Within the shadow-wreathed throne room of Asgard's royal palace, Hela sat in regal splendor upon the obsidian seat of power, the Crown of Death gleaming darkly upon her brow. The Eternal Spear—once Odin's symbol of absolute authority—had been transformed by her necromantic energy into something altogether more sinister, its golden surface now radiating with malevolent emerald light.
She gazed upward at the ceiling murals with profound satisfaction, studying the historical truths that had been hidden for millennia behind Odin's carefully crafted propaganda. The artwork depicted Asgard's true origins—not as a benevolent realm of golden gods, but as a conquering empire built upon the bones of subjugated worlds.
Below her throne, the surviving warriors of Asgard knelt in absolute submission, their will broken by powers beyond mortal comprehension.
Hela's mood was exceptionally pleasant, a rare occurrence given her typically apocalyptic disposition. Initially, she'd feared that losing access to the Eternal Flame would severely hamper her ability to rebuild the undead legions that had once swept across the Nine Realms in glorious conquest. But the space balance had shifted in her favor through an unexpected twist of fate.
Without the Valkyries to guide fallen warriors to their eternal reward, Valhalla itself had become little more than legend over the past millennium. The honored dead no longer had a destination for their heroic souls—which meant they remained trapped in the mortal realm, vulnerable to her necromantic influence.
After Malekith's hasty departure from Asgard, Hela had systematically slaughtered every remaining combatant within the realm's borders. Dark Elf soldiers, Asgardian defenders, even legendary figures like Sif and Heimdall—all had fallen before her inexorable advance, only to rise again as servants of death itself.
The loss of the Rainbow Bridge's transportation capabilities represented a minor inconvenience at most. Hela possessed numerous methods for interdimensional travel, including direct access to the underworld passages that connected all Nine Realms through Helheim's domain. If necessary, she could simply tear open gates to the realm of the dead and march her armies across space distances through necromantic corridors.
Malekith's audacity in attacking Asgard would not go unpunished. For five millennia, the Dark Elf king had nursed his grievances against Odin's rule, forgetting that Asgard's dominance over the Nine Realms hadn't been established through diplomacy or inheritance.
Every kingdom, every world, every species that bowed before the Golden Throne did so because Hela and Odin had personally conquered them through superior force. From the gleaming spires of Asgard to the shadowed depths of Helheim, she had carved their empire with her own blade, claiming tribute in blood from those who dared resist their expansion.
No one—not Malekith, not the remaining free realms, certainly not her disappointing younger brother—would be permitted to challenge the space order she had built.
Speaking of Thor... Hela supposed she could show mercy toward Odin's son, assuming he demonstrated appropriate submission. Perhaps she might grant him governance over one of the lesser realms as a gesture of familial magnanimity. Unfortunately, her sibling appeared to have inherited more of Odin's stubborn pride than his strategic wisdom.
"Bring them to me," Hela commanded, her supernatural senses having detected the arrival of Thor's pathetic rescue mission through Heimdall's All-Sight.
The former guardian of the Rainbow Bridge had no choice but to obey. Where once he had served as protector of Asgard's borders, he now existed as nothing more than an extension of the Goddess of Death's will. His legendary sword had been corrupted into an obsidian blade of necromantic power, its golden radiance extinguished forever.
Heimdall rose with mechanical precision, joined by Sif and a company of death-touched warriors as they marched to collect Hela's wayward brother.
Meanwhile, in the forest of death-blades that had replaced Asgard's natural beauty, the battle continued with devastating intensity. Massive obsidian spears toppled like falling trees as scarlet energy tore through their supernatural substance, each collapse sending thunderous echoes across the corrupted landscape.
Wanda streaked through the twilight air like a crimson comet, her reality-warping abilities stretched to their limits as she evaded the combined magical assault of two master sorceresses. The Enchantress and her sister possessed centuries of experience with Asgardian mysticism, while Wanda was still learning to fully control her Chaos Magic potential.
She could maintain mobility and defensive barriers, but launching effective counterattacks while avoiding their coordinated spells required every ounce of concentration she possessed.
"Pathetic little witch," Amora sneered with aristocratic contempt, her emerald spellwork blooming through the air like deadly fireworks. Despite Wanda's obvious beauty and power, the Enchantress viewed her as nothing more than a primitive amateur playing with forces beyond her comprehension.
The magical duel created spectacular light shows that illuminated the death-forest in brilliant flashes, but also prevented Wanda from providing support to her embattled teammates.
Without the sorceresses' interference, the ground battle proceeded more favorably for the rescue mission. However, their enemies' resurrection capabilities meant that decisive victory remained impossible—they could only delay the inevitable through superior tactics and firepower.
"We can't afford to remain engaged indefinitely!" Steve shouted over the chaos of combat, his strategic mind recognizing the futility of fighting unkillable opponents. "We need breakthrough options!"
"Quicksilver, conduct forward reconnaissance!" T'Challa commanded while deflecting Dark Elf blade-work with his vibranium claws.
"On it!" Pietro spun into high-velocity motion, his arm-blades carving through the surrounding enemies in spiral patterns that left geometric precision in their wake. Within seconds, he'd become a silver blur racing toward Asgard's palace district, leaving only displaced air and bisected opponents in his path.
"Spider-Man, follow his lead!" Steve continued, trusting Peter's agility and precognitive abilities to navigate the treacherous terrain.
"You got it, Cap!" Peter launched himself skyward on weblines, using the forest of obsidian blades as anchor points while his spider-sense guided him through the gaps between death-weapons. His enhanced physiology and multiversal genetic upgrades allowed him to swing through the razor-sharp maze with confidence that would have been suicidal for normal humans.
For the remaining team members, extraction would require more dramatic measures.
"Everyone stand clear!" Sandman bellowed, his massive form continuing to expand as he absorbed mineral content from Asgard's corrupted soil. "If you could get some distance, I could contain these threats permanently!"
His body had grown to nearly giant proportions, each gesture sending waves of particulate matter toward their undead enemies. The technique might have been more effective if he'd studied anime combat principles, but raw power compensated for lack of finesse.
"Did none of us think to pack hang-gliders?" T'Challa asked with self-reproach, his tactical mind belatedly recognizing the oversight in their mission planning.
He stood in a defensive stance, absorbing kinetic energy from countless attacks while purple light began radiating from every fiber of his vibranium suit. The accumulated force represented enough stored power to level city blocks, but releasing it while surrounded by allies would cause catastrophic friendly-fire casualties.
"Sorry, that's on me," Steve replied while using his technological hammer to blast through enemy ranks. "I guess we've gotten too comfortable with unconventional solutions."
The nano-weapon's front section reconfigured itself to reveal its energy core—BOOM! A concentrated beam lanced out, punching through the torsos of every Dark Elf in a straight line before they could regenerate from previous wounds.
"What personal style?" T'Challa muttered, noting that Steve was using a replica of someone else's signature weapon. "You're literally fighting with a copy of Thor's hammer!"
"Hey!" Thor protested while his own Mjolnir 2.0 emitted pulsing pink radiance. Unlike his previous attacks, this version featured an energy chain composed of pure mana that connected the weapon to his consciousness, allowing him to wield it like a meteor hammer with mystical rather than technological control.
He cleared a circular perimeter around his position with devastating sweeps, then leaped skyward using a condensed mana platform as a stepping stone. The improvised shield allowed him to reach Skurge's position for direct confrontation.
The Executioner proved far more formidable than his cinematic counterpart, drawing both blood-red axes from his back with berserker enthusiasm. His strikes carried enough force to drive Thor backward despite the prince's enhanced equipment, each blow sending numbing vibrations through reinforced armor.
"New abilities?" Skurge asked with mild interest, noting the mana-based enhancements. "Pathetically weak compared to your former divine might. This borrowed power won't save you."
The assessment was technically accurate but missed crucial context. Thor's natural mana reserves rivaled his dormant godhood in potential magnitude—but like his divine inheritance, they remained largely untapped. The pink energy he currently wielded represented only a fraction of his true capabilities, channeled through Ben's protective charm rather than his own mastery.
"That's it!" Steve suddenly exclaimed, his enhanced pattern recognition identifying the solution to their tactical dilemma. "Thor!"
He hurled his shield toward Skurge's position, forcing the Executioner to abandon his assault and raise defensive axes against the vibranium projectile.
CLANG! T'Challa used the distraction to discharge a controlled burst of stored kinetic energy, launching himself across the battlefield to join the confrontation alongside his allies.
"Thor, what was that pink barrier you created earlier?" T'Challa asked urgently while taking up a defensive position against Skurge's renewed attacks.
"My mana condensed into protective force fields," Thor replied, somewhat confused by the question. "Though the energy output isn't sufficient for sustained defense against opponents of this caliber."
"What if we used it as transportation instead?" T'Challa crossed his arms to absorb another devastating blow from the Executioner, his suit's purple luminescence spreading down to his boots as power levels approached critical thresholds.
"I don't follow—"
"I've got a big explosion ready!" T'Challa explained rapidly, his tactical plan crystallizing. "But these enemies are immortal, so conventional engagement is futile. However, if you could create stable platforms, we could ride the shockwave and quicksand to break through their perimeter!"
The strategy was brilliantly simple: use T'Challa's stored kinetic energy as propulsion, Sandman's quicksand as cushioning, and Thor's mana constructs as vehicles for surfing the explosive force beyond enemy reach.
"That's genius-level thinking!" Thor marveled, his warrior's mind immediately grasping the tactical elegance. "I can definitely manage that!"
He studied their team positions, calculating requirements. T'Challa and Sandman were the explosion source and landing cushion respectively, so they wouldn't need individual platforms. That left five people requiring transportation.
Five separate mana constructs might strain his current power levels, but he could substitute spherical shields for surfboard designs to conserve energy while maintaining functionality.
Thor tossed his hammer toward T'Challa. "The weapon will follow you automatically. Get to Sandman's position and prepare for detonation!"
T'Challa nodded, sprinting toward the giant sand-controller while Thor rejoined the Warriors Three for final preparations.
"Don't imagine your tricks will succeed," Skurge snarled, hurling one of his axes with lethal precision. The crimson weapon split air with a sound like tearing metal, aimed directly at Thor's exposed neck.
Volstagg intercepted the projectile with his own battle-axe, sparks exploding from the collision as divine weapons met in thunderous impact.
"Everyone cluster around me!" Thor commanded, gathering his allies into tight formation while pink energy began coalescing around their position.
Steve fought his way through the enemy ranks, shield raised against countless attacks as he reached the protective circle. All five defenders pressed together within the expanding mana barrier.
"Your pitiful energy won't withstand our combined assault!" Skurge declared, raising his remaining axe for a charge that would shatter Thor's improvised defenses.
But as he stepped forward, the ground beneath his feet began flowing like liquid. Quicksand rose around the undead forces like flowering petals of silicon death, trapping them within rapidly solidifying prisons.
He looked toward Sandman and Black Panther with dawning horror. The sand-controller had achieved truly massive proportions, his mineral body towering like a geological formation, while T'Challa blazed with accumulated energy that turned him into a humanoid star.
"Impossible! Nothing can contain our forces!"
BOOM!!!
The explosion defied conventional physics, its shockwave expanding outward with force comparable to tactical nuclear weapons. The entire death-forest vanished in an instant, reduced to atoms by the kinetic discharge T'Challa had been accumulating throughout their entire engagement.
Quicksand erupted skyward in massive waves that carried the mana sphere along like space surfers riding the aftermath of creation itself.
Inside their protective bubble, the five defenders spun helplessly through three-dimensional space—Steve's head nearly colliding with Hogun's pelvis, Fandral's sword missing Thor's throat by millimeters, blood streaming from various impact injuries as they tumbled through their crystalline cocoon.
The quicksand propulsion carried them several kilometers toward Asgard's palace complex, their velocity so extreme that they overtook even Peter's web-swinging approach.
Peter stared in amazement as the sand tsunami swept past his position. "What the—" He quickly fired a web-line toward the energy sphere, allowing the shockwave to carry him along like an interdimensional water-skier.
In this universe without Ben's reality-defying web-anchor points, Spider-Man had to improvise his aerial transportation through purely physical attachment methods.
CRACK! The mana sphere began showing stress fractures as it lost the quicksand cushioning effect, its crystalline surface spider-webbing with failure lines. After bouncing once off Asgard's stone courtyard, the construct shattered completely on its second impact.
Six bodies scattered across the palace grounds in various states of disorientation and minor injury.
Peter clutched his lower back as he struggled upright, his spine having connected solidly with one of the obsidian death-blades. Fortunately, he'd struck the weapon's flat surface rather than its razor edge, or he would have become literally bisected Spider-Man.
"Next time, install safety harnesses in those things," Steve groaned, his enhanced physiology allowing him to recover from impacts that would have hospitalized normal humans.
"Just be grateful we're still in one piece," Thor replied while checking his teammates for serious injuries. "That could have gone much worse."
The forest behind them had been completely obliterated, replaced by an expanding desert where Sandman's mineral manipulation had fundamentally altered Asgard's geological composition. The environmental damage was probably irreversible, though given the realm's current condition, additional destruction seemed almost cosmetic.
"T'Challa was definitely storing nuclear-level kinetic energy in that suit," Peter observed with scientific fascination. "I'm pretty sure he could have leveled mountain ranges with that discharge."
"At least we reached our objective," Thor said grimly, studying the devastated palace complex that had once represented the pinnacle of Nine Realms civilization.
Wreckage from Dark Elf spacecraft littered the courtyards like metallic monuments to failed conquest. Beyond the debris lay evidence of more systematic destruction—bloodstains, scorch marks, and countless obsidian death-blades embedded in walls and foundations.
The thorns of death seemed to carry malevolent consciousness, their surfaces pulsing with necromantic energy that suggested they were far more than simple weapons. Whether they'd been created by Dark Elf sorcery or represented manifestations of Skurge's mysterious "sister," Thor couldn't determine.
His nervousness increased exponentially as he contemplated that possibility.
Just as he prepared to voice his concerns, familiar figures emerged from the palace shadows, approaching their position with measured steps.
The Warriors Three immediately brightened with relief and joy. "Heimdall! Sif! And the General!" Fandral called out excitedly. "Thank the All-Father—you survived!"
Hope flickered in their hearts as they recognized legendary defenders of Asgard walking toward them apparently unharmed. Perhaps the situation wasn't as desperate as they'd feared. Perhaps their friends and mentors had found ways to resist whatever forces had corrupted the realm.
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