"Your Highness Lothar, Woz is unable to measure Lady Hela's power levels."
The glowing data screen over Lothar's right eye flickered with unreadable code. The divinity of death that had taken root in Hela rendered her power utterly inscrutable—even Woz, who had once been exposed to godhood alongside Lothar, couldn't quantify it.
Boom.
After extinguishing the life force of the Asgardian soldiers, Hela's pale face twisted as she collapsed to her knees, drained and gasping.
Even with her current strength, freezing the life of an entire battalion in one strike was a heavy toll. Her ashen complexion betrayed the high cost.
"Huff…"
Bracing herself on both palms, Hela panted raggedly, cold sweat pouring down like rain. A pair of silver combat boots—Lothar's—suddenly reflected in her pupils. Pride flaring in her heart, she forced herself up on shaky legs.
"Impressive technique." Lothar descended to the ground, The Other trailing him like a shadow. His gaze swept across the scene—rows of soldiers frozen in hauntingly lifelike poses.
He'd seen this before. More accurately, he'd done this before—well, he'd had The Other do it, during the invasion of Torfa.
"So this is why Asgard tried to barter for the Casket of Ancient Winters?"
He had never asked Hela the reason for the trade. But seeing this scene now, so reminiscent of that frostbitten battlefield, the thoughts stirred and aligned in his mind.
"The Casket holds the purest frost power across the Nine Realms. It's what allowed Laufey to stand toe-to-toe with my father, Odin, in open war."
"We Asgardians can't wield frost power ourselves, but my mother studied the Casket's internal energy structure and created several spells that mimic its properties."
"That kind of spell would certainly be useful for confusing Laufey during battle," Lothar reasoned aloud. "Sounds like something your mother, Queen Frigga, would come up with."
He had always assumed the deal for the Casket had been Odin's idea. Now it seemed it had been Frigga—desperate to ensure her husband's safety—who approached Odin with the plan.
"I told you, my mother was the wisest sorceress in all Nine Realms." Wiping the sweat from her brow, Hela allowed a flicker of pride to show in her exhausted eyes.
"And what now? Gonna run back home crying to mommy?" Lothar raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Hela's condition.
Seeing the woman he loathed brought so low gave Lothar a deep, smug satisfaction.
"If you can run back to daddy crying, I sure as hell won't go crawling to my mother." Hela's words were defiant—but her body gave her away. She buckled and fell face-first into the ice.
Lothar didn't move to catch her. He simply sidestepped with a flicker of motion, letting her fall hard, shattering ice shards beneath her.
"Is that so?" Lothar raised his hand. Woz, materializing into its robotic cat form, pulled a vial of glowing green nutrient fluid from the pouch on its belly and handed it to him.
"But from where I'm standing, you don't look so good. Want one of these?" Lothar crouched in front of her, swirling the vial casually, his smirk widening.
"This formula's way more effective than the one I gave you back in the Jotunheim throne room. Thirty seconds flat and your energy reserves will be back to normal."
"Even if I returned to Asgard this moment, I still wouldn't take anything from you."
Bow to this idiot? The one who couldn't go a day without parroting "Father said"?
Never.
"You sure?" Lothar grinned, clearly savoring her helplessness.
"Ab-so-lute-ly not." Hela's glare was a blade.
"That so?" Lothar rose to his feet. Without hesitation, he crushed the vial in his hand. The green liquid dribbled into the shattered ice below, vanishing without a sound.
"I never ask the same question three times." With that, he turned to leave, boot grinding the shattered glass underfoot. He snapped his fingers.
Snap.
"Woz, alter the fleet's course. Begin scouting Svartalfheim."
"The Other, awaken the Chitauri. Five-man squads. Deploy 48 groups for a full ground sweep."
Having issued his orders, Lothar suddenly paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a grin that made Hela's skin crawl.
"After all, there's no illusions clouding their vision now."
Hela staggered to her feet, lowered her eyes, and clicked her tongue in disdain. She turned and walked away—opposite from Lothar's direction.
"Daughter of Odin. Son of Thanos. I must admit, the two of you are quite the surprise."
A new voice rang out, halting both Hela and Lothar in their tracks. They turned toward the sound.
Thick black mist—obscenely stark against the pristine ice—swirled as a figure appeared, its lower body shrouded in smoke.
"Malekith."
Hela whispered the name.
A name etched deep into Asgardian history, a figure whose feud with her grandfather Bor had painted textbooks in blood. She'd studied his legacy in her earliest lessons.
"I'm glad you still remember me," Malekith said, his tone smug. "It means I left a lasting enough impression—on Bor and all of Asgard."
He opened his right palm. A violet blossom bloomed in his hand—the Dreamblossom, infamous for driving warriors into uncontrollable nightmares.
"It was you…" Hela gritted her teeth as the cursed flower confirmed her suspicions. She forced herself to remain still, holding back the instinct to strike.
In her current condition, she wouldn't last a second against Malekith.
"A scion awakened to the Divinity of Death… Bor really was a man to envy," Malekith said coolly.
His eyes gleamed—not with admiration, but seething resentment. He had seen the divine aura radiating from Hela earlier. He knew what it meant.
And the more clearly he saw it, the deeper the hatred twisted in his chest—for Bor, for Odin, for all of Asgard.
Odin alone was bad enough. But now even the third generation—this Hela—had awakened godhood of her own. Meanwhile, over in Svartalfheim?
Their youth were weak. Their warriors scattered. The proud line of Dark Elves had all but withered.
Even Jotunheim had managed to produce Laufey—a giant mighty enough to challenge Odin himself.
To Malekith, it was clear: Bor had shamelessly hoarded all the Nine Realms' mystic resources to nourish Asgard and starve the rest.
Otherwise—how else could this be explained?
Why?
WHY?!
Jealousy made Malekith undergo fission.
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