Upon seeing Heimdall's familiar golden armor and imposing stature, Thor felt a wave of profound relief wash over his battle-weary form. Among all of Asgard's defenders, perhaps only Loki shared a closer bond with the exiled prince than the realm's eternal guardian.
While Heimdall had never fought alongside Thor in the great battles across the Nine Realms, he had always been there—a constant, reassuring presence stationed at the Rainbow Bridge, ready with intelligence gathered through his All-Sight and words of wisdom earned through millennia of faithful service.
Thor trusted Heimdall even more completely than he trusted his adopted brother, viewing the gatekeeper as an unshakeable pillar of Asgardian honor and duty.
Anyone might betray the Golden Realm—as Skurge had clearly demonstrated—but Heimdall's loyalty was beyond question, carved from the same space bedrock as Asgard itself.
Thor's relieved smile froze into an expression of absolute horror as Heimdall drew his sword with mechanical precision.
But this wasn't the golden Guardian Blade that had protected Asgard's borders for eons. The weapon emerging from Heimdall's scabbard was wreathed in necromantic shadows, its crystalline surface corrupted into obsidian darkness that seemed to devour light itself.
Heimdall raised the Death Sword and struck at Thor without hesitation, his attack coordinated perfectly with Sif's simultaneous assault from the opposite flank.
"Heimdall, why?" Thor gasped, barely managing to dodge the lethal blow while his heart shattered from betrayal that cut deeper than any physical wound.
This was inconceivable. The guardian who had stood watch over Asgard since before Thor's birth, who had risked everything to protect the realm's people, who possessed power that rivaled even Odin's divine might—how could such a pillar of righteousness swing a blade at his prince?
But Heimdall offered no explanation, no recognition, no trace of the wisdom and compassion that had defined his character for millennia. His golden eyes still blazed with space awareness, yet they reflected only emptiness where loyalty and friendship had once burned.
Unlike Skurge, who had consciously chosen to serve Hela in exchange for power and position, Heimdall and Sif had been claimed through more direct methods. Death had taken them, and death now commanded their every action through Hela's necromantic mastery.
Their bodies, their minds, their very souls existed as extensions of the Goddess of Death's will. Even if fragments of their original personalities remained trapped within the corrupted shells, they lacked any capacity for resistance or rebellion.
"Heimdall! Sif!" Thor pleaded desperately, hoping to reach whatever remained of his friends' true selves. "Please, you have to fight this! Remember who you are!"
But his words fell on unhearing ears as the corrupted guardians pressed their assault with supernatural coordination.
Sif engaged the Warriors Three with ruthless efficiency, her enhanced sword-work overwhelming opponents who had once been her closest friends. Another Asgardian general—someone Thor recognized from countless formal ceremonies—joined the attack with mechanical precision that stripped away every trace of individual personality.
"Damn it all!" Thor snarled, forced to defend himself against the very people he'd come to rescue. "What in the Nine Realms happened to Asgard?"
Fighting Heimdall proved exponentially more challenging than his encounter with Skurge. Where the Executioner had relied primarily on brute force and berserker fury, Heimdall possessed the combat experience of eons and supernatural abilities that made him nearly unstoppable.
The corrupted guardian shrugged off their attacks as if Thor and Peter were striking with foam weapons rather than enhanced technology. His Death Sword carved through the air with inexorable purpose, each swing promising permanent dissolution for anyone foolish enough to make contact with its cursed edge.
When Peter attempted a web-line attack from above, Heimdall casually backhanded the young hero across the courtyard, sending him tumbling through several obsidian death-blades before coming to rest against a collapsed wall.
Then, with surgical precision, Heimdall snapped one of the black thorns from a nearby spear and drove it through Thor's shoulder, pinning him to the stone ground like a biological specimen.
Thor's scream of agony echoed across the devastated palace as supernatural corruption flooded through his nervous system. The curse embedded within those obsidian weapons wasn't merely physical—it attacked the soul itself, sending waves of burning torment through every fiber of his being.
But even as pain threatened to overwhelm his consciousness, Thor struggled to raise his technological hammer for one final strike.
Heimdall tilted his head to avoid the mana-enhanced attack, then methodically drove additional thorns through Thor's joints—wrists, elbows, knees, ankles—until the prince lay crucified against the courtyard stones, unable to move despite his desperate struggles.
Only after Thor had been completely immobilized did Heimdall speak, his voice carrying the same measured cadence it had always possessed, though stripped of warmth or recognition.
"Thor Odinson, cease your futile resistance and prepare to meet Asgard's rightful sovereign."
"I don't know what madness you're spouting!" Thor snarled through gritted teeth, glaring up at his former friend with desperate defiance. "There is only one true ruler of Asgard!"
"Indeed," Heimdall replied with disturbing calm. "Her name is Hela Odinson, firstborn daughter of Odin All-Father and rightful heir to the throne you have never deserved."
The words struck Thor like physical blows, each syllable challenging everything he believed about his identity and place in Asgard's hierarchy.
"You're lying!" Thor shouted, though uncertainty crept into his voice despite his protests. "That woman—whatever she calls herself—has obviously controlled your mind! Wake up, Heimdall! Odin has only two children: Loki and myself! And Loki was adopted!"
The desperate denial rang hollow even to Thor's own ears. Something in Heimdall's tone carried the weight of absolute truth, delivered with the same unshakeable certainty the guardian had always demonstrated when reporting space intelligence.
"You are mistaken, Prince Thor," Heimdall said with something that might have been pity. "But such ignorance is understandable, given how thoroughly the All-Father concealed the truth of Asgard's origins."
He paused, his golden gaze growing distant as if viewing events across vast spans of time. "This occurred before your birth, when the Nine Realms existed as independent kingdoms locked in constant warfare. Asgard was merely one power among many, far from the glorious empire you inherited. Only through conquest and subjugation did Odin establish the space dominance you consider natural law."
"I've heard these stories countless times!" Thor protested, though his conviction wavered as fragments of suppressed knowledge began surfacing in his memory.
"What you know is carefully edited mythology," Heimdall corrected with gentle firmness. "The true history was deemed too brutal for the golden age Odin sought to create. In reality, the All-Father possessed a daughter long before you drew breath—Hela, the Goddess of Death. Every realm that now bows before Asgard's throne does so because she carved their submission from their bleeding corpses."
Thor's eyes widened as the implications crashed over him like space avalanches.
If Heimdall spoke truthfully—and the guardian had never lied in all the centuries Thor had known him—then everything about Asgard's supposed righteousness was built upon foundations of blood and betrayal.
"If that's true," Thor whispered, his voice barely audible above the wind howling through Asgard's ruins, "if I truly have a sister, then why have I never heard Hela's name spoken? Why did even Mother never mention her existence?"
"Because he sealed me away."
The voice emerged from the obsidian forest like winter wind given form, carrying undertones of authority that made the very stones of Asgard tremble in recognition. Thor felt something cold pierce his heart—not physical pain, but the spiritual agony of confronting truths he'd never wanted to acknowledge.
A figure stepped from the shadows with predatory grace, each movement flowing like liquid death across the broken courtyard. The black battle-suit clung to Hela's form like a second skin, while her flowing cape billowed behind her with supernatural wind that obeyed no natural laws. The Crown of Death adorned her brow like a spider's mandibles, its thorned design promising swift dissolution to any who dared challenge her authority.
Hela's mere presence transformed the atmosphere itself. Sound died away until only the whisper of space forces remained. Even Sif and the Warriors Three ceased their combat, stepping back with the automatic deference of servants recognizing their absolute mistress.
Peter's spider-sense screamed warnings so intense they bordered on physical pain, every enhanced instinct demanding immediate retreat from a threat beyond his capability to comprehend. Both logic and survival intuition agreed—honesty and submission represented his only viable options for surviving the next few minutes.
Only Thor, despite being pinned and helpless, maintained enough courage to meet Hela's gaze directly.
"So you're Hela," he said with forced steadiness, though pain and shock made his voice hoarse. "Where are my parents? What have you done with Odin and Frigga?"
"Dead," Hela replied with casual indifference, studying her newly discovered brother with the detached interest of someone examining an interesting specimen. "You're quite impressive, actually—far more capable than that pathetic wretch Loki."
She noted Thor's forced submission with considerable satisfaction. Submission achieved through overwhelming force remained submission regardless of the methods employed. Hela had never concerned herself with the voluntary nature of obedience—only its absolute completeness.
More importantly, she could sense the vast reserves of divine power lying dormant within Thor's mortal shell. His potential rivaled her own when properly awakened, which could prove invaluable for the campaigns ahead.
Rebuilding Asgard's empire and reclaiming dominion over the Nine Realms would require considerable effort. Having a powerful sibling fighting alongside her—as she had once fought beside Odin—would significantly accelerate the process.
Thor seemed to collapse inward upon himself, his head bowing as the full weight of his worst fears crashed down like collapsing mountains. Ever since learning of Asgard's crisis, he'd tortured himself with worry about his parents' safety.
He'd repeated countless mantras about Odin's invincibility, desperately convincing himself that the All-Father's power could overcome any threat the universe might conjure. In the end, those reassurances had proven meaningless.
Overwhelming grief flooded through him like arctic oceans, followed immediately by fury that blazed with stellar intensity. Lightning began crackling around his fingertips as suppressed divine power responded to his emotional anguish.
"Malekith!" Thor snarled, his voice carrying harmonics of thunder that shook the palace foundations. "Dark Elf bastard! How dare you murder my father and mother!"
"Dark Elves?" Hela's laugh carried the sound of tombstones grinding together. "No, dear brother. The Dark Elves had nothing to do with their deaths."
She smiled with predatory satisfaction as confusion replaced rage in Thor's expression. "I killed them myself."
The revelation shattered Thor's fury like ice struck by hammers, leaving only numb incomprehension in its wake.
"What did you say?" he whispered.
Hela's expression grew distant as she recalled the events, her voice taking on the cadence of someone recounting cherished memories rather than space atrocities. "I once spread the flames of war to every corner of the Nine Realms for his ambition. I slaughtered anyone who dared defy his authority. I led our armies to conquer every world that attempted resistance. Through my efforts, Asgard became the undisputed master of known reality!"
Her voice hardened with ancient resentment. "But when the campaigns ended, he suddenly decided to play at being a benevolent monarch. He attempted to whitewash our blood-soaked past with pretty speeches about wisdom and mercy. When I refused to participate in his hypocrisy, he sealed me away for five thousand years!"
The words hit Thor like physical assaults, each accusation forcing him to confront the contradictions between Odin's teachings and Asgard's true history.
"This is impossible," he muttered, his worldview crumbling like poorly constructed walls. "You're lying. You have to be lying."
"If I'm fabricating this tale, then explain Asgard's position," Hela demanded with cruel logic. "Why do the Nine Realms naturally bow before our throne? Do you imagine they developed spontaneous affection for our superiority? Did they choose subjugation out of admiration for our wisdom?"
Something crystalline shattered within Thor's consciousness—the idealized image of Odin that had guided his entire existence since childhood.
Thor had been born during Asgard's golden age, when the realm's dominance was so absolute that questioning it seemed absurd. From his earliest memories, Asgard had represented the pinnacle of space civilization, while he enjoyed the privileges of the Nine Realms' most honored prince.
He'd never questioned the natural order that placed other worlds in service to Asgard. In the stories he'd heard, Odin simply displayed his divine majesty and lesser beings willingly submitted to obviously superior authority.
What could be wrong with kneeling before the All-Father, the King of Gods, the ruler of reality itself?
But Hela was revealing a different truth entirely.
Odin hadn't achieved dominance through moral authority or space righteousness. He'd simply employed superior force to crush resistance, exactly as Thor himself had intended to do with the Frost Giants.
The father who'd lectured him about worthiness and responsibility had built his empire through the same brutal methods Thor had once embraced.
"Thor, my dear brother," Hela continued with false sympathy, "we are more alike than you realize. We were both betrayed by the same hypocritical father."
"The actions you intended to take against Jotunheim were identical to our conquests millennia ago. Yet he sealed me away for embracing war, stripped you of divine power for the same offense, and left you with nothing but pathetic mortal existence."
"If the qualifications he preached for true kingship were genuine," she concluded with devastating logic, "then he himself was never worthy of the throne he occupied."
Hela studied Thor's shattered expression with growing satisfaction. Psychological manipulation was proceeding exactly as planned.
Once Thor surrendered completely, she could commandeer his spacecraft and depart Asgard immediately. From there, she could travel to Midgard to acquire additional vessels, or perhaps visit Nidavellir to have the dwarfs forge the incomplete weapons she needed to fully restore her power.
Then she could divide her forces—one army to hunt down the treacherous Malekith, while another descended to Helheim to retrieve her primary legions from the underworld.
After that... the entire universe would burn.
War eternal! Conquest without end! The flames of ambition blazed in Hela's eyes as she envisioned dragging all of reality into the same abyss that had claimed her soul millennia ago.
"Follow me, Thor!" she commanded with regal authority. "Everything Odin stole from you, I can restore—and grant you far more besides!"
But Thor slowly shook his head, meeting her gaze with unexpected determination. "No."
Hela blinked in genuine surprise, confusion replacing confidence for the first time since her arrival.
"Do you still cling to that senile fool's hypocritical teachings?" she demanded. "I can show you the blood-soaked truth hidden beneath Asgard's golden veneer—"
"That's not the reason!" Thor interrupted, his voice growing stronger despite the thorns pinning his body to the stone.
His mortal flesh seemed to transcend physical limitations as he gradually broke free from the cursed bonds, rising to stand before the Goddess of Death with newfound resolve burning in his eyes.
"Perhaps you're right about everything," he admitted, acknowledging the painful truths she'd revealed. "Maybe Asgard's glory was never divinely ordained. Maybe Father was simply disguising his unbearable past with noble-sounding justifications..."
"Then why reject my offer?" Hela pressed, genuine bewilderment coloring her imperious tone. "We can restore Asgard to its greatest glory—surpass it entirely!"
"Because I know what kind of king I should be!" Thor declared, thunder rolling through his voice as divine power stirred within his mortal frame.
T'Challa's words echoed through his memory like sacred commandments: A king must protect his people and his nation with both compassion and unwavering determination.
The Black Panther had joined this mission to defend Wakanda. Loki had lifted Mjolnir because he chose to protect others. Ben Parker had become the King of Sakaar by serving those who needed him most.
Every example of true leadership he'd witnessed pointed toward the same fundamental truth—worthiness came from service, not conquest.
Images flashed through his consciousness: the exile, the lessons learned through defeat and humiliation, the moment when Odin's disappointed face had finally shown him the path toward redemption.
"Everything I've experienced has been teaching me what true kingship means!" Thor continued, pulling the cursed thorns from his flesh as lightning began crackling around his form.
The Warriors Three and Peter watched with growing excitement and hope. Their friend was finally awakening to his destiny.
Even Hela stepped backward in surprise, recognizing the familiar sensation of divine power stirring after long dormancy. "You... how is this possible?"
"I don't know if any path is truly righteous," Thor admitted while raising his right hand toward the storm clouds gathering overhead. "But I know with absolute certainty that what you're doing is wrong!"
His voice carried across vast distances with supernatural authority, calling to the space forces that had once answered his commands without question.
Thunder answered from the distant horizon as a streak of blue light blazed across Asgard's twilight sky like a falling star.
Mjolnir was coming.
"Finally," Thor breathed, his heart pounding with anticipation and relief.
Then his heart stopped entirely.
The legendary hammer didn't fall into his outstretched palm as space law demanded. Instead, a black shadow intercepted its flight path, snatching the weapon from the air with casual ease.
Hela held Mjolnir in her grasp as if it weighed no more than a feather, her fingers wrapped around its handle with natural comfort that suggested she'd wielded such power countless times before.
"How is this possible?" Thor whispered, his mind struggling to process the impossible sight before him.