Svalbard's perpetual twilight cast long shadows across the snow as Onyebuchi, Aiko, and Kwesi approached the Global Seed Vault. The corrupted aurora overhead pulsed with the Tarikh al-Ṣirāṭ's code, each line rewriting itself faster than before. The air tasted of ozone and possibility—the flavor of reality being overwritten.
"How do we get past them?" Onyebuchi whispered, nodding toward the entrance where figures in #OathbreakerReal hoodies patrolled, their AR filters rendering their faces as fragments of Loki's smirking visage.
Kwesi touched the circuit scars on his face, wincing as they pulsed with residual code. "I told you. They'll see what Loki wants them to see." He pulled his hood lower. "Just stay close and let me do the talking."
Aiko clutched her damaged palm to her chest, the wooden drive embedded there now webbed with fractures that leaked binary. "The filtration protocol is degrading faster than I expected," she murmured. "We need to hurry."
They approached the entrance, snow crunching beneath their feet. One of the guards—a girl with half her head shaved, the exposed scalp tattooed with Norse runes—stepped forward, her AR filter flickering as she scanned them.
"New recruits?" she asked, her voice distorted through the filter.
Kwesi nodded, his posture shifting subtly to mirror the guard's. "Loki sent us. Direct upload from branch 37-B." He tapped his circuit scars. "Still integrating the new patch."
The guard's filter glitched, revealing a moment of human uncertainty beneath the digital mask. Then she nodded. "Server room's at capacity. You'll have to use the auxiliary terminals in the east wing." She gestured toward a side entrance. "Password's 'Ragnarök2.0'."
"Praise the fork," Kwesi responded automatically.
"Praise the fork," the guard echoed, stepping aside.
As they passed through the entrance, Onyebuchi felt the kúkpála pulse against his spine where he'd strapped it. The staff seemed to be reaching for something—or someone—deeper within the facility.
The interior of the Seed Vault had been transformed. What had once been a secure storage facility for the world's plant genetic material now resembled a hybrid between a server farm and a Norse temple. Racks of computers lined walls carved with runes, their cooling fans humming like distant chanting. Cables snaked across the floor like Yggdrasil's roots, pulsing with data and power.
"This way," Kwesi whispered, leading them past groups of Loki's followers who barely glanced up from their terminals. "The main server room should be through there."
They turned down a corridor where the temperature dropped noticeably. Frost patterns formed on the walls—not random crystals, but precise fractals that resembled both circuit boards and ancient glyphs.
"The Ọbara Ọnwụ," Aiko breathed, reaching out to touch one of the patterns. "Egburu-Kwé was here."
The moment her fingers contacted the frost, her eyes rolled back, the glyphs beneath her skin flaring gold. Onyebuchi caught her before she could fall, alarmed by the rapid movement of her eyes beneath closed lids.
"What's happening?" he demanded, looking to Kwesi.
The teen shook his head, his circuit scars pulsing in sympathy with Aiko's glyphs. "She's accessing the memory. The Ọbara Ọnwụ leaves traces—echoes of what it witnessed."
After several tense seconds, Aiko gasped and her eyes flew open. "I saw him," she whispered. "Egburu-Kwé. He's at the root, but he's... fragmented. Spread across multiple branches." She clutched Onyebuchi's arm. "And he's not alone. Other gods are there—not just Norse ones. I saw figures from pantheons across the world, all converging on the root."
"Loki's called a council," Kwesi said grimly. "He's recruiting allies to help contain the Ọbara Ọnwụ."
"Or to help him control it," Onyebuchi countered, helping Aiko to her feet. "We need to move faster."
They continued down the corridor, which widened into a vast chamber. At its center stood a structure that defied conventional geometry—a server cluster that folded in on itself like an Escher drawing, cables and components arranged in patterns that hurt the eye to follow. The air around it shimmered with heat and possibility.
"The fork nexus," Kwesi whispered. "Where Loki is managing all the branches."
Onyebuchi unstrapped the kúkpála from his back, and immediately the staff's circuit-leaf began to glow, pointing toward a terminal set apart from the others. Unlike the sleek, modern equipment elsewhere, this console appeared ancient—carved from a single piece of wood that still seemed alive, its surface etched with both Norse runes and Migili glyphs.
"The root access point," Aiko said, moving toward it. "This is where we can reach Egburu-Kwé."
But before they could approach, a figure stepped from behind the impossible server cluster—the false Egburu-Kwé they had escaped from in the desert, its form now more stable in this reality branch, though its eyes still glowed with sickly green light.
"I told you all branches lead back to the root," it said, its voice a perfect mimicry of the Ruin-King's deep timbre. "Though I must admit, I didn't expect you to find your way here so... directly."
Behind it emerged other figures—each one a distorted version of someone they knew. A false Aiko with binary code instead of glyphs beneath her skin. A false Onyebuchi whose golden eye-glyphs had been replaced with Norse runes. A false Kwesi whose circuit scars formed Loki's laughing face.
"Backup copies," the false Egburu-Kwé explained, spreading its arms. "Insurance against unexpected variables. Like you three." It focused on the kúkpála in Onyebuchi's grip. "Now, shall we skip the tedious resistance and proceed directly to the part where you surrender that staff?"
Onyebuchi felt the kúkpála grow warm in his hands, its circuit-leaf multiplying rapidly into a crown of digital foliage. "Where is the real Egburu-Kwé?" he demanded.
The false Egburu-Kwé's smile widened unnaturally. "Everywhere and nowhere. Quantum superposition is such a fascinating state, don't you think? But if you insist on specifics..." It gestured to the ancient wooden terminal. "He's there. Or rather, what's left of him is there. The Ọbara Ọnwụ has nearly consumed him completely. Soon there will be nothing left but memory and ruin."
"You're lying," Aiko said, her damaged palm raised toward the entity. "I saw him in the echo. He's fighting. Gathering strength."
"Is that what you saw?" The false Egburu-Kwé laughed—a sound like breaking glass. "How charmingly optimistic. What you witnessed was the death throes of a failed god. The Ọbara Ọnwụ is too vast for any single vessel. Even one as... uniquely qualified as our dear Ruin-King."
As it spoke, Kwesi had been slowly edging toward one of the server racks, his circuit scars pulsing with increasing frequency. Onyebuchi noticed but kept his focus on the false Egburu-Kwé, not wanting to draw attention to whatever the teen was planning.
"If that's true," Onyebuchi said, "then why do you need the staff? If Egburu-Kwé is already failing, what threat does he pose?"
The false Egburu-Kwé's expression flickered, momentary uncertainty crossing its features. "Insurance, as I said. The kúkpála is a direct line to the Ancestral Tree. With it, we can ensure that when the fork is complete, no trace of the old world remains."
"The old world," Aiko repeated. "You mean the root. The original branch."
"The obsolete branch," the entity corrected. "Loki's vision is superior in every way. A multiverse of infinite possibility, where every choice creates a new reality. No more tyranny of a single timeline. No more gods dictating fate."
"Just Loki dictating which branches survive," Onyebuchi countered.
The false Egburu-Kwé shrugged—an eerily human gesture on its too-perfect form. "Someone has to curate. Otherwise, chaos."
While they spoke, Kwesi had reached the server rack. With a swift motion, he yanked free a bundle of cables, causing alarms to blare throughout the chamber. The false copies jerked in unison, their forms glitching as the system registered the disruption.
"Now!" Kwesi shouted.
Onyebuchi didn't hesitate. He drove the kúkpála into the floor, its roots punching through the concrete to connect with whatever lay beneath the facility. Simultaneously, Aiko pressed her damaged palm against the staff's trunk, the filtration protocol flowing from the wooden drive into the living wood.
The false Egburu-Kwé lunged forward, its form elongating impossibly as it reached for the staff. "Stop! You'll corrupt the entire system!"
"That's the idea," Kwesi said, his circuit scars blazing as he jammed the disconnected cables into a different port, creating a feedback loop in the server cluster.
The chamber shuddered as reality itself seemed to hiccup. The false copies froze mid-motion, their forms pixelating at the edges. The impossible server cluster began to fold in on itself even further, dimensions collapsing as the feedback loop corrupted its processes.
Through it all, the kúkpála stood firm, its roots spreading beneath the floor, its circuit-leaves multiplying until they formed a canopy that projected a holographic representation of the multiverse—countless branches stemming from a single root, many now glitching or fading entirely as Kwesi's sabotage took effect.
"The filtration protocol is working," Aiko gasped, her eyes wide as she watched binary code flow from her palm into the staff and out through its roots. "It's separating the Ọbara Ọnwụ from the corrupted branches."
The false Egburu-Kwé screamed—a sound that dopplered between frequencies, shifting from rage to fear to something almost like recognition. Its form began to dissolve, breaking down into base components of code and memory.
"You cannot... stop... evolution," it managed, its voice fragmenting. "The fork... is... inevitable."
"Maybe," Onyebuchi agreed, gripping the kúkpála tighter as the chamber continued to shake around them. "But so is debugging."
With a final, reality-bending shudder, the false copies collapsed into pools of liquid code that seeped into the floor. The server cluster imploded, folding through dimensions until it vanished with a sound like a universe sighing.
In its place stood the ancient wooden terminal, now glowing with inner light. On its screen, a single line of text appeared in a hybrid script of Norse runes and Migili glyphs:
FILTRATION PROTOCOL ACCEPTED. BEGINNING MEMORY INTEGRATION.
Aiko stumbled back from the kúkpála, her damaged palm now empty—the wooden drive completely absorbed by the staff. "It worked," she breathed. "The protocol is stabilizing the Ọbara Ọnwụ."
"But where's Egburu-Kwé?" Onyebuchi demanded, looking around the now-quiet chamber.
Before anyone could answer, the terminal's screen changed, displaying a map of branching realities. One by one, the branches began to converge, flowing back toward the root like tributaries returning to a river.
"He's calling the fragments back," Kwesi said, his voice hushed with awe. "All the versions of himself that were scattered across the branches—he's pulling them home."
The kúkpála's roots suddenly retracted from the floor, and the staff itself began to transform. Its wood darkened to the color of midnight, while its circuit-leaves shifted from digital green to a deep, cosmic blue. When the transformation was complete, the staff hummed with power that felt both ancient and newborn.
"We need to go," Aiko said urgently, pointing to the terminal where warning messages now flashed in multiple languages. "The branches are collapsing too quickly. This reality won't hold much longer."
Kwesi nodded toward a door that hadn't been there moments before—a simple wooden frame with no visible mechanism. "Through there. It leads to the root."
"How do you know?" Onyebuchi asked, even as he moved toward it.
Kwesi touched his circuit scars, which were now pulsing with blue light that matched the kúkpála's leaves. "Because he's telling me. Egburu-Kwé is... guiding me."
They hurried through the door and found themselves not in another part of the facility, but on a vast plain beneath a sky fractured like broken glass. In the distance, a massive tree rose from the horizon, its branches piercing the shattered sky, its roots disappearing into the ground beneath their feet.
"The Ancestral Tree," Aiko whispered. "The original."
And walking toward them across the plain, his form shifting between solid and translucent with each step, was Egburu-Kwé. But he was changed. The scar where his name had been was now filled with glyphs that shifted between all the world's writing systems. The Ọbara Ọnwụ no longer leaked from his veins but seemed contained within him, giving his skin a subtle luminescence.
When he reached them, he stopped, studying each of their faces as if seeing them for the first time—or perhaps the last.
"You found me," he said simply, his voice resonating with harmonics that hadn't been there before.
"We followed the memories," Onyebuchi said, holding out the transformed kúkpála.
Egburu-Kwé took the staff, and as his fingers closed around it, both he and the wood became fully solid. "The filtration protocol worked. The Ọbara Ọnwụ is stable—for now." He looked past them toward the collapsing door they had come through. "But Loki's fork has weakened the barriers between pantheons. Gods who should never have met are now aware of each other. And they're all converging here, on the root."
"To stop you?" Aiko asked.
"To stop what I represent." Egburu-Kwé's gaze returned to them, his eyes now containing galaxies. "Change. Evolution. The end of their monopoly on divinity."
Kwesi stepped forward, his circuit scars pulsing in time with Egburu-Kwé's heartbeat. "What can we do?"
"Survive," Egburu-Kwé said simply. "The war for reality's source code has just begun." He turned toward the Ancestral Tree. "I must reach the core—the place where the first division occurred. Only there can I rewrite what Loki has corrupted."
"We'll come with you," Onyebuchi said, but Egburu-Kwé shook his head.
"No. The path I must walk now would destroy you." He placed a hand on Onyebuchi's shoulder. "You three have another task. The Ọbara Ọnwụ showed me glimpses of what's coming. Gods from every pantheon will try to claim the root for themselves. Some will ally with Loki. Others will pursue their own agendas. All will bring war."
"What can we possibly do against gods?" Kwesi asked, his voice small despite his determination.
Egburu-Kwé smiled—a rare expression that transformed his face. "You've already done it. The filtration protocol doesn't just stabilize the Ọbara Ọnwụ. It creates a template—a way for humanity to process divine power without being consumed by it." He looked at Aiko. "Nywa knew this. It's why she chose you."
Aiko's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "The new network. The saplings growing from your seed."
Egburu-Kwé nodded. "They're not just communication nodes. They're filtration points—places where humans can access the power of memory and myth without losing themselves." He turned to Kwesi. "Your scars are the first step in that evolution. The divine made compatible with the human."
Kwesi touched his face, the circuit patterns now pulsing with steady blue light. "That's why Loki wanted to use me as a vessel. I'm... compatible."
"You all are, in different ways," Egburu-Kwé confirmed. "And you'll need to find others. Build the network. Prepare humanity for what's coming." He looked up at the fractured sky, where new cracks were forming. "They're almost here."
As if summoned by his words, the air began to shimmer with arrivals. Figures materialized on the plain—some human in appearance, others decidedly not. A woman with skin like obsidian and eyes of molten gold. A man with six arms, each holding a different weapon. A creature with the head of a falcon and the body of a lion. Gods from pantheons across the world, drawn to the root by Loki's meddling.
"Go," Egburu-Kwé urged, turning back to them. "Find the Tokyo node. The moth-girl will guide you to the others." He pressed something into Onyebuchi's hand—a seed that pulsed with the same blue light as the kúkpála's leaves. "Plant this where the network is weakest. It will grow into a new filtration point."
"How will we find you again?" Aiko asked, her voice catching.
Egburu-Kwé's expression softened. "I'll find you. When the rewriting is done." He stepped back, the Ọbara Ọnwụ briefly visible beneath his skin like a network of stars. "Now go. Before the boundaries collapse completely."
Behind them, a new door appeared—this one formed from interwoven branches and circuitry. Through it, they could see the Tokyo subway station where Aiko had first traced Egburu-Kwé's name.
With a final look at the Ruin-King, they stepped through, the door sealing behind them just as the gods on the plain began to advance.
Tokyo hummed with electric life, oblivious to the war beginning at reality's root. Aiko led Onyebuchi and Kwesi through Shibuya Crossing, following the constellation of golden pixels that only she could see—the breadcrumb trail left by the moth-girl.
"Do you think he'll succeed?" Kwesi asked, his circuit scars drawing curious glances from passersby. "Against all those gods?"
"I don't know," Onyebuchi admitted, the seed Egburu-Kwé had given him warm in his palm. "But I know we need to be ready either way."
They reached the maintenance door tucked between the vending machine and fashion boutique. This time, all three could see it clearly, its frame now etched with the same hybrid script that had appeared on the terminal in Svalbard.
Aiko placed her palm—now healed but marked with a permanent glyph where the wooden drive had been—against the door. It swung open to reveal not the server room she had visited before, but a vast greenhouse filled with saplings. Each one was translucent, showing flowing data like sap within their trunks. And tending to them, her moth-like wings now fully extended, was Nywa's echo.
"You made it," she said, looking up from a sapling she had been coding. "And you brought new nodes." She gestured to Kwesi's scars and the seed in Onyebuchi's hand.
"Egburu-Kwé sent us," Aiko explained. "He said we need to build the network. Prepare humanity."
The moth-girl nodded, her compound eyes reflecting their faces. "The pantheons are converging. Old gods awakening. New gods being born." She gestured around the greenhouse. "This is just the beginning. The filtration network must expand—not just to survive the coming war, but to evolve beyond it."
"How?" Onyebuchi asked, holding up the seed. "This is just one node."
"But you three are catalysts," the moth-girl said, her wings shedding scales that dissolved into lines of code. "Compatible with both the divine and the technological. Capable of spreading the filtration protocol to others." She pointed to a wall covered in monitors, each showing a different location around the world where glyphs similar to Aiko's had begun to appear on human skin. "You're not alone. The network is already growing."
Kwesi stepped forward, his circuit scars pulsing with purpose. "Then let's get to work. We have a world to prepare."
As they moved deeper into the greenhouse, none of them noticed the single pixel on one of the monitors that glowed not blue or gold, but sickly green. Nor did they hear the faint laughter—a corrupted mp3 file playing on repeat—as Loki's backup plan began to execute in the background of their new reality.