Timelines of Desire: A Viking Rebirth

Chapter 1: Quantum Seduction

Mark Gritch, a 33-year-old genius from the small town of Roseburg, Oregon, sat on the edge of his bed in his pristine bedroom garage. It was 2025, and the world outside was mundane, but within these walls, the impossible thrived. His dark brown hair fell messily over his brow as he lounged in shorts and sandals, his mind buzzing with the hum of quantum mechanics. A time machine, a marvel of his own creation, sat in the corner, neurally linked to his mind—no headset required. With a press to his temple, an augmented display screen flickered to life, visible only to him, operated by thought alone. His personal AI, SAI, a creation rivaling the likes of Jarvis, whispered in his consciousness, ready to download knowledge or execute commands.

'SAI, search for a healthy male blond baby in Scandinavia, around three months into the mother’s pregnancy, in 700 CE. The father must be a Scandinavian king,' Mark commanded, his voice steady, fingers tapping the air as if typing on an invisible keyboard.

'Target selected,' SAI replied in a smooth, synthetic tone. 'Name: Unborn child of Jarl Edric Thorsen. Date: April 15, 700 CE. Location: Scandinavia.'

Mark’s lips curled into a sly grin. 'Now, SAI, look up a branch of human evolution on a possible timeline with these parameters for a race called Velo Super Saiyans.' He typed out each trait with precision on his neural interface. 'Silky blond hair, Scandinavian Nordic lineage, white skin, turquoise eyes. Make them extremely healthy, healing fast like demi-gods, with full immunity to disease. High intelligence—800 IQ levels. Superior strength, extreme flexibility, 700-year lifespans. Immunity to extreme cold and heat, unyielding bravery, and eidetic photographic memory.'

'Parameters set,' SAI confirmed. 'Shall I modify the targeted baby in the womb to embody Velo Super Saiyan traits?'

'Do it,' Mark said, his tone laced with anticipation, a spark of something primal in his hazel eyes. 'Transform him.'

'Initiating genetic modification,' SAI reported. 'Baby boy now has all desired traits of the Velo Super Saiyans. Transformation complete.'

Mark leaned back, a predator’s smirk playing on his lips. But then, a thought struck—why just create? Why not become? He pressed a button on his augmented display, and a golden light enveloped him. The world dissolved, and silence swallowed him whole.

He awoke with a start, not as Mark Gritch, but as a newborn, slapped on the behind by rough hands in a smoky longhouse. It was July 22, 700 CE, and he was in Scandinavia, born to Jarl Edric Thorsen and Lady Freydisa Hildsdottir. He didn’t cry; he was calm, unnaturally so, his turquoise eyes scanning the rugged faces around him. 'Mark Thorsen,' his father named him, voice booming with pride.

But even as a babe, Mark’s mind was sharp, centuries of knowledge downloaded into his tiny frame. And nearby, a young shieldmaiden, Astrid, a distant cousin of the jarl, watched the birth with keen interest. At 19, she was fierce, her blond hair braided tight, her turquoise eyes—a mirror of his own—gleaming with curiosity. She was no wilting flower; her hands bore calluses from axe and shield, her stance that of a warrior.

'Strange child,' Astrid muttered, leaning closer, her breath warm against the chill of the longhouse. 'Doesn’t even wail. What are you, little one? A godling dropped among us mortals?'

Mark, though trapped in an infant’s body, felt the weight of her gaze. His mind, still his own, churned with thoughts far beyond this era. He couldn’t speak, not yet, but he knew—oh, he knew—that this woman would be trouble. The kind of trouble that made his blood race, even now.

Years would pass, but the tension was already there, a spark waiting to ignite. Astrid would train him, taunt him, her sharp tongue as deadly as her blade. 'Think you’re strong, Mark Thorsen?' she’d tease one day, pinning him in a sparring match, her body pressed close, sweat glistening on her skin. 'Prove it. Or are you just a pretty boy with a god’s eyes?'

And he’d grin, his voice low, dripping with challenge. 'Careful, Astrid. Keep pushing, and I’ll show you just how hard I can be.'

The air between them would crackle, her eyes narrowing, lips parting as if tasting the promise in his words. She’d lean in, her breath hot, her body a dare. 'I’m not afraid of you,' she’d hiss, her hand brushing his chest, feeling the heat beneath. 'But I bet I can make you pant for me.'

It was only a matter of time before the longhouse walls would witness more than just battles of steel—before the heat of their rivalry turned to something wet, dripping with need, their bodies sweating, hungry, as they collided in a storm of raw, unbridled desire.