"Drip..."
"Drip..."
Blood trickled from fingertips, pooling onto the desolate battlefield, forming crimson puddles akin to spilled Bloody Marys—assuming anyone would dare to drink them.
Standing atop the last fallen Frost Giant, Lothar flicked the blood from his hand before turning his gaze toward Hela, who stood gripping a massive iron hammer. The residual killing intent in his eyes made her instinctively raise Mjolnir, adopting a defensive stance.
They were not trusted allies—only temporary partners brought together by a common enemy. Now that the Frost Giants had been vanquished, their unspoken truce was at an end.
"How much longer can you hold out?"
Lothar regarded her with interest. In all his battles, Hela was the only woman whose combat strength rivaled his own. From what he could gauge, she was even stronger than Proxima Midnight, the only female among Thanos' Black Order.
"Why don't you take a guess?"
Hela tightened her grip on Mjolnir, silently gathering what little energy she had left. Odin's enchantments on the hammer were her trump card—one she would only reveal at the last moment. And then there was…
"Heimdall."
Summoning Mjolnir's power, Hela once again attempted to contact Odin's ever-loyal sentry. Thunder cracked across the bloodstained sky, and for the first time in a long while, she smiled. Though she didn't know why Heimdall hadn't responded earlier, now—
"You will pay the ultimate price for your arrogance, Heimdall!"
The furious roar from within the Bifrost made Hela's smile vanish. Before it could fully activate, tendrils of dark energy surged forth, sealing it shut once more. Whoever had confronted Heimdall had been powerful enough to halt the bridge's activation.
Dark Elves.
Hela, who had once battled against the elves in Vanaheim, instantly recognized the voice.
Malekith, the new ruler of the Dark Elves—an ambitious king whose forces had long been a thorn in Asgard's conquests.
But…
"Impossible…"
How had Malekith slipped past Odin's watchful eye and infiltrated Asgard? The realm was in a state of wartime vigilance, its defenses tighter than ever. Not even the Bifrost should have been accessible.
Unless… there was a traitor within Asgard. And unless… her father, Odin, was away, waging war beyond the realm.
It was the only explanation.
Hela's expression darkened. And when she saw Lothar approaching her, step by step, it grew even darker.
"Looks like you're out of options."
Lothar flexed his wrist as he closed in. Before Hela could react, his hand shot out, seizing her throat in an iron grip.
Thud!
A sudden force struck Lothar, sending him crashing into Hela. The two tumbled across the ground, rolling several times before coming to a stop.
"Who's there?!"
Using Hela as a makeshift cushion, Lothar sprang to his feet, his sharp gaze scanning the empty battlefield.
The countless corpses that had littered the plains vanished under the setting sun. In their place, glacial blue ice spread rapidly across the ground, refracting light like a hall of mirrors. At its center, a figure sat upon a throne of frost.
The icy apparition stood in stark contrast to the blood-red horizon, creating an eerie yet majestic sight of fire and ice intertwined.
"This is a warning—stay out of matters that don't concern you, son of Thanos."
The seated figure opened his eyes, his regal gaze piercing through space itself to lock onto Lothar.
"Out of respect for your father, I will overlook your actions. Leave now—return to your world."
With those words, the apparition—and with it, all traces of the fallen Frost Giants—vanished.
"A warning…?"
Lothar narrowed his eyes, staring into the crimson sky.
"The King of the Frost Giants, Laufey."
Hela, now standing, wiped the blood from her face—the same blood that had smeared onto her when Lothar had used her as a landing cushion.
"Oh? So that was Laufey?" Lothar recalled the last Frost Giant he had crushed underfoot—one who, in his final moments, had promised that Laufey would avenge him.
But now, the Laufey he had been warned about… seemed far less impressive than expected.
"Come with me."
Lothar's command was absolute. Hela, who had never been ordered by anyone but Odin, immediately resisted—but resistance was futile.
Her injuries prevented her from escaping Lothar's grasp. Without effort, he hoisted her onto his shoulder and strode toward his ship.
"Welcome back, Prince Lothar."
"Woz, inject her with a sedative and restrain her."
Lothar dumped Hela onto the floor like a sack of cargo.
"Prince Lothar, Hela Odinsdottir carries the blood of the Aesir. Our sedatives will not work on her."
A mechanical tendril shot from the floor, binding the fallen goddess in unyielding coils.
"You will regret this."
Bound and immobilized, Hela glared up at Lothar, seething with rage. Never had she suffered such humiliation.
Her words had barely left her lips before Lothar's hand shot out again, seizing her jaw and lifting her off the ground. He slammed her against a metal pillar with effortless force.
"I never do anything I'll regret. What makes you think you'll be the exception?"
His cold stare sent a chill down Hela's spine before he casually tossed her to the floor once more.
"Woz, melt those ice sculptures outside."
"Prince Lothar, Woz does not possess magic."
"You don't need to. She does."
Lothar smirked, looking down at Hela.
"Understood, Prince Lothar."
A holographic screen flickered to life before Hela's eyes, displaying a complex magical decryption sequence.
"Hela Odinsdottir, please follow the instructions on the screen."
Hela cast a brief glance at the data. "Untie me, or I can't do anything."
"Just recite the incantation and channel your magic into your hands. I'll handle the rest."
In an instant, eight mechanical arms emerged, sealing her within a containment unit—without even bothering to ask for her consent.
"Once the ice is cleared, locate Laufey's position."
With that final command, Lothar stepped into his own rejuvenation chamber, preparing for the next phase of battle.
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