"Ready to lose your life?"
The words landed like a thunderclap.
To speak so casually—so arrogantly—to Odin, the King of Gods, was nothing short of blasphemy. It wasn't just disrespect. It was a direct challenge to everything Asgard stood for.
"Madness!"
Before Odin could even respond, an Asgardian warrior roared in fury. Covered in blood from earlier battles, he charged forward without hesitation, unwilling to tolerate such humiliation directed at his king.
With a powerful leap, he launched himself into the air, gripping a massive blade with both hands. The weapon gleamed as it descended, aimed to cleave Ethan Drake in half from above.
Ethan didn't move.
He simply glanced at the man.
That was enough.
The warrior's body stiffened midair as an overwhelming chill surged through him. Sweat formed instantly along his back, and his instincts screamed in warning.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
In that single moment, he understood the truth. He was nothing more than a frog at the bottom of a well, staring up at a sky he could never reach.
But it was too late.
He couldn't stop his attack.
As he descended, his vision shifted—and he saw her.
A woman in a dark, gothic dress stood before him, her presence cold and suffocating. In her hand, a black blade shimmered faintly, as though it absorbed all surrounding light.
Then—
Flash.
His head separated cleanly from his body.
It spun through the air before crashing onto the ground, lifeless. His body followed a moment later, collapsing in a pool of blood.
Hela had moved.
Asgard's finest warrior had been cut down in a single stroke.
A murmur of shock rippled through the surrounding hall. Massive pillars framed the square, and the gathered Asgardians stood frozen, unable to process what they had just witnessed.
Even Kurze (Agrim), who had not yet withdrawn from the battlefield, turned his head to look.
"That swordsmanship…"
"Who is she?"
The whispers spread.
Her style was unmistakable—pure Asgardian technique, refined to perfection. But the woman wielding it was unfamiliar, and yet… strangely familiar at the same time.
Hela's lips curled into a wide, unrestrained smile.
"Who am I?"
Her gaze locked onto Odin.
"Old man… didn't expect me to come back, did you?"
Her voice rose, filled with madness and triumph.
"Everything you took from me—I'm taking it back. The throne is mine. Asgard is mine. It's all mine!"
The crowd erupted in confusion.
"What is she talking about?"
"She's insane!"
"She dares call Odin that?"
Only one remained silent.
Heimdall stood still, his expression grave. Unlike the others, he knew exactly who she was.
Odin's firstborn.
The one who had built Asgard's empire through conquest.
The one who had been sealed away when peace replaced war.
And now… she had returned.
But what unsettled him even more was the figure beside her.
Ethan.
How had the two of them come together?
Odin said nothing.
His aged face was dark, his eyes filled with suppressed fury. Though Hela stood before him, proclaiming her claim to the throne, his attention remained fixed elsewhere.
On Ethan.
The Kryptonian.
The one who had nearly killed him.
The one who had left him too weak to save Frigga.
Hatred burned behind his gaze.
"Blasphemy! Watch your words!"
More Asgardian warriors stepped forward, their loyalty unshaken.
Hela laughed.
It was a sharp, mocking sound.
"Fools. Ignorant fools."
Her voice dropped, cold and commanding.
"Feel the ground beneath your feet."
A deep vibration spread through Asgard.
Thump.
Thump.
The earth itself seemed to pulse like a beating heart. Beneath the surface, something vast moved—like a river of energy flowing through the foundation of the realm.
That power surged upward.
It gathered beneath Hela.
It fed her.
The more it flowed, the stronger she became.
"Can't you feel it?" she said, her smile widening. "Asgard is answering me."
The warriors froze.
"This… this isn't possible!"
"The land itself—responding to her?"
"What kind of sorcery is this?!"
Fear crept into their voices.
Because they could feel it.
That overwhelming presence.
It wasn't an illusion.
Hela wasn't just standing on Asgard.
She was part of it.
Ethan observed quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the connection. The truth revealed itself easily to him.
Hela and Asgard were intertwined.
She wasn't merely Odin's daughter.
She was a manifestation of the realm itself.
To destroy her completely… one would have to destroy Asgard.
No wonder Odin had never been able to kill her.
"Prepare yourself, Father," Hela said softly.
Then she moved.
With a flick of her arm, countless black blades formed in the air, converging into a single strike as she rushed toward Odin.
"Father?!"
The revelation stunned the crowd.
The truth hit them all at once.
The madwoman claiming the throne… was Odin's own blood.
Odin's expression hardened.
His anger surged beyond control.
Yet even now, his gaze did not leave Ethan.
Because he knew.
This was his doing.
Everything.
The injury that forced him into slumber. The weakness that cost Frigga her life. The return of his sealed daughter.
All of it traced back to one person.
Unforgivable.
"You… will die!"
Odin roared.
His body changed.
The weakness vanished.
His white hair darkened, his form straightened, and an overwhelming surge of divine power erupted from within him. Golden light engulfed his body, radiating outward like a blazing sun.
He had returned.
Not as the frail king recovering from injury.
But as the God-King at his peak.
"No… Father Odin—!"
Heimdall's voice rang out in alarm.
He understood what was happening.
This wasn't recovery.
This was sacrifice.
Odin was burning the last of his life force, forcing himself into his prime for one final battle.
And his target—
Was Ethan.
In a single step, Odin bypassed Hela entirely.
His speed defied perception.
In less than a heartbeat, he appeared before Ethan, his spear glowing with concentrated divine power. Every ounce of his strength, every fragment of his remaining life, was poured into this strike.
This was his final blow.
The culmination of a king's existence.
But to Ethan—
It meant nothing.
"You don't understand power."
His voice was calm.
He raised his fist.
And punched forward.
Straight.
Simple.
Absolute.
....
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