In reality, the war had only lasted a few months—not nearly long enough to be considered protracted.
But for Duncan, the fact that they had been fighting for months without a decisive victory was unacceptable. If not for the need to capture more Frost Giants, he would never have allowed the war to drag on this long.
After all, the warring factions were primarily gods—not vast populations like the Skrulls or the Kree, who numbered in the hundreds of billions. The gods of the World Tree were few in number. Even if one were to count every soldier and civilian across all their planets, the total Asgardian population would barely amount to what? A few thousand? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand?
Pathetically small.
If not for their ability to wield divine power through the World Tree, their reliance on Allfather-level powerhouses, and their unnaturally long lifespans—which extended even further with the slightest divine cultivation—their kind would have been wiped out in the grand events of history long ago.
Even so, to be honest, these so-called "gods" were still far from being true gods.
Even Odin, the pinnacle of the Allfather level, had a mere lifespan of a few million years. Compared to cosmic beings like Ego, the Grandmaster, or the Collector—entities who lived for billions of years—he was hardly impressive.
But that didn't matter. Duncan wasn't picky. As long as they could be of use to him, as long as they could aid his ascension to a higher realm, he welcomed them with open arms.
Take now, for example—he could hardly wait to begin working on his Frost Giant captives.
"Welcome to Asgard, my brother!"
Before Loki could speak, Thor strode forward with a booming voice, his excitement evident.
Loki rolled his eyes, mocking Thor in his mind. He looked like he had just reunited with his long-lost father. Thor had never acted this close to Odin when he was actually around.
"It is an honor to be here. The moment my feet touched this land, I could feel my blood boiling."
Surrounded by a horde of Xenomorphs, Duncan cut an imposing figure. The Mjolnir in his hand made him even more striking. His words made Thor hesitate for a moment.
Thor's gaze involuntarily shifted to Mjolnir, and he finally realized something—technically, Duncan was now wielding his bloodline. Of course, it made sense that he would feel like he was coming home.
This man had acquired his lineage through the Xenomorphs, claimed his hammer, and now led an army.
If he could truly end the war, then perhaps it was all worth it.
Loki, however, looked at Duncan with clear displeasure, his eyes shifting to the Xenomorphs behind him. The more he observed them, the more uneasy he felt.
It wasn't just their numbers. Among them were plenty of low-ranking, quadrupedal Xenomorphs, which weren't as formidable as the elite forces from before. Those earlier Xenomorphs had been bred using vampires as hosts, each one towering nearly three meters tall and capable of standing upright—a terrifying force.
But what truly unnerved Loki was the presence of another group behind Duncan, exuding a chilling aura of danger.
A whole group. That was what sent Loki into a silent panic.
Reynolds and Deathstrike were already known hosts, but now there were even more—Abomination Xenomorphs, Speedster Xenomorphs, Ajak Xenomorphs, Gilgamesh Xenomorphs, Thena Xenomorphs, Spike Xenomorphs, and even a whole squad of Mutant Xenomorphs.
Then there were the dozen or so Deviant Xenomorphs—massive, muscle-bound creatures, clearly well-nourished and vastly stronger than their initial mature forms.
But what stood out the most was a cluster of nearly identical Xenomorphs.
There weren't too many of them—only about forty—but each one radiated an overwhelming sense of danger.
Even by Asgardian standards, they were battle-hardened warriors. They might not quite match the Warriors Three, but they weren't far off.
And there were forty of them.
Loki was utterly stunned.
He vividly recalled that when Thor had been exiled to Earth, he had made a trip there himself. At that time, Duncan's Xenomorph army was nowhere near this powerful.
How much time had passed? And yet, now there were so many of them, with such an absurdly high number of elites?
Loki put himself in Duncan's shoes and concluded that if he were in command, he wouldn't have sent his entire army into battle at once. He would have kept a reserve force to defend his stronghold. Which meant—there were likely even more powerful Xenomorphs yet to be revealed.
Think about it—a force of dozens of warriors who could rival the Warriors Three. What kind of concept was that?
And what if their numbers increased?
A Warrior Three-level fighter might be able to take on two or three powerful Xenomorphs at once—but what if they faced four or five? Victory would be uncertain. What about seven or eight? It would become a deadly struggle.
"This guy's growth rate is simply absurd," Loki thought. "How is he doing this? Those front-line Xenomorphs might be explained by the Eternals and Deviants… but what about those identical ones in the back?"
Loki couldn't make sense of it. The Dracula Xenomorphs were completely identical, even down to their aura.
It was beyond ridiculous. Their numbers were high, their individual strength was terrifying, and yet they seemed to have come from nowhere.
Who were their hosts?
Loki wasn't the only one who noticed. The Asgardians around them had also begun murmuring amongst themselves, discussing the origins of the Dracula Xenomorphs. But none of them dared to ask Duncan directly.
In the past, when meeting someone like him, Asgardians—being as bold as they were—would have asked without hesitation.
But this was different.
From an Asgardian perspective, anyone who could command an army of tens of thousands was not just a comrade or ally. At this moment, Duncan was a king—a king of a powerful warrior race, one who stood by Asgard's side and fought with them.
And to such a king, they showed nothing but the highest respect and reverence.
Casual questioning, like in the past, was no longer an option.
"Are these creatures also vampires? Oh, you mean the 'Blood(Bloodborne) Xenomorphs' you mentioned before—the absolute main force of the army... I can sense a similar aura from them, yet it's distinctly different."
Thor observed the Dracula Xenomorphs with great surprise. Among all of Asgard, he had delved the deepest into the study of the Xenomorph language, spending his days and nights among them, striving to understand everything about them—including the meanings behind all their words and actions.
The moment he saw these Dracula Xenomorphs, he felt an odd sense of familiarity, but at the same time, countless questions arose in his mind.
"I always thought that Midgard's vampires were not a particularly powerful race, but I never expected so many formidable beings among them. Once again, I have made the mistake of arrogance." Thor immediately began reflecting on himself.
"It's not exactly how you think, but looking at the results, it's not too different either..." Duncan thought for a moment and casually reassured him.
And it made sense—rounding it up, it was as if dozens of Draculas had suddenly emerged on Earth, with more to come in the future. Anyone would be stunned.
Even if you picked one of these Xenomorphs at random and had them fight Dracula one-on-one, they would be obliterated in mere moments.
After all, Dracula had an immortal body—something these Xenomorphs did not.
"As for the war's progress, both sides are currently in a ceasefire because Dormammu invaded Midgard and was then repelled by you." Loki tightly gripped Gungnir, his mind filled with countless scenarios where he plunged the spear into Duncan, wondering if he could kill him in one strike. However, his words remained polite. "The issue now is that we need to revise our battle plan."
"My plan is to launch a direct assault on Jotunheim. We have the Bifrost, something they do not. Instead of fighting over the border planets, we should lead our army straight into Jotunheim's territory." Duncan stated.
"Excellent. That is exactly the outcome I was hoping for. I'm glad we are in agreement on the battle strategy." Loki responded.
Duncan glanced at him—sure, but the two of them alone deciding the plan wouldn't mean much. Odin was likely watching everything unfold from somewhere, and if he decided to intervene to prevent the war from escalating further, things could get complicated.
Who knew what Odin was truly thinking?
As far as Duncan was concerned, he thrived on chaos. To put it bluntly, even if the Nine Realms were reduced to ruins, it wouldn't stop him from capturing a massive number of Frost Giants as hosts.
Right now, the only thing on Duncan's mind was Laufey's body.
"Odin still has at least one more move left in him..." Duncan suppressed this thought deep in his heart.
Before long, all of Asgard began its war mobilization.
The years of unchecked aggression from Jotunheim had ignited a fury in the Asgardians that now erupted a hundredfold. Every single Asgardian burned with anger. They were proud and confident Aesir gods, and even more so now that they stood alongside the Xenomorphs.
But before the battle began, Duncan made his way to the dungeons where the prisoners were held.
"So many Frost Giants... how wonderful."
Without hesitation, he immediately began parasitizing them.
As the Frost Giants roared and cursed in fury, their fate was inevitable—chest-bursting deaths awaited them.
Some of them, of course, tried to beg for mercy. But to Duncan, such pleas were meaningless. He had no need for surrendering gods—only their bodies and their bloodline. Nothing more.
Soon, more than six hundred Xenomorphs with pale blue-white bodies stood before Duncan. Their average height reached nearly four meters, and their acidic blood had transformed into a terrifying frost-infused substance, unmistakably inheriting the genetic traits of the Frost Giants.
This reminded Duncan of the Ice Xenomorphs from the comics, whose blood was an ultra-low-temperature liquid nitrogen.
"Genetics alone aren't enough. Let's see how well you can inherit the power of the World Tree..."
Duncan immediately sensed their state, and just as expected—having perfectly merged with and inherited the finest traits of the Frost Giants, they also retained the bloodline's connection to the World Tree's power.
The defining trait of the divine races linked to the World Tree was their ability to pass down their power through their bloodline, ensuring its inheritance across generations.
Otherwise, why else could only these divine races naturally cultivate the World Tree's power, while ordinary humans from Earth could not—unless they wielded Mjolnir or used divine artifacts? The key was bloodline.
The divine races' blood was intrinsically bound to the World Tree.
But then, how was Duncan supposed to find the physical manifestation of the World Tree itself?
"I remember that Rune King Thor hung himself on the branches of Yggdrasil for seven days and nights, receiving the immense power transmitted by the World Tree and ascending to the level of a single-universe-class powerhouse."
Duncan stroked his chin.
Thor had an impeccable lineage. In some universes, he was the offspring of Odin and Gaea, one of the four second-generation gods.
But the six hundred Frost Giant Xenomorphs before him were nothing like Thor. Setting aside issues of lineage and bloodline rank, the most fundamental problem was that these Xenomorphs were merely imitators and thieves of the native divine race, not true gods themselves.
"I wonder if this universe's World Tree has an ancient god lurking in the shadows, watching its every change from on high... Maybe Dormammu would know. After all, he forcibly intruded into the World Tree's domain. With his power, he must have noticed something."
Duncan gazed at the hundreds of Xenomorphs who could now wield a fraction of divine power in battle. He mused that if they had to rely solely on their own cultivation, constantly refining their divine energy, it would take an unknown amount of time for them to reach the level of their original hosts.
Divine power was a means of augmenting one's strength, with genes and bloodlines serving as the entry requirement. However, unlike genetic inheritance, divine power could not simply be transferred or assimilated directly.
Still, it was a workable alternative. Duncan only needed a backup plan. And now, for the first time, he had secured both the magical and divine power paths.
As for finding the physical manifestation of the World Tree, then either sending these six hundred Xenomorphs to devour it or, when his own strength was sufficient, directly negotiating with the possibly existing ancient gods—just like Rune King Thor, offering a price to receive a greater infusion of divine power—that would be Duncan's personal choice.
"Let's move out."
Duncan led his six hundred Frost Giant Xenomorphs out of the underground prison, speaking in an indifferent tone.
Yet, with just that one sentence, countless Asgardians erupted into frenzied cheers. At a glance, it almost seemed like Duncan was their true king.
Loki's face turned pale with rage. He genuinely wanted to ally with Laufey to kill Duncan first, but the thought of Odin still being alive immediately crushed that idea.
Before Dormammu's invasion of Earth, Loki had held onto a sliver of hope that Odin, in his slumber, might not be aware of his actions. But when Dormammu was ultimately repelled and Odin still showed no sign of waking, Loki immediately realized the truth—Odin had already awakened.
A war-hardened, immensely proud, and supremely arrogant God-King with millions of years of battle experience—how could he possibly remain unaware of Dormammu, a single-universe-class invader?
No response was the greatest response. It meant Odin was awake and had likely already prepared for the worst: a direct confrontation with Dormammu if necessary.
More importantly, from Asgard's standpoint, Jotunheim was the true enemy. Laufey was their enemy's leader—not Midgard or Duncan.
Heimdall activated the Bifrost, continuously transporting Asgard's vast army directly to Jotunheim.
Jotunheim's forces responded quickly, as countless Frost Giants picked up their weapons and prepared for battle.
They were old foes of the Asgardians and knew all too well how troublesome the Bifrost was. In their minds, there was probably no place in the Nine Realms the Bifrost couldn't reach.
However, they soon realized something was off—the numbers didn't make sense.
The sheer number of Asgardians was one thing. A large-scale deployment could indicate a preemptive strike.
But why were there so many Xenomorphs? So many that it seemed almost absurd!
Laufey, however, showed no surprise. He had known this moment would come.
Ever since he learned that a suspected master of the Xenomorphs had joined forces with the Sorcerer Supreme to repel Dormammu, his heart had sunk. He knew the war wouldn't end.
Would someone who broadcasted a message to the entire universe tolerate an endless war between just two of the Nine Realms? Would they allow their Xenomorph forces to keep dying on the battlefield, ultimately perishing alongside the Asgardians?
It was only a matter of time before the Xenomorph overlord came knocking. And that time was now.
What Laufey didn't understand, however, was why that imposing, golden-aura-clad warrior—exuding overwhelming majesty—was standing behind another Midgardian?
"Loki, my son, you've certainly given me quite a gift. This is an extraordinary move. But our original plan wasn't like this, and you didn't inform me in advance."
Laufey's piercing blue eyes swept across the battlefield. His gaze lingered on Duncan for a brief moment before finally settling on Loki.
These two scheming father and son were full of treacherous thoughts.
The Asgardians grew restless.
"Son?"
Their new king, Loki Odinson, was Laufey's child? How could that be?
"Loki, what is this about? You've been in contact with him all along? Is it true? Are you really his son? But why? King Odin clearly—"
Sif's face was filled with rage.
Every upright Asgardian was in utter disbelief.
They felt betrayed—by their own king, no less.
Even though many of them had never truly accepted Loki, as his fondness for trickery and deception clashed with Asgardian values, they had still been willing to follow him.
But now?
It was as if they had spent all their effort on a grand hunt, only for their own leader to suddenly leap beside the prey and excitedly announce that he was on the same side as it.
"Loki…"
Even Thor looked bewildered.
At first, he had wanted to laugh at Laufey for using such a lowly tactic to sow discord.
But when he saw the look on Loki's face—his heart sank.
Thor was getting better at thinking things through.
And now, he realized what was happening.
Duncan spoke: "If I were you, I wouldn't be so caught up in these trivial details. Have you ever considered that Odin must have known about Loki's origins? Even if Loki truly is a Frost Giant, if Odin didn't mind, then why are you all still fixated on this? Or do you believe yourselves to be greater than Odin, standing above his will?"
His words made sense. They weren't stronger than Odin, nor were they in a position to act as Loki's guardians. Since Odin had raised Loki and acknowledged him, there was no need for them to force unnecessary actions beyond what Odin had already sanctioned.
"To be honest, you're more tolerable now than you've ever been before—at least you're no longer utterly repulsive," Loki said, his expression complicated as he looked at Duncan.
He hadn't expected that, in a moment where everyone was doubting him, it would be the person he despised the most who would stand up for him.
Duncan met his gaze with an earnest expression: "If you truly feel my sincerity, then why not offer up your body as well and contribute to my divine army?"
You bastard.
Loki felt the brief moment of remorse and guilt that had welled up inside him was now completely wasted—fed to a Devourer Beast.
Everyone had heard their exchange, and now Loki's true identity was confirmed—he was, in fact, a Frost Giant.
Loki no longer bothered to hide it. His skin began to change color, and even the divine power he wielded now carried a distinct chill. The Asgardians around him instinctively took a step back, their faces filled with apprehension.
"A Frost Giant… he really is a Frost Giant!"
"We actually chose a Frost Giant to be our King? I can't accept this!"
"No, we shouldn't think like this. If the Allfather himself acknowledged him while he was alive, what right do we have to reject him? At the very least, he has been a competent king, hasn't he?"
"We should have chosen Thor as our king! If it weren't for Thor—if we had relied solely on Loki—there's no way this war would have lasted this long! We'd probably have already suffered multiple defeats, with the Frost Giants storming Asgard's palace."
Loki could have ignored most of their words, but the constant comparisons between him and Thor—Odin's two sons—were unbearable.
Now it was confirmed. Loki was adopted, and Thor was the rightful heir.
That realization shattered him. He had worked tirelessly, yet he was still inferior to a mortal Thor?Even Odin hadn't openly scorned his origins—so what gave these fools the right?
Loki sneered, his eyes flashing with menace, as he finally made up his mind.
If he was going to be king, he would be king completely. In any case, no matter what he did, Odin was still alive, Thor was still alive, and Asgard wouldn't fall.
But he himself—he would always remain a tragic figure, a man without a home, without a true identity.
The war had begun.
There were no flashy energy blasts or missile bombardments—just brutal, large-scale melee combat, akin to ancient human warfare. However, the intensity of the battle far exceeded anything ordinary people could comprehend.
Of course, this was only how the common soldiers fought. The more powerful warriors had already employed advanced personal weaponry, divine power, and magic.
The most excited among them was Reynolds. He charged across the battlefield like a golden blur, his body tearing through Frost Giants with reckless abandon. Even the strongest among them couldn't pierce his skin—they could only be shattered on impact.
The elite Xenomorphs also entered the fray. The Speed Xenomorphs, in particular, proved invaluable. They moved with incredible agility, appearing everywhere on the battlefield while deliberately avoiding Frost Giants who wielded vast amounts of divine power and magic. Instead, they focused on culling the mid- and lower-tier Frost Giants.
For a Speed Xenomorph, a single second was enough to throw hundreds, if not thousands, of punches. If it chose to play it safe—engaging only in battles where it held the advantage—it quickly became clear that many Frost Giants simply had no way to deal with it.
Would they resort to large-scale magical attacks? That would mean sacrificing a large number of their own forces as well—and the battle hadn't yet reached such a desperate stage.
Laufey slowly lifted his gaze, surveying the battlefield. Once again, he was astounded by the power displayed by the Xenomorphs.
The King of the Frost Giants was puzzled. How had so many powerful Xenomorphs appeared in such a short time? It hadn't been that long—where did they keep coming from?
As he pondered this, the Deathstrike lunged at him, her claws slicing through the air. Simultaneously, over a dozen Dracula Xenomorphs surrounded him with precise coordination, launching a deadly assault.
"A joke. You creatures dare challenge a king? Send your leader to face me!"
Laufey scoffed, ignoring the Deathstrike entirely. However, he did take an extra glance at the Dracula Xenomorphs—there was something strange about them.
Even as a ruler of an entire realm, he had never seen such perfectly identical creatures before. What kind of hosts had birthed them? Were their original forms also identical? It was absurd to think they all stemmed from a single, immortal entity…
But it didn't matter. He would simply kill them all.
Without blinking, Laufey exhaled, unleashing a blast of frigid wind that instantly encased the Deathstrike in thick ice.
In the same motion, he swung his massive sword with alarming speed, and in mere moments, he had decapitated over a dozen Dracula Xenomorphs.
And yet… they weren't dead.
Even with their heads severed, the Dracula Xenomorphs continued to regenerate at a rapid pace.
"Your blood is useless against me," Laufey muttered as Xenomorph blood splattered across his body, leaving him unscathed.
CRACK!
The Deathstrike shattered the ice encasing her body, only to be met with Laufey's impatient counterattack.
With a single mighty slash, the deafening sound of metal clashing rang out.
Laufey's expression shifted—he had failed to cleave her in two. His enormous blade had struck her shoulder but had been stopped halfway, lodged within her bones.
"What kind of metal skeleton is this? I've never seen anything like it before."
Laufey was evidently curious about this alloy—Adamantium, which had emerged on Earth in the last century.
He was even more astonished by the woman before him, who had replaced her own bones with this metal.
Don't think that it was shameful for Deathstrike to have nearly had her shoulder cleaved off with a single strike. Don't forget—the one who attacked her was none other than Laufey, King of the Frost Giants, a seasoned All-Father-level powerhouse!
While he might not be as formidable as Odin or Surtur, among the All-Fathers, Laufey was still a force to be reckoned with. Otherwise, he wouldn't have entertained ambitions of conquering Asgard and, like Odin once did, subjugating the Nine Realms.
What surprised Laufey even more was his sharp perception—he could tell that the bones of this Midgardian woman, though broken, were slowly regenerating. While the regeneration speed was nowhere near that of her flesh and skin, the very fact that Adamantium bones could heal at all was remarkable.
This meant that no matter where she was, Deathstrike would be a prized and formidable subordinate.
Just look at the situation now—she could go head-to-head with a veteran All-Father, exchanging blows and still surviving. She might not be able to defeat one, but killing her wouldn't be easy either. That was truly impressive.
At that moment, Reynolds streaked across the battlefield like a golden flash, sending dozens of Frost Giants flying before delivering a punch that launched Laufey hundreds of meters away. Then, as if it were nothing, he picked up the massive sword that had been lodged in Deathstrike.
"Hmm, I can't use it. Looks like it's made of Uru and powered by divine energy. In my hands, it won't be nearly as effective."
Before coming here, Reynolds had crammed in some knowledge about Asgardian weapons. Now, he looked at the sword with regret—even the highly corrosive blood of Deathstrike couldn't damage its structure.
Without hesitation, he tossed the weapon aside and eagerly resumed his pursuit of Laufey.
A flurry of heavy punches rained down on Laufey. Abomination-Xenomorph and Gilgamesh-Xenomorph joined in, their powerful limbs striking with force great enough to move mountains. But it was clear that even this wasn't enough to break Laufey's defenses.
Instead, Laufey casually reached out and crushed the Gilgamesh-Xenomorph in his grip—utterly obliterating it.
"Too weak. Especially you." Laufey's gaze locked onto Reynolds. "I remember you—you were the one who helped the Sorcerer Supreme drive Dormammu away. And yet, this is all you amount to?"
At first, Laufey had been tense, cautiously maintaining a defensive stance. But after enduring Reynolds' barrage with no real damage, he was left both shocked and perplexed.
Was this really the mighty warrior who had forced Dormammu to retreat?
Even if he had only assisted the Sorcerer Supreme, he shouldn't be this weak. And it wasn't just support—Laufey could sense it from afar: the one who had delivered the decisive blow, the final strike that forced Dormammu to retreat, was none other than this glowing golden figure before him.
But why? Why was there such a vast discrepancy in strength?
Could it be that he himself had somehow grown significantly stronger overnight—so much so that he could now rival a being who had once fought Dormammu?
Laufey was baffled. He even suspected this was one of Loki's tricks. But after a moment of consideration, he dismissed the thought, and an unexpected sense of shame crept in.
"Loki! Hand me the Casket of Ancient Winters!" Laufey bellowed as he struck Reynolds with a mighty slap, sending him stumbling backward.
The golden energy shielding Reynolds flickered, nearly shattering. The entire realm of Jotunheim trembled from the impact.
A deep, chilling fear gripped Reynolds. His instincts screamed that if he continued engaging this giant head-on, he would meet a brutal end.
Without hesitation, Reynolds whipped his head around, locking eyes with Duncan, his gaze filled with desperate pleading—practically screaming at him to step in.
But Duncan didn't act immediately. Instead, he turned to Loki.
"As we agreed, it's your turn now. If you slip up, I won't hesitate to take you down with me."