"No… this can't be happening."
Kiel Marza's eyes were filled with disbelief as he turned the faceless corpse over and over, inspecting every inch. As someone who had once fought shoulder to shoulder with Kotian, he was intimately familiar with every detail of his comrade's body.
"It's impossible…"
He checked again. And again. And again.
But in the end, all it brought was the collapse of Kiel's strength. He sank to the ground in silent devastation.
No matter how many times he examined the corpse, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, his hands, his eyes, and every instinct he possessed screamed the truth: the body before him was indeed that of Kotian—his trusted friend, his brother-in-arms.
Leaning against the cold wall with his eyes shut, Kiel's thoughts flashed back to the moment when Kotian had confined him to the isolation chamber. That man… had looked exactly the same.
Drawing on years of battlefield experience, Kiel quickly determined the body's time of death: roughly twenty days ago. That meant Kotian had already been dead before he left the garrison—before Kiel had even stepped down from command.
The murder had happened right under his nose. And worse, the enemy hadn't just killed Kotian—they had stolen his face.
"Kotian was Her Highness Hela's adjutant," Kiel muttered, his voice tight. "Which means... their true target is Her Highness herself."
In a flash, he stood, cradling the cold, stiff body in his arms. He emerged from the unfamiliar chamber with grim determination.
He didn't know why the enemy had left Kotian's corpse behind, especially after killing him mid-meal. Nor could he say whether this was all part of a larger trap—perhaps meant to mislead them into destroying Kotian themselves. But what he did know was this:
Asgard's heir, Hela, could be in mortal danger.
And he—Kiel Marza—had a duty to warn her.
He stepped into the open air, still carrying the faceless corpse. But instead of the garrison's communications post, his eyes were met with a desolate, frozen hellscape—ice crystals blanketed the ruins, and the ground was riddled with impact craters.
There was blood. Shattered weapons. Broken armor. And among it all… the tombstones Hela had built by hand.
But no trace remained of any standing structure. The command hall had been reduced to rubble.
"I'll come back for you," Kiel murmured softly, standing before the one tombstone inscribed with Asgardian runes. "And I'll personally escort you to the Hall of Valhalla."
With a clenched jaw, Kiel knelt and dug a fresh grave beside the one Hela had built, laying Kotian's remains to rest.
...
Svartalfheim, Western Quadrant – Coordinates: 361.250.
A fleet of massive warships sliced across the twilight horizon like a dull blade tearing through flesh. Slowly but surely, they split the sky.
Above them, a Chitauri scout unit—composed of five-member teams—executed a precision drop under the watchful gaze of The Other. Upon landing, they immediately began surveying the terrain.
"According to Asgardian history, the Aether was sealed long ago by my grandfather—King Bor, the previous ruler of Asgard," Hela explained calmly from the bridge. Her eyes gazed out at the endless dark expanse of Svartalfheim. "But based on recent events, it seems Malekith somehow managed to fracture that seal. I don't know what method he used after awakening, but it's clear he's been able to siphon fragments of the Aether's power."
Hela always kept business and personal matters sharply divided. And this—this was business. She wanted Malekith to pay dearly, and the most effective path forward… was forming a true alliance with Lothar.
"We have to strike before the Aether is fully unsealed," she said. "Otherwise, neither of our goals will be achieved." Once Malekith regained the complete Aether, he would become unstoppable. In all the Nine Realms, perhaps only her father—Odin—could match him then.
Lothar sat silent in the command chair, ignoring everything. In front of him was Asgardian History: Volume III. He flipped through it at a furious pace, skimming for mentions of Svartalfheim or the Dark Elves.
He had no interest in political dynasties or royal lineages. He just wanted intel—anything related to the Dark Elves. But unfortunately, the information was scattered across unrelated chapters, forcing him to scan the entire volume for usable leads.
Nearby, Woz stood beside the main terminal. Just as The Other prepared to speak, the ship was suddenly jolted.
An attack.
Even though Woz immediately activated the fleet's energy shields, the entire vessel trembled slightly from the impact, snapping Lothar out of his reluctant reading session. With a grunt, he tossed the maddening book aside and looked up.
"Woz."
"Lord Lothar, the attacker's energy signature matches the dark elf Elrod. It contains isotopes of an Infinity Stone."
The main display flickered to life, projecting a live feed from the surface.
Every Chitauri soldier deployed by The Other had been slaughtered. Limbs severed. Gears strewn across the battlefield. The Dark Elves had taken formation, ready for war. At their forefront stood a towering figure clad entirely in obsidian armor, his face hidden. He rode a massive beast—a twisted alpaca-like monster with bloodlust gleaming in its crimson horns.
"A Dark Elf… regular?" Lothar asked, narrowing his eyes.
From where she leaned, Hela frowned. "That one… I can't tell if he's a warrior or something else entirely."
Then the figure on screen spoke.
"My name is Ur. One of the Twelve Cursed Warriors under the Dark Elf King. I've been waiting here a long time… under his command."
His voice was cold and cruel, each word dripping with murderous intent. "I know you can hear me. So come down."
"I will tear you apart with my own hands."
The screen flickered with static, unable to capture the armored face beneath the helm. The beast under him snorted, its horns glowing brighter with a blood-red radiance.
"Cursed Warrior…?" Lothar rolled the term over in his mouth.
With a flick of his finger, the warship's main cannon aligned, locking onto Ur and his army below. They had no visible shielding—this could end with a single shot.
All this drama over some flashy title?
"Lord Lothar, wait," Woz warned. "That zone is saturated with Infinity Stone isotopes. Our firepower can't penetrate their defense."
Lothar's hand paused, inches from the trigger.
"Highly concentrated isotopes?" he frowned. "You're saying the Aether is here?"
"Unconfirmed," Woz replied. "I can't scan it. Lord Lothar, this must be verified by you personally."
There was frustration in Woz's voice—rare for the usually precise AI.
It had never failed this many scans in a row.
It was starting to question its own value as Lothar's support—especially now that The Other was constantly hovering nearby.
That bastard… Hela thought grimly as she watched from the viewport.
"If you won't come down," Ur's voice snarled from below, "then I'll come up."
His words oozed with savagery. Arms raised, his beast's twin horns erupted in a flood of blood-red energy, staining the sky.
"This is the power bestowed upon me by the King!"
With that, an invisible force rippled outward. Space-time itself warped violently in the wake of his roar.
This was power—power capable of turning the stars themselves.
-----------------------
Want to read ahead of schedule?
Join here for advance chapters: PATREON.COM / PRIMALDEMON