Chapter 872

"That’s the situation. We’ve seen him, so there’s no reason for us to stick around."

They had spent a little while watching the senile version of Odin before Gabriel finally decided it was time to leave.

"In such a hurry?" Evenson asked.

"Odin is still the All-Father," Gabriel said. "The illusion on him is extremely sophisticated, but there’s no guarantee it can fool him forever. If something triggers an emotional response, he might break through it."

She clearly wanted Odin to remain exactly as he was.

Evenson didn’t particularly disagree.

In fact, he was beginning to regret coming here at all.

From the beginning, he had wanted nothing to do with the internal affairs of Asgard’s royal family. Frigga’s sudden change had been completely unexpected, and he’d merely been adapting to circumstances as they unfolded.

As for Hela, he’d been dragged into that situation against his will. With a blade at his throat, he’d had little choice but to acknowledge her as a goddess and deal with her accordingly.

If he absolutely had to choose a side, he leaned toward Frigga. They were still cooperating, after all, and there were matters where he needed her assistance.

But he had no intention of antagonizing Hela either.

She was powerful, dangerous, and sooner or later she was going to break free.

Why deliberately make an enemy of someone like that?

Fortunately, mother and daughter weren’t openly at war with each other. If he handled things carefully, there was still room to maneuver between them.

That was already complicated enough.

Adding Odin to the equation would turn a difficult situation into an absolute disaster.

And Evenson had no desire to spend the rest of his life cleaning up someone else’s divine family drama.

Even from a purely practical perspective, Odin wasn’t going to live forever.

Three or four years at most, assuming nothing unexpected happened.

Was it really worth investing heavily in a dying king?

Evenson’s abilities—including fel magic—might be capable of extending Odin’s life. But that only made the situation more dangerous.

Hela was brutally straightforward. She could be unreasonable, arrogant, and violent, but if you spoke to her sensibly, there was at least a chance of getting through to her.

Odin was different.

The All-Father had spent hundreds of thousands of years ruling Asgard. His political instincts, patience, and ability to manipulate people were on an entirely different level.

Frigga had changed dramatically and was already learning how to govern and play the political game, but compared with someone who had ruled Asgard for countless ages, she was still inexperienced.

More importantly, Evenson knew what kind of man Odin was.

The sort who could share hardship with you but had no intention of sharing prosperity.

Hela’s imprisonment could at least be explained by her rebellion. She had started a war against her own father and paid the price.

The fate of the Valkyries was different.

Odin had destroyed them because, once the war was over, he had decided they were no longer useful.

A man willing to discard his own soldiers after victory wasn’t someone Evenson wanted holding a grudge against him.

Using life extension as leverage over Odin would be like trying to control a dog by its tail.

Eventually, the dog would tear itself free.

Then it would bite.

And considering the strength of that particular dog, Evenson suspected he would only get one or two bites before becoming a very short-lived cautionary tale.

No.

Better to leave Odin exactly where he was.

Pretend he knew nothing.

Walk away.

The real condition of the All-Father was obviously something Frigga desperately wanted kept secret. The fact that Evenson knew about it already put him in an awkward position.

The longer he stayed, the greater the chance that something would go wrong.

And if he were in Frigga’s position?

He wouldn’t rule out killing someone to protect a secret like this.

Evenson took one last look at Odin before leaving.

"The mighty All-Father reduced to this."

He shook his head.

"Life really does have a sense of humor. I wonder what he’ll think if he ever wakes up."

"Probably not much," Gabriel said as she followed him toward the stairs.

"He doesn’t have many years left. Even if he wakes up, he’ll probably be content to spend whatever time he has left living quietly. As for Asgard’s affairs..."

She shrugged.

"The throne is still in the family. What’s he going to worry about?"

Evenson considered that.

She had a point.

Frigga might currently have her own ambitions regarding the throne, but she had no siblings of her own. Eventually, wouldn’t she simply pass it to Thor?

Even if she somehow had another relative in mind, why would Odin care?

At worst, Hela could inherit it.

She was his daughter too.

No matter how things played out, the throne would remain in Odin’s bloodline.

For a dying man, there wasn’t much left to fear.

"Although..."

Gabriel stopped just outside the nursing home.

She suddenly seemed to remember something.

"If he really does wake up, the first person he comes looking for will probably be me."

Evenson’s eyes widened.

He slowly turned toward her.

Wait.

An old man who supposedly had only a few years left to live.

A man who apparently wasn’t going to bother worrying about his kingdom.

A man who wasn’t even going to see his wife or children first.

And the first person he’d seek out was Gabriel?

What exactly happened between these two?

Gabriel, unfortunately, had her back turned and completely missed his expression.

"The duel Odin and I fought back then wasn’t technically decided," she explained. "Most of it ended with us negotiating. From his perspective, that’s probably what makes it so frustrating."

"Odin is proud. He’s probably spent all these years thinking about that fight."

"If he wakes up, I’m certain he’ll come looking for me and demand a rematch."

"When that happens, call me."

Evenson’s interest immediately returned.

"I’ll bring a high-definition camera. Hollywood would pay a fortune for footage of the rematch."

Gabriel rolled her eyes.

"I’ll cut you in half first."

She sighed.

"And besides, give me a break. With my current strength, I can’t beat him."

Evenson and Gabriel left the nursing home.

As far as Evenson was concerned, everything he’d seen that day was going to remain buried inside his head.

He wasn’t telling anyone.

For the next two weeks, nothing appeared to happen.

But beneath the surface, several things were moving exactly as planned.

On the desolate plains near New Mexico, a motorcycle tore across the wasteland and disappeared into the ruins of a town that had been abandoned for more than a century.

Once, the place had been famous.

Even now, stories about it survived in the ghost tales of the American West.

A city that had supposedly once been pure and righteous.

Then its people had fallen together.

Their collective corruption had transformed the settlement into a cursed wasteland, a place where the dead refused to rest.

The infamous town of San Venganza.

The motorcycle rolled into the center of the ruins and stopped beside a dry well.

Two women climbed off.

One was Macna, an agent of the Black Chapter.

She lit a cigar and surveyed the abandoned town.

The place practically radiated malice.

Her right hand instinctively moved toward the revolver at her hip.

"So the stories about this place being haunted are true."

She glanced around uneasily.

"Ever since we arrived, I’ve had the feeling that we’re being watched."

"Of course the stories are true."

The second woman leaned against the motorcycle.

"Otherwise, why would we be here?"

She was considerably more striking than Macna.

A black, wide-brimmed hat rested over short white hair. She wore a tight leather vest over a white shirt with a red tie, black motorcycle pants, and riding boots.

Her face was beautiful in a dangerous sort of way.

Her voice, however, was rough and slightly hoarse.

"You’re carrying that Colt. I doubt any ghost or demon is stupid enough to come looking for trouble."

"That makes me curious."

Macna drew her oversized pistol and gave it a little shake.

"The boss said this thing can kill ghosts, but I’ve never actually shot one."

She glanced at the rifle slung over the other woman’s shoulder.

"I assume yours can do the same."

Then she paused.

"Ash... That’s your new name, right?"

"Elizabeth Ash."

The white-haired woman turned and smiled.

"The boss picked it for me."

She shrugged.

"I like it."

"I heard the boss has a serious naming problem."

Macna shook her head.

"I can’t believe he actually came up with something decent."

She looked Ash up and down.

"Still, it’s better than Lorelei. At least Elizabeth Ash sounds like an actual person."

"Oh, shut up."

Ash gave her an annoyed look.

Yes.

The woman standing there was Lorelei.

Not long ago, she had been arrested, and her trial had become an international spectacle.

For a while, practically everyone had been watching.

Then the trial ended.

The world moved on.

There were always new celebrities, new scandals, new disasters, and new stories competing for attention.

Lorelei’s moment in the spotlight didn’t last.

A few publishers had tried to contact her about writing an autobiography.

My Life So Far.

A few media outlets had even wanted interviews about what it was like for an alien to live in prison.

The U.S. government rejected all of them.

The official explanation was perfectly reasonable.

Lorelei was an extraterrestrial with extraordinary abilities, so she needed to be held in a secure, classified facility.

Of course, the government wasn’t barbaric.

She still had visitation rights.

Provided the visitors were family.

That made things considerably more difficult.

Faking an ID was one thing.

Faking a family relationship with an alien was another.

In reality, Lorelei had been transferred to the Black Chapter.

Partly because the organization was considered capable of containing her.

But there was another reason.

During the transfer, government officials had made certain that the Black Chapter understood that prisoners had rights and that Lorelei’s health needed to be monitored.

Which, in government language, translated to:

You should probably perform some medical examinations while you’re at it.

The government wanted to study her.

But Lorelei was Asgardian.

That made official experimentation politically dangerous.

If the government openly dissected an Asgardian—or even performed invasive experiments—the diplomatic fallout with Asgard could be catastrophic.

So the Black Chapter was the perfect solution.

If something went wrong, the government could simply claim that the organization had exceeded its authority.

A convenient scapegoat.

Unfortunately, Evenson had already acquired an Asgardian research subject.

And Hela had stripped Lorelei of the ability that had made her particularly valuable.

There wasn’t much left to study.

Blood tests were enough.

So why keep her locked in a cell and feed her three meals a day?

Absolutely not.

She was going to work.

The Black Chapter changed her clothes, altered her hairstyle, dyed her hair, and gave her a new identity.

Elizabeth Ash was born.

Her assigned weapon was the Winchester Evenson had received from Gideon Malick—the weapon that never missed, known by the nickname Viper.

Evenson wasn’t particularly worried about her escaping.

Lorelei had been caught in the middle of Asgard’s succession crisis, and Hela had used her as a disposable pawn before abandoning her.

After that experience, she had apparently decided that prison was the safest place in the universe.

She had become remarkably cooperative.

"Let’s get this over with," Ash said.

"The boss is getting impatient."

She spread her hands.

Something silver flashed around her left wrist.

It wasn’t a bracelet.

It was half of a pair of manacles.

The arrangement was similar to the one used with Prometheus.

As long as she wore it, she remained officially a prisoner.

"Fair enough."

Macna nodded and drew her revolver.

"You do your thing. I’ll keep watch. If anyone comes wandering in, I’ll handle them."

Ash reached into her coat and pulled out an old scroll.

She unrolled it.

The parchment was covered from top to bottom in names.

Hundreds.

More than a thousand.

The moment the scroll opened completely, the entire ruined town trembled.

Ash raised her voice.

"People of San Venganza. By the authority of the pact, I command every soul bound to this contract to return to it."

The wind exploded across the ruins.

Dark smoke poured from the abandoned houses.

From the church.

From beneath the dry well.

One after another, the spirits emerged.

Each wore a twisted, monstrous face.

They streamed through the air and were pulled into the ancient contract—the very document upon which the people of San Venganza had once sold their souls.

The last spirit disappeared into the parchment.

Ash slowly rolled the contract back up.

"That’s everything."

She secured it.

"We can report back."

"Looks like it."

Macna continued watching the ruins for several seconds.

Nothing happened.

No attack.

No ambush.

No unexpected visitor.

She finally lowered her weapon.

"Guess nobody decided to interfere."

Far away, in a bar in Los Angeles, Mephisto suddenly paused.

So they fulfilled the contract?

He smiled faintly.

The government had supposedly intended to hand the dangerous contract over to Asgard.

Yet somehow, it had ended up in the hands of his people instead.

Not that he particularly cared.

Whether Ash intended to use those souls as fuel, components, or something else entirely was irrelevant.

As long as they didn’t end up back in Hell, Mephisto was satisfied.

"Drifting off during a meeting is rude, Mephisto."

A thick, distorted voice came from nearby.

"We haven’t seen each other in years, and you summon us here just to sit there staring into space?"

Mephisto sat comfortably on a sofa.

Five mirrors surrounded him.

Each mirror contained a grotesque face.

"Sorry, Beelzebub. Samael."

He lifted his glass.

"I was just deciding how to explain what’s coming. Things aren’t exactly going well for any of us."

"Don’t compare us to you."

One of the demons snorted.

"We still have our one-bedroom apartments."

"Not for long."

Mephisto set down his glass with a wicked smile.

"I received two pieces of bad news recently."

His expression darkened.

"One of them is complicated. But the other..."

He leaned forward.

"Suppose half the world’s population died within two hours. Do you think your comfortable little middle-class lives would survive?"

Silence filled the room.

The faces in the mirrors slowly turned toward one another.

Then, almost simultaneously, they looked toward Beelzebub.

"Don’t look at me like that!"

Beelzebub raised his hands defensively.

"I’ve got the plague jars locked away. Nothing escaped. I swear."

"It’s a human."

Mephisto’s smile vanished.

"More precisely, an organization."

He leaned back.

"They intend to kill those people in an instant simply because they want power."

The demons stared at him.

"That’s the truth," Mephisto added. "I can put it in writing if you want."

"Then we have to stop them!"

All five demons shouted at once.

"Mephisto, you have to do something!"

"For the sake of world peace!"

"For the sake of humanity!"

Mephisto smiled.

"Of course."

He spread his hands.

"I’ve already thought of a solution."

The demons fell silent.

"I’ll send my strongest enforcer."

Mephisto’s smile widened.

"His soul contract is still in my possession. And after what happened just now, it seems increasingly unlikely he’ll ever be able to fulfill it."

He paused.

"There is one problem."

The five demons waited.

"Because of what happened last time, my enforcer is... somewhat difficult to control."

Mephisto’s eyes gleamed.

"So I need each of you to lend me a little of your power."

He folded his hands together.

"Just enough to make him listen to me again."

The five faces exchanged glances.

For several long seconds, no one spoke.

Then they nodded.

"For world peace."

"For humanity."

"For the lives of the innocent."

The five demons released their power.

And Mephisto smiled.