The deafening aftershock raged across the battlefield. In an instant, the densely packed Dark Elf soldiers were torn apart, flesh and bone scattering, utterly consumed by the residual wave of the energy explosion. Within mere seconds, nearly half of their forces had been reduced to dust drifting in the air.
The destructive force of the Microcosmic Explosion—was truly terrifying.
"How... how is this possible..."
Malekith's face twisted into a grimace.
For the first time, he revealed such an expression before his army. He remembered vividly: it had been by his own hand that he cast Lothar and his companions into the Artificial Hel.
And he was absolutely certain—none among Lothar's group wielded power that could rival him, bearer of the Aether Particles. Yet the utter annihilation of the Artificial Hel was an irrefutable, brutal reality.
"My father once told me—I am the center of the world. As long as I will it, the world will stand by my side."
Spreading his arms wide, Lothar's lips curled into a defiant smirk, a sight that stabbed into Malekith's eyes like a dagger.
"My King!"
From the ruins of the explosion, Algrim, his body smeared with the ashes of fallen comrades, looked up at Malekith floating in the air, worry etched across his face.
"Did your mother ever tell you..." Malekith sneered, laughing in fury, "that your so-called father was a mute?"
At those words, the smile vanished from Lothar's face.
No one was allowed to insult his mother—or his adoptive father. No one.
As if sensing the shift in Lothar's emotions, the once-languid Cosmic Devourer perched lazily on his shoulder suddenly bristled, leaping down to squat atop Hela's Hammer, its wide, curious eyes blinking as it mewed softly: "Mew~"
Boom!
An overwhelming surge of energy erupted from Lothar's body, unleashing a formless shockwave that churned the clouds overhead. Lothar bent his knees, muscles coiling, and with a sudden burst of force, he shot forward—appearing before Malekith in the blink of an eye, his fist wreathed in energy, aimed straight at his enemy's face!
"My King!"
Algrim cried out in alarm, rising to rush to Malekith's aid—only to be forced to his knees by a war hammer crashing down from above.
"What?!"
"Your opponent is me, not him," said Hela, her hair bound up for battle, her expression cold and merciless as she blocked Algrim's path.
"Mew~"
Dispossessed once again, the orange tabby had no choice but to land in the arms of The Other, who cradled it absentmindedly. The cat licked the Mind Stone embedded atop The Other's scepter from time to time, its gaze flitting between the two fierce battlefields unfolding before them, mewling as it spectated alongside its unwilling companion.
From the ruins of the destroyed Artificial Hel, the Chitauri Army surged forth, brandishing their weapons with fearless fervor. Steel clashed against flesh, and on the plains of Svartalfheim, a grotesque yet dazzling bloom of blood-red flowers blossomed with every collision.
Above them, Malekith, face emotionless, locked Lothar's fist in a vice-like grip, his sharp gaze catching the flash of rage deep in Lothar's eyes.
"Let me guess... what's gotten you so worked up?"
"Is it about your mother? Or perhaps your father?"
"No matter. It's irrelevant. Either way—your fate is sealed."
With a muted growl, Malekith unleashed a tremendous force against Lothar's chest. The younger warrior, unable to see Malekith's movements clearly, could only rely on pure combat instinct to block.
"I don't know how you managed to escape my Hel... but since you're so eager to throw your life away, allow me to grant your wish."
Like a shadow, Malekith followed the recoiling Lothar, a dense, dark energy gathering in his palm. Lothar's body began to falter, dragged downward by the oppressive force.
"Prince Lothar!"
The Other hurried to his side, reaching out to support him—only to be shoved aside by Lothar with such force that he stumbled and fell.
"Get lost."
Wiping the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, Lothar rocketed back into the sky, clashing once again with Malekith.
"Prince Lothar!"
The Other, slumped on the ground, tried to call him back—but his words carried no weight. Lothar paid them no heed.
"Look out!"
Snap!
With a sudden move, Lothar locked down Malekith's right arm, his counterattack stunning the Dark Elf King.
"The same trick won't work on me twice," Lothar growled. With a feral grin, he delivered a brutal punch that sent Malekith hurtling down to the turbulent plains of Svartalfheim.
"Hand over the Aether Particles."
The black-clad figure descended slowly to the edge of the crater, staring down at the solitary figure standing defiantly at its center.
Half of Malekith's mask had shattered, revealing a twisted, grotesque visage—a face once scarred by humiliation at the hands of Bor. The wounds, still not fully healed, now gaped open under the force of Lothar's blow.
"You... wretched mongrel..."
Malekith, grinding his teeth, ripped off what remained of his mask. His blood-red eyes locked onto the silhouette above him.
"You're uglier than I imagined," Lothar said casually, rolling his wrist, his words tearing at the raw, festering wound in Malekith's heart.
"You will pay for your ignorance and your arrogance," Malekith snarled.
The air around his feet began to twist, dark runes forming into a massive magic circle. An endless tide of black mist surged outward, radiating from Malekith's body and swallowing the entire plain of Svartalfheim.
"Then let's see who pays the higher price,"
Lothar answered, not the slightest fear showing on his face. In fact, he almost seemed eager.
With a flick of his wrist, he leapt straight into the crater—only to stagger violently as if struck by an unseen force, nearly dropping to one knee.
"What the hell...?"
Lothar's eyes scanned warily around him. The inky mist choked every direction, blinding him, sealing away all avenues of perception.
"Woz, activate Life Source Hotspot Scan."
"Yes, Prince Lothar."
At the command, his combat system flared to life. Red life-source markers lit up across his right-eye HUD—and the number kept growing with every passing second.
RUMBLE!
Above the darkened skies, thunder roared and lightning streaked. On the bodies of every Dark Elf soldier, the mythical Dreamblossom began to bloom—each flower greedily exhaling a narcotic fragrance, sapping the life of its host.
"I once asked you—would you join me?"
"I offered you power equal to the Aether Particles."
"But you refused."
"So now—go die."
BOOM!
A thunderclap ripped across the heavens, briefly illuminating Malekith's savage, horrifying face. All around him, Dark Elf soldiers aged rapidly, their vitality sucked dry by the Dreamblossoms, feeding the sealing ritual at the heart of the Aether's binding.
"In my world of darkness,"
Malekith's voice thundered,
"By the name of the Dark Sovereign—"
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