A vast sea of violet flowers stretched beyond the horizon, their golden buds swaying with an otherworldly grace, releasing a scent so intoxicating it clung to the air like a siren's song.
Yet, to Lothar, the fragrance served no immediate purpose.
Perhaps it was because his quarters had yet to be claimed, or perhaps it was the presence of a man radiating such potent vitality that roused their excitement—but in an instant, the flowers writhed and surged into Lothar's room.
The doorway, the corners, even his bed—every inch was quickly overrun by the creeping presence of Dreamblossoms.
A strange frequency accompanied the scent, flooding Lothar's ears in waves—like a seduction whispered to a blind man. Useless. No response.
"Get. Out."
A burst of energy roared outward, tearing the rooftop clean off. Violet petals shredded mid-air, their scattered remains wilting in the cold wind.
They died quietly, unceremoniously.
But in the very next breath, countless Dreamblossoms leapt again from the earth, their tendrils writhing as they poured back into Lothar's room, rushing toward his feet.
To these flowers, life force was everything. The more vibrant the target, the stronger their attraction. Driven by instinct, they drew ever closer, releasing clouds of hallucinogenic fragrance as they danced with seductive elegance.
The gas flooded into Lothar's body.
And for a moment—he saw her.
Hela.
The woman he loathed more than any other. She knelt obediently at his feet, her crimson lips parted ever so slightly, murmuring something in that same gentle voice…
But he couldn't make out a single word.
Why was she kneeling?
Had she finally admitted she was beneath him—conceded defeat?
Something felt wrong.
Lothar shut his eyes.
With a pulse of pure energy, a shimmering barrier erupted around his body, shielding him from the invading toxins. The haze lifted, his mind sharpening in an instant.
Opening his eyes, he found violet flowers crawling up his limbs. The room—no, the entire chamber—was now swallowed in this garish floral nightmare.
Woz, meanwhile, was frantically clearing the endless blooms with a shovel in one hand and a sickle in the other, hacking his way through the madness to reach Lothar.
"My Lord! You're awake!"
Woz paused. The blue, cat-like android dropped his tools and bounded toward Lothar, his eyes curving into crescent moons of joy.
No one knew how deeply he had feared for Lothar just moments ago.
Lothar's body was always an anomaly among Thanos' forces. Despite his potential to become a Supreme Warrior and his remarkable regenerative capabilities, he remained vulnerable to ailments that could cripple even him.
His heart, for example, was exceptionally fragile. Early examinations by Thanos himself had flagged the risk of severe cardiac failure.
Though years of nutrient regimens had stabilized most of his body, the instant Lothar inhaled the gas, his heart had stopped—if only for a split second.
That moment was enough to send Woz into full-blown panic.
"I'm fine. Don't worry." Lothar reached out, ruffling Woz's sleek head.
Then, with a burst of energy, he shattered the Dreamblossoms that dared cling to his body.
Woz grinned, then reverted to his bracelet form, coiling once more around Lothar's right wrist.
"Disgusting things."
Now refocused, Lothar turned his gaze to the still-rampant flower swarm. Energy surged between his hands, and with a double shockwave, he obliterated the purple tide around him, reducing it to nothing more than dust and mud.
But just as he razed the building to the ground, a sudden chill rose from within him—frost glittering like stars across the ruins.
In the distance, Hela stood tall, right hand raised, raven-black hair whipping in the wind. Her expression was colder than the frost itself.
"Learned that in Jotunheim?" Lothar asked casually, his energy dissipating as he landed, stepping onto the crystalized petals.
"I told you—my mother was the wisest sorceress of all Nine Realms," she replied, eyes narrowing.
But her expression changed abruptly.
Asgardian soldiers—previously under her command—were now turning on each other in a chaotic frenzy. Even her second-in-command, Kotian, was no exception.
"Your Highness, Lothar!"
A voice rasped behind him. The Other staggered into view, clutching his staff, breathless from the effort of escaping a swarm of crazed warriors.
The Mind Stone had shielded him from the hallucinogens—but his soldiers weren't so lucky.
Had he not forced the Chitauri tech within them to initiate cellular stasis protocols, they would've descended into the same madness.
"Well done." Lothar didn't hold back his praise.
He turned his attention back to Hela, watching her deftly dodge Kotian's attacks before sending him flying with a single kick.
"So, what now, Hela Odinsdottir?" Lothar dusted his hands, intrigued by the dark storm brewing on her face.
He wasn't in a rush. He wanted to see how the woman who once scolded him—"Don't harm your own people"—would handle this mess.
"Kill them?"
"Shut up. No one asked you." Hela shot him a venomous glare, scanning the battlefield of mindless brawling.
The Dreamblossoms' allure was fatal to warriors like the Asgardians, whose spiritual sensitivity made them ideal prey.
To save them, the toxins had to be purged. Otherwise, their life force would continue to bleed out.
But Hela—Goddess of Death—had another way.
She could stop death itself.
Freezing their life force wasn't difficult. It was simply... a pause. A brief interruption in the endless cycle of life and death.
"If you don't want to be sealed with them," Hela warned, red lips parting calmly, "stay the hell away from me."
She raised both arms, back straight, fingers interlocked above her head.
"What the hell?" Lothar arched a brow. His HUD lit up—Woz's sensors feeding real-time metrics. Hela's power readings were spiking.
"In the name of Asgard's Goddess of Death... I forgive your sins."
At her words, the arcane markings on her obsidian bodysuit ignited.
And then it came—radiant aurora frost, like the Rainbow Bridge itself, spilling from her clasped hands in a blinding torrent.
Her complexion paled dramatically.
The frozen aurora swept across the camp, sealing everything in a prism of spectral ice.
Every Asgardian soldier, caught mid-blow, froze—life force suspended, flames of vitality encased in stillness.
This was the mercy of the Goddess of Death.
A freezing embrace, not of annihilation, but of salvation.
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