All returned to nothingness.
As the blinding white light ebbed like a receding tide, the furious figure that had once roared defiantly upon the earth had now vanished without a trace.
Two violet Dreamblossoms drifted gently to the ground, as if heralding a heavenly requiem. They danced in the air to the silent hymn of sanctity, then embraced, disappearing entirely before Hela's open eyes.
"Gone?"
Hela frowned, bow still drawn, arrow nocked for a two-shot finish. Her gaze turned to Lothar, still suspended in mid-air.
He, in turn, had fixed his eyes on the final enemy remaining on the battlefield—the Cursed Warrior, Ora.
"Damn it!"
Ora cursed under her breath and attempted a swift retreat—only for her escape to be abruptly cut off by Lothar, who seized her by the throat.
"Tell me—where is Malekith?"
"Mmff! Mmm! Mmm!!"
Ora swore internally.
You're choking me and still expect me to answer?! What the hell is wrong with you?!
Before she could collect herself, she was hurled to the ground like trash, as if flung aside without a second thought.
Thud!
Dust burst into the air.
"Cough… cough…"
Clutching her throat, Ora spat viciously at the ground—right at Hela's feet.
"Filthy Asgardians."
"To be called such by the likes of you is an honor." A black longsword appeared in Hela's hand, unbidden—only to be forcefully pressed down by Lothar, who descended from the sky and immobilized her arm.
"She's my prey."
"You?!"
"First, we leave this cursed place. Second, you tell me where Malekith is. If not—die."
Releasing her arm without even sparing her a glance, Lothar stepped toward Ora, who, despite the crash, remained uninjured.
"Now. Make your choice."
Imitating the expression he remembered from his adoptive father—Thanos—Lothar's calm tone sent an inexplicable chill through Ora's heart.
"Prince Lothar!"
With the blood moon now gone, the voices of Woz and The Other rang out, filled with surprise and delight.
...
Svartalfheim, the Aether Seal Site.
In the cold, dusky palace, Malekith opened his eyes upon the throne. Invisible energies swirled before him, and following the earlier bloom of Di Elrod's flower, two more Dreamblossoms fully bloomed beside him.
"Ur and Velruz, huh?"
He glanced at the names inscribed beneath the roots of the flowers on stone tablets, then with a wave of his hand, the newly formed blossoms were stored away—joining the one birthed from Di Elrod's death.
"Your Majesty, Ur and Velruz are dead," came a hurried voice. Algrim, who managed the Dark Elves' united war front, entered the throne hall, his tone urgent.
"I know. Their Dreamblossoms have already formed." Malekith pointed toward the magic array at the base of his throne. Twelve dark runes circled the formation—two now glowing with violet light.
Algrim opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
He didn't dare contradict the man seated on that throne, not even though he had always believed that sacrificing their kin's lives to unseal the Aether was a grave mistake.
The Dark Elves had slumbered for millennia. Only after countless ages did a handful of powerful warriors finally emerge—strong enough to stand among the elites of the Nine Realms. Yet now, Malekith planned to offer them all up as sacrifices, to break Odin's seal and unshackle the Aether once more.
To Algrim, this was a colossal waste.
The Aether didn't need to be freed immediately. Jotunheim, Vanaheim, even Alfheim—the once-neutral Light Elves—all now stood in opposition to Odin and Asgard.
Even without the Aether, if Malekith united these forces, he could still challenge Odin and bide his time.
Once the Aether's seal weakened naturally, it could then be unleashed. This strategy would both preserve the Dark Elves' rare high-tier strength and still allow them to reclaim the Aether—why not have both?
After all, the twelve Cursed Warriors whom Malekith empowered remained absolutely loyal to the Dark Elves.
None of them knew his true plan. They still believed the Dreamblossom seeds planted within them, and the portion of Aether energy granted, were meant to help them harness that power and destroy the twelve seal nodes of the Aether Lock.
"You're wavering, Algrim."
As he prepared to silently withdraw, Algrim froze at the sound of those words.
"Forgive my hesitation, my king!"
Without any attempt to explain himself, he dropped to one knee before the throne. He understood—explanations meant nothing before Malekith.
"Algrim."
Malekith's eyes were devoid of emotion as he rose from the throne and looked down at the man kneeling before him.
"Do you truly believe that without the Aether, I can defeat Odin simply by rallying the other races of the Nine Realms?"
"…My king?" Algrim looked up, astonished. It was the first time he had heard Malekith speak such words.
"Naive."
"The foundation Bor laid for Odin is far beyond what those fools of the Nine Realms could ever comprehend. Without the Aether, this war is already lost."
"It's only a matter of time."
As the eldest ruler among the Nine Realms' allied forces, Malekith had no illusions about the war's outcome.
Odin's power was still ascending. Asgard's might had never been stronger. Below him stood Hela, now awakened to her death godhood. In all the Nine Realms, aside from himself and Laufey, who else had achieved true godhood?
"War is a dirty game. And when you're on the losing side, the only way to win—"
He clenched his fist, his expression grave.
"—is to be dirtier than your enemy."
"Their sacrifice was not in vain. Because their deaths bring the Dark Elves hope—hope in the form of the Aether!"
The long years had not only erased the wounds Bor had once inflicted upon Malekith, but had also given him mastery over the Aether's deeper powers.
Now, he believed with absolute certainty: once he reclaimed the unsealed Aether, no one—no one—across the Nine Realms would ever separate it from him again.
The disgrace Bor once branded him with—
This time, it would never happen again.
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