: A grown man’s job

Chapter 96: A grown man’s job

(3 years old.)

Sunlight filtered through the trees like gold dust in the breeze. The woods were quiet—peaceful, even. Birds chirped lazily overhead, and the world felt slower than usual.

Amari sat on a moss-covered rock, picking bark from a stick.

Johnny sprawled out in the grass next to him, eyes half-closed, soaking up the warmth like a cat.

Maverick leaned against a tree stump nearby, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling over his shoulder in lazy rings.

"You know that’s gonna kill you, right?" Amari muttered, glancing over.

Maverick didn’t even blink. Took another drag. Let the silence answer for him.

Johnny snorted. "You know he’s not listening, right?"

Amari rolled his eyes. "Man’s out here trying to hit thirty looking fifty."

That got a crooked smile from Johnny, but Maverick just kept smoking like time didn’t exist.

Then Amari’s body shifted.

Quiet. Focused.

He sat up straight and tilted his head slightly, gaze narrowing past the trees.

"...Two of them," he said under his breath. "Coming this way."

That was all they needed.

Three sets of hands moved fast—no noise, no wasted motion.

Masks slipped over their faces. Weapons drawn with practiced precision. They faded into the brush like shadows melting into their roots.

Down the path, the voices approached. Two men, both relaxed and completely unaware. One had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The other was carrying something wrapped in cloth—too long to be food, too light to be armor.

"...and she finally said yes," one of them was saying, laughing. "Told her I’d build the damn greenhouse if she lets me name the baby."

The other chuckled. "Good trade."

Then he stopped.

He glanced around sharply, shoulders tensing.

"Wait. Hold on..." he said, voice dropping. "You feel that?"

The bag creaked as he shifted, scanning the trees.

"I dunno, man... something’s off."

The man never even finished his sentence.

He turned to say something to his friend, only to find the man’s head lying in the grass—body still standing for a second longer before it dropped. Blood sprayed across the leaves, and time felt like it stopped.

He screamed.

Loud. Raw.

Then saw them.

Three figures in black. Faces hidden behind jagged, bone-white masks—each one carved like a twisted animal skull. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

He recognized them instantly.

"The—why are you... what did we even—"

He turned to run.

Maverick stepped forward.

One clean slash. Done.

The man hit the ground before the words could finish leaving his mouth.

The forest was still again.

Amari stood back while Maverick and Johnny moved in, pulling the bodies to the side, checking for bags, weapons, coin. Routine.

Johnny crouched and flipped open the duffel. His face lit up beneath his mask.

"Jackpot," he said. "Looks like beef chops. Clean ones."

Maverick whistled, low and impressed. "We’ll eat well for a week."

Amari didn’t move.

"They had families," he muttered, voice flat. "They were talking about them."

Maverick didn’t look up. "So?"

"They didn’t deserve this."

Maverick finally looked at him, tossing a broken compass to the dirt. "Then go back to starving in the woods if you want to be noble. Otherwise—help us finish this."

Amari didn’t reply.

Then—BOOM.

A sharp blast echoed through the trees. Something crunched, metal-on-metal. The noise ripped through the air like thunder.

From the direction of the factory.

Maverick sighed like a dad who just found graffiti in his living room.

"I told them stealth," he muttered. "I said, ’Get in, get out, no damn fireworks.’ But nooo..."

He popped his neck, spun his blade into its sheath, and started jogging through the trees.

Johnny was already moving. "Let’s go. That’s our mess now."

Amari took one last look at the blood on the leaves.

By the time they reached the factory grounds, smoke was curling from one of the busted side entrances.

The door had been kicked in.

Inside, everything was metal and chaos—pipes running along the walls, sparks still dancing from an overloaded junction box. But the main event?

Front and center, Kenneth throwing hands.

He was brawling with a bulky factory foreman—twice his size, chest armor dented where fists had already landed. The ground shook every time someone got hit. And judging by the wreckage, it had been going on a while.

Shylo and Milo were standing off to the side watching the carnage like it was afternoon TV.

"What is this?" Maverick asked, stepping in, annoyed.

Milo didn’t even blink. "What does it look like? Kenny’s doing his usual. Diplomacy by demolition."

Kenneth roared as he slammed the guy through a stack of crates.

"Classic," Johnny muttered.

Maverick pinched the bridge of his nose. "The blueprint?"

"Oh right," Milo said, digging through his coat. He pulled out a rolled-up sheet, tied with a red band.

Maverick snatched it and unrolled it fast.

The paper spread wide—layers of schematics, annotations, reactors, and power converters sketched in brutal detail.

Johnny leaned in. "What’s it say?"

Maverick’s eyes narrowed. "It’s... a nuclear weapon. Like, real nuclear. Enough mana-based propulsion to level a capital city. Multiple times."

Milo grinned. "Sooo... what you’re saying is—if we steal it and sell it, we could retire on a beach somewhere with gold-plated underwear?"

Amari snorted. "Sure. Right after we become public enemy number one and get iced by the Dragunovs for treason. Sounds peaceful."

They all looked over as Kenneth finally stood over the unconscious foreman, panting, knuckles bloodied and smiling like he just finished a morning jog.

Johnny shrugged. "Well. Mission accomplished."

Maverick shrugged, tucking the blueprint under his arm like it was homework he didn’t plan on turning in. "Not like we even got the connections to sell this. What—we just hit up a warlord on discount night?"

Amari squinted at him. "Were you actually thinking about stealing it?"

Maverick blinked. "Maybe."

Johnny raised a brow.

Amari groaned. "Bro."

Milo burst out laughing, nearly choking on air. Johnny and Amari exchanged a glance... then shrugged at the same time.

"Y’all are gonna be the death of me," Amari muttered.

Right then, Kenneth stomped over, dragging blood like footprints behind him. His face was streaked with red, chest heaving, wild grin wide like he just clocked in for the shift of his life.

"Problem solved," he said, voice flat but satisfied.

Milo gave him a long look, then slow-clapped with just the right amount of sarcasm. "Wow. Beautiful technique. A real ballet of brains and broken faces."

Kenneth wiped his arm across his mouth. "Got more?"

Shylo finally stepped forward, just enough for his voice to reach them all.

"...That was supposed to be stealth."

Kenneth tilted his head. "Right. My bad."

Maverick sighed. "Let’s move before anyone else hears that noise."

Amari eyed the blood-soaked floor. "Yeah. Pretty sure we just lost the ’low profile’ badge for the week."