Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 97: A legend they never asked for.

Chapter 97: A legend they never asked for.

The fight was over. The blueprints were sealed. Bodies cleaned up. Fire fading into silence.

Maverick stepped a few feet away from the others, reached into his coat, and pulled out a small orb etched with Dragunov runes—communication artifact. He tapped it once, and it shimmered before Sergei’s voice cut through, unusually chipper.

"Maverick. Tell me something good."

Maverick gave a tired half-grin. "We got it."

"Excellent."

"Well... we had a bit of a—"

"I don’t care," Sergei cut in without a beat. "As long as you have the blueprint, everything else is noise."

Maverick blinked. "You’re not gonna ask what happened?"

"No. Take it to one of our Checkpoints. There’s a safehouse there. Rest up. You’ll receive your next assignment soon."

Then the call dropped.

Maverick stared at the orb for a second and tucked it back into his coat like it owed him money.

Behind him, Johnny kicked at the dirt. "You know... one of those guys earlier. I swear he looked like he recognized us."

Milo perked up. "Wait. You serious? Like, actual ’oh no, it’s them’ type energy?"

Maverick shrugged. "It wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle."

"Still..." Johnny looked over at Amari. "What if word spreads?"

Milo grinned and raised both hands, suddenly mock-dramatic. "What if we’re famous now? Feared across the lands. I heard whispers in the underground. They call us..." He paused for effect, voice deepening. "The Dark Angels of Death."

Johnny lost it first—bursting out laughing.

Even Shylo let out a rare chuckle under his breath.

Milo tried to keep a straight face but cracked halfway through his own sentence.

Amari just shook his head. "You’re all insufferable."

But he was smiling.

...

The checkpoint was quiet. Not silent—but calm, like everything here moved in a low whisper. A crumbling outpost covered in vines, tucked deep in neutral woods. You could walk right past it and never know what it hid.

The delivery man was already waiting.

He said nothing.

No nod. No handshake.

Just stepped forward, took the blueprint from Maverick’s hands, then reached into his pack and pulled out a solid metal case—sealed tight, no markings, polished like Dragunov brass.

They all leaned in a little.

Milo blinked. "Is that what I think it is?"

Johnny already had his fingers twitching. "Looks heavy."

The man placed it down between them, then—quietly—slid a thin envelope onto the lid before turning and walking away without a single word.

They all stared.

Maverick opened the case.

Inside: a stash of credits so big even Kenneth whistled under his breath. Gemstones. A wrapped ration pack labeled in gold. Ammo pouches. New ident chips.

"Finally," Milo muttered. "A reward that doesn’t feel like a leash."

Then Maverick picked up the envelope.

His smile faded.

He opened it slowly, eyes scanning line by line. Everyone else started relaxing—finally thinking maybe they’d earned a break.

Then Maverick sighed.

Deep. Heavy.

"...Get ready," he said, stuffing the letter into his coat. "We’re moving out."

Amari looked up. "Already? Where to?"

Maverick didn’t speak at first.

When he did, he didn’t say much.

"Village nearby. Real small."

Amari frowned. "And we’re doing... what there?"

Maverick’s eyes met his.

There was something in them that didn’t belong to a soldier—something quiet, worn down.

He didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

The others didn’t say a word either. The mood dropped. Whatever was in that envelope—it wasn’t easy work. And worse... it wasn’t something they’d want to do.

But orders were orders.

They moved quiet through the trees—no jokes this time, no smart remarks or lazy pacing. The mood had shifted. Thicker. Like the forest itself could feel what they were about to do.

Ahead: the village.

Small. Peaceful. Smoke curling gently from chimney tops. Children chasing each other barefoot between huts. People laughing. No soldiers. No walls. Just lives being lived.

They crouched in the tree line, hidden behind trunks and wild grass.

Amari stared at it too long.

"...I don’t like this," he said softly, voice flat.

Maverick didn’t look at him. Just kept his eyes forward.

"Wasn’t a request," he muttered. "Beggars don’t get to choose what feeds ’em."

He stood, brushing dirt off his coat, and turned back to the crew. "Listen up."

Everyone leaned in.

"We move just after nightfall," he started. "Once the village lights their fires for the evening, we strike in small teams from the west and east entrances. No frontal approach. We let their routines blind them."

He pointed to Johnny and Shylo. "You two handle the far side. Once the fires start, make sure no one gets out past the creek."

"Got it," Johnny nodded.

Maverick continued, "Milo, you send a clone with Kenneth. Post up on the ridge—eyes on the outskirts. Anyone running out, they handle it."

Milo just sighed and nodded. "Cloning again. Lovely."

Kenneth popped his knuckles. "Finally."

"And me and Amari," Maverick said, looking over, "we move through the center. Ignite every pressure point—grain storage, homes, cartyard. We make it fast. Controlled."

"Controlled fire," Amari muttered. "Right."

"If anyone fights back, we defend. If anyone begs, we don’t listen. We get in, light it up, get the target and we head out."

They all stood in silence for a moment, watching the peaceful village from between the trees.

Flames licked the sky as the first home caught fire—orange glowing wild in the dark like it belonged there. One scream broke the silence, then two more. The village lit up with panic.

And from the treeline, they moved.

Shadows at full speed, cutting across the houses like ghosts with purpose.

Amari led with focus, eyes locked on the central hut. "That one. She’s there."

They didn’t need to speak. They just moved—flashing through alleys, skipping over fences, wind against stone.

Two guards stood at the front.

One breath. One beat.

Two bodies hit the ground without a sound—Amari’s blade clean, Maverick’s strike surgical.

They slipped inside the house.

Nothing.

Silent. Cold.

Then—another guard inside. He was ready. Sword drawn.

But Maverick’s voice dropped low, sharp, and heavy with power.

"Don’t move."

His Voice of Command hit like thunder in a whisper. The man froze—locked in place.

And Amari didn’t hesitate.

One clean arc.

The guard’s body fell before the blood did.

From behind the bed, a girl let out a scream—raw, desperate.

She stumbled out, just a kid. Long black hair. Blue eyes wide. Tears already streaking down her face.

Amari and Maverick grabbed her, hands fast but not brutal.

"Quiet," Maverick muttered, tying her wrists with a dull gray rope pulsing with runes. "This is Tetherglass. Drains your mana. Don’t bother trying."

She didn’t resist.

Just sobbed quietly, eyes locked on the man they killed—her protector.

When they stepped outside, the night was chaos.

Johnny, Shylo, and Milo were already in it—dodging blades, laying guards flat. Sparks flew. Screams echoed. The air was heat and smoke and fury.

One of the guards spotted the girl in their grip.

"Princess!" he yelled, reaching out.

Before he could take another step—shhk—Amari’s blade silenced him.

Maverick raised his hand and signaled hard. Time was up.

"Move!" he barked.