Asgard.
Within the opulent grand hall, Odin reclined upon his throne, eyes closed, his mind stirring with countless thoughts as he contemplated each calculated step yet to be taken. Queen Frigga, ever graceful and poised, approached with a fruit platter in hand. Her footsteps were soft as silk as she ascended the dais and stopped before her king.
"Is it really fine to leave Midgard's situation to Hela alone?"
She placed the fruit platter gently on the armrest of Odin's throne and sighed, concern heavy in her tone. It had been far too long since their daughter last returned to Asgard. And Midgard was no Asgard—Hela was without the full weight of the realm behind her.
"She is my daughter. Of course it's fine," Odin replied, opening his eyes. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, sent a chill through Frigga's heart.
"Odin…"
"I know what troubles you, Frigga. Vanaheim will pay for their betrayal. That is unchangeable."
His tone was calm—eerily so. And it was that very calmness that told Frigga the truth: the people who ruled her homeland had truly infuriated Asgard's king this time.
As war engulfed the Nine Realms, Vanaheim—Asgard's so-called ally—had not only withdrawn support, but had begun striking from the shadows. Some had even openly defected. This was something Odin would not—could not—tolerate. The rulers of Vanaheim would pay dearly for their foolishness. In blood.
"Vanaheim won't be destroyed. That much, I can promise you, Frigga."
"I believe you, Odin." Frigga sighed inwardly. Her own kin, short-sighted fools that they were, had brought this upon themselves. Asgard already stood atop the Nine Realms in power. And now, with Odin having forged pacts with forces beyond the Nine, their dominance was all but assured. Resistance was but a moth flying into the flame.
And yet those imbeciles still danced in their ignorance, proud of their betrayal.
"But telling Thanos about the Aether… wasn't that a bit too risky?"
"What other choice did I have? Thanos isn't the kind to be manipulated. Unless he's offered something he truly desires, he won't act."
Odin saw through Thanos more clearly than most. From the moment he'd first laid eyes on Lothar—whose body coursed with the energy of the Infinity Stones—he knew exactly what sort of deal to strike.
The Aether, once wielded by the Dark Elves, came to mind almost instinctively.
He couldn't exactly offer up the Space Stone in his own hand for trade, after all.
"I gave him the trail. Whether he can find it, and whether he can break the seal if he does—that's his concern."
Besides, it's not like he lied.
"Prince Lothar, we are approaching Planet C-53."
Woz's voice rang softly in the command deck. Seated at the control console, Lothar rose and walked to the viewport. The blue sphere of Earth loomed large before him.
According to his adoptive father Thanos, he and his army were to await the Bifrost transmission here. Their destination: Svartalfheim—the heart of the Dark Elves' territory.
It was there, presumably, that the Aether—true name: Reality Stone—was sealed. If Odin had told the truth.
"Prince Lothar, are we… do we really have to wait for the Bifrost?" The Other sounded uneasy, his tone faint—perhaps from exhaustion after three straight days of labor.
He really didn't want to go through the Bifrost again. For reasons unknown, his physiology simply didn't mesh with the Asgardian transport—like oil and water.
He still hadn't lived down the embarrassment of his last two trips through the bridge, both of which ended with him passed out cold.
"Mhm."
Arms crossed over his chest, Lothar gave a firm nod. The Other slumped back into his seat, accepting the inevitable.
His body hadn't fully recovered yet.
"Prince Lothar, Woz has located Lady Hela's communication frequency. Would you like to connect?"
As their fleet entered the atmosphere of Planet C-53, Woz's voice chimed again.
"Her magic communication?" Lothar raised an eyebrow. "Didn't she use some kind of spell for that?"
"Even so-called magical transmissions follow patterns, Your Highness." Woz sounded quietly proud. Its ever-evolving adaptive algorithms were the very reason Thanos had assigned it to Lothar in the first place.
"And deciphering patterns… is what Woz does best."
...
Somewhere on Earth.
Hela had just finished annihilating a Nine Realms coalition outpost. She hadn't even had time to wipe the blood off her armor when a brilliant blue light screen materialized before her. A familiar, raccoon-like grin flashed on the display.
"Greetings, Lady Hela."
Woz's courteous tone made Hela's brows knit tightly.
"Woz?" She was no stranger to the AI lifeform that accompanied Lothar. They had crossed paths before. Her frown wasn't due to unfamiliarity—but rather the utter audacity of this unannounced contact.
"So much for the mystique of your 'magic,'" came the smug voice from the screen. Lothar's irritating face followed, crystal clear.
"What do you want? I'm not like you—I don't go around half-naked."
Catching on to Lothar's intent, Hela shot back with a scathing remark.
"Just letting Woz mark your location." Lothar leaned back in his command chair, his smirk growing ever more infuriating. In mere moments, the sky above was filled with shadows—their warships had arrived.
A thunderous roar filled the heavens as the engines screamed across the horizon.
"Of course… I didn't need your permission."
The holographic projection vanished. Hela's expression darkened. She hated this feeling—being outmaneuvered. But by Odin's orders, she was to cooperate with this insufferable man until Svartalfheim was conquered, and Malekith—the inexplicably resurrected Dark Elf king—was served up on Asgard's table as a dish bearing his own name.
Literally.
With a flick of her magic, she severed the comms link. The very next moment, the massive fleet landed before her eyes.
Winds howled, flurries of frost scattering across the battlefield. Lothar, clad in gleaming silver armor, stepped forth with The Other trailing at his heels.
"Hm? Your hair's lighter. Finally detoxed?"
Hela narrowed her eyes, locking gazes with the man now mere paces away. Her tone was laced with venom, though she kept her stance casual.
Lothar halted, then took another step closer—then another. At this distance, Hela could hear his breathing.
"What do you want?" Her eyelid twitched as she met his stare unflinchingly.
"You're afraid."
"Utter nonsense."
"You can't beat me."
"…"
Hela said nothing, her silence only fueling the smug defiance tugging at Lothar's lips.
In that moment, Hela felt a sudden, violent urge to return to Asgard's Saint Siro Ranch…
And slaughter that white ram she'd named 'Lothar'.
Just to cook it up as a dish.
-----------------------
Want to read ahead of schedule?
Join here for advance chapters: PATREON.COM / PRIMALDEMON