~ Every 100 Power Stones = Bonus Chapter! Your votes keep this climbing. Thanks!
Watching Sif's retreating figure, Hermione turned to Frigga.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, the biggest problem I see in Asgard isn't the Frost Giants or the Dark Elves. It's an incurable case of love-brain."
Frigga blinked. Then she smiled, a tired and helpless thing, and shook her head.
A piercing alarm cut through the quiet.
Outside the palace, ships appeared. Dozens of them, strangely shaped, punching straight through Asgard's outer defenses and bearing down fast.
"Looks like Asgard has guests," Hermione said, perfectly calm.
"Malekith must have sensed the Aether. He's come to take it."
Frigga's expression darkened. She hadn't expected the Dark Elves to move this quickly.
"We can discuss that later," Hermione said. "Asgard's defenses don't seem particularly impressive, by the way."
"I'll go take a look. Stay safe, Your Majesty."
She vanished before the last word landed.
An experience package, delivered right to her door. It would be a waste not to collect it.
Hearing the shouts rising from the dungeon, Frigga seemed to think of something. She turned and hurried toward Jane's quarters.
The great hall was already lost to chaos.
Dark Elf soldiers swarmed through it. Asgard's warriors pushed back with everything they had, but against enemies with ranged weapons, they were losing ground fast.
Sif was at the front of it, longsword drawn, trading blows with several Dark Elf warriors at once. She was fearless and ferocious, every strike precise, every strike lethal. Dark Elves fell to her blade one after another.
But valor only went so far against heavy firepower. Deep gashes had opened across her body.
"For Asgard!"
She roared and threw herself at them again.
How foolish. Hermione watched from the sidelines, unimpressed.
Thor preferring close combat was one thing, he had the raw power to justify it. But these regular soldiers didn't carry guns either? What was Asgard's actual military philosophy?
She swept a look across the battlefield, took in the carnage, and shook her head.
Her wand moved.
Dark red flames erupted from nothing. In an instant they shaped themselves into a dragon and tore across the battlefield.
The fire moved like it was alive. It was alive, in a way: seeking, tracking, hunting.
The Dark Elf warriors scattered. Some dove, some sprinted, all of them desperate to get clear.
It didn't matter. Fiendfyre was faster than fear, and a single touch was enough. The moment it caught someone, the flames spread — instantly, completely, and left nothing behind but ash.
"AHHH—"
"What IS that thing?!"
They screamed and ran. The fire followed. It clung to them the way a shadow clings to a man at noon, swallowing them one by one until the screaming stopped.
Sif and every Asgardian warrior in the hall stood frozen.
None of them had ever seen anything like it.
This wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter, entirely one-sided.
Sif recovered fastest. She had seen Hermione fight on Midgard, after all. She knew this little witch carried power that rivaled Thor's.
Or she thought she had known.
What she was watching now was on a different level entirely, nothing like the restrained display she'd witnessed before. For the first time, it hit her: Hermione hadn't been serious back then. Not even close. If she had been, the Destroyer would never have made it as far as Thor.
The other warriors had no such frame of reference. They stared in silence, shock giving way to something slower and heavier.
"Is this... magic?" one of them murmured, barely audible.
Shock. Awe. And beneath both of those, reverence.
The way they looked at Hermione changed in that moment. She wasn't an outsider from Midgard anymore. She was something else entirely, something worth respecting.
Odin arrived to find the battle already finished.
Ash, as far as he could see.
"This..."
His pupils tightened. The residual magical energy still hanging in the air was immense, heavy and unmistakable.
Thor was still occupied in the dungeon, rounding up the prisoners the Dark Elves had released. He hadn't made it here at all.
There was only one person capable of this.
Odin's gaze settled on the small figure standing at the center of the wreckage.
Hermione stood amid the ash and debris, her expression carrying just a trace of someone who'd been pulled away before they were quite ready to stop.
It hadn't been long since they last met. The growth was startling.
Before, her power had surprised him. Now, for the first time, he felt something edging toward danger at the back of his mind.
He pushed it aside quickly. When he looked at her again, what showed on his face was something closer to appreciation.
"Something's wrong."
Hermione was frowning at the ash-covered ground.
"What is it?" Odin asked, alert immediately.
"Malekith's target is the Aether. But Malekith isn't here."
Her voice had gone flat.
"He's the only one who can control the Aether. If he didn't come himself, did he honestly expect these grunts to walk out with it?"
The color drained from Odin's face.
"The Midgardian woman. That's his real target. All of this was a diversion."
He was already moving, not bothering with another word.
Hermione was faster. Her figure disappeared.
---
Jane's quarters.
Malekith stood with the cold patience of someone who had waited a very long time for this. His gaze rested on Frigga without warmth or hurry.
Behind him, the Cursed Warrior's presence filled the room like a held breath.
Jane pressed herself against Frigga's back, face white.
"Hand over the woman," Malekith said. "And I'll let you live."
Frigga's expression didn't change. She moved her fingers, and the air wavered. Several figures lunged toward Malekith from different angles.
Illusion magic. Her sharpest tool, meant to buy time.
It wasn't enough. The Cursed Warrior read them in seconds, tore through the phantoms, and had Frigga pinned before she could shift her approach.
Malekith raised the dagger. Aimed it at her heart. Drove it down.
An invisible force snapped around his wrist.
Then it bent, and his wrist went with it.
"ARGH—!"
The scream tore out of him. The dagger rang against the floor.
Hermione stood a short distance away, one hand loosely raised, fingers curled around nothing.
Thor came through the door a heartbeat later. He took in his mother, the dagger on the floor, Malekith clutching his broken wrist, and the fury that hit him was immediate and total.
He charged, Mjolnir already swinging.
The Cursed Warrior stepped in front of Malekith and took the hit.
Full force. Direct.
He barely moved.
One arm snapped out and caught Thor across the chest. Thor left the ground, hit the far wall, and tumbled across the floor. He got up. He charged again.
It went worse the second time. The Cursed Warrior drove him into the ground and kept him there, methodical and unhurried, and Thor, for all his fury, couldn't find a way through it. Even Mjolnir spun out of his grip and skidded away across the floor.
➤ Next: Taking the Initiative
— .—— .—— .—— .—— .——
Enjoying the story?
Read 130+ chapters ahead on Patreon.
Join the free community tier for early access to the latest updates:
patreon(.)com/DarkGolds