Asgard, Throne Hall.
Fully armored, Odin stood atop the peak of Asgard's sacred mountain, gazing up at the sky. A dense, overwhelming blackness slowly bled into the boundless blue heavens above.
The darkness that had lain dormant for millennia… was awakening once more in his era.
"Has the son of Thanos truly found the Aether?" Frigga's voice trembled with worry, her eyes reflecting her unease.
Truth be told, she had a fairly good impression of Lothar from their single meeting — particularly his striking, rebellious golden hair. Yet, that fondness did nothing to ease her concerns about the Aether falling into his hands.
Frigga had lived through that grim era. If not for Bor, Odin's predecessor, who had risen to defend them, the Nine Realms would have long ago been swallowed by the Dark Elves, falling under Malekith's dominion.
Her memories of the Aether were far from pleasant. She had opposed Odin's decision to hand clues about the Aether's whereabouts over to Thanos of the Centaurian Udon'ta clan. But Odin — stubborn as ever — had neither listened nor intended to.
"So what if he really finds it?" Odin's voice was cold, stripped of any warmth he once showed Lothar. "As long as Malekith still lives, no one can truly claim the Aether. The son of Thanos will not have an easy time taking it."
There was no kindness left on Odin's face now — only a chilling ruthlessness that would freeze the heart of any who saw it. Even Frigga, who knew him best, felt a shiver run down her spine.
"Are you not worried?" she asked.
"Worried?" Odin chuckled grimly. "Why should I be?"
In Odin's eyes, Lothar and Malekith's conflict was an opportunity — a battle he could afford to watch from the sidelines. Once the dust settled, he would swoop in and reap the spoils.
If Lothar triumphed and Malekith fell, Odin would have one less formidable enemy standing in his path. Giving Lothar the Aether would be a small price to pay.
If Lothar lost, Malekith would still be weakened — and then Odin could personally strike, using the coordinates of his daughter's location to crush Malekith with overwhelming force.
No matter who won or lost, Odin would be the ultimate beneficiary. Why should he fear?
"But Hela… she's still with Lothar," Frigga reminded him.
"Rest assured," Odin said, his face softening with pride. "Hela is the Goddess of Death — Asgard's very own."
Hela, having awakened her divine heritage and bonded with Asgard itself, was a being apart. As long as Asgard endured, not even Odin could destroy her. It was this very reason he had entrusted the young Hela with armies, allowing her to carve out Asgard's glory across the Nine Realms.
...
Svartalfheim, the Dark World.
Once again, Lothar pulled two vials of nutrient fluid from his wristband and downed them in one gulp. His battered body rapidly healed under the liquid's rejuvenating effects.
"I am Asgard's Goddess of Death," Hela murmured.
"No one can kill me. No one."
Lying on the ground, Hela wiped the blood from her lips. Her black battle suit, inscribed with intricate runes, was torn and ragged, leaving her pale skin exposed — a stark contrast against the eternal darkness of Svartalfheim.
Lothar glanced briefly at The Other, who was cowering nearby, his body curled up in terror. Lothar frowned, trying to summon the golden-haired transformation state once more — but again, he found nothing.
The Mind Stone was deathly silent, refusing to respond.
Boom!
Boom! Boom!
The heavens roared with relentless fury. Lightning rained down without mercy, devastating every inch of ground beneath Lothar's feet. Shadowy tendrils lurked in the mist, leeching away his vitality with every passing moment.
Beneath Malekith's feet, an ancient spell array flickered to life, gathering vast torrents of life force into itself.
Crack!
The seal Bor had once placed shattered completely. A wave of power — chillingly familiar to Malekith — surged into his body like a shooting star.
The dark world's assaults ceased instantly. Lothar and Hela exchanged grim looks; a foreboding chill gripped their hearts.
"Darkness..."
"...has descended."
Floating high above, Malekith stretched out his arms. His voice — half divine decree, half angelic hymn — echoed through the air. The choking black mist evaporated, and fresh air once more flowed through Svartalfheim.
What's happening?!
Lothar, breathing heavily, barely had time to process what was happening before a surge of thick, overwhelming energy erupted beneath him like a volcanic explosion!
BOOM!!!
"I am the King of the Nine Realms," Malekith declared.
He slowly descended to the ground, opening his crimson eyes.
With a simple gesture, the reality around Lothar and Hela distorted. In the blink of an eye, they were forcibly teleported to Malekith's side.
"Now," Malekith intoned coldly, "kneel before your king."
The sheer pressure crushed down on them, stealing their strength. Lothar's battered body, aging rapidly under the relentless assault, could barely stand.
A low, guttural growl tore from Lothar's throat as veins bulged across his arms. Drawing on every last reserve of power, he roared and hurled his right fist straight toward Malekith's forehead — only for it to stop inches from its target, unable to advance any further.
"Foolish defiance."
With a lazy flick of his finger, Malekith sent Lothar flying like a ragdoll. His broken body carved a deep trench across the barren plain.
"Prince Lothar!"
The Other could no longer remain passive. He sprinted to Lothar's side, reaching out to help him — only to be shoved away violently.
"Get lost!" Lothar rasped, his voice raw and furious.
The Other stumbled backward, staring at Lothar's furious, blackened eyes in shock and fear.
"Prince Lothar..." he murmured helplessly.
The Other watched as Lothar injected himself with his final vial of nutrient fluid, his emotions a chaotic storm.
"You don't treat your subordinates very well, do you?" Malekith said mockingly, watching with amused interest.
"Or is this... merely impotent rage?"
Malekith reveled in his newfound power — the power to reshape the world with a gesture.
Squelch!
Without warning, a jet-black tendril, summoned by Malekith, speared through Lothar's chest!
"Prince Lothar!!"
The Other's pupils contracted sharply. Blood splattered across the ground as Lothar, his life force draining rapidly, struggled in vain against the Aether's suffocating power.
Malekith's mastery of the Infinity Stones far surpassed that of Shafrin from Planet U40.
"Chitauri," Malekith said, turning his gaze toward The Other — more precisely, toward the scepter embedded with the Mind Stone clutched in his hands.
"In the name of the King of the Dark Elves, I offer you a choice: Pledge your loyalty to me, lead your Chitauri army in my name, and you shall live. What say you?"
Malekith smiled as he ground Lothar's body deeper into the earth with his heel, enjoying his absolute dominance.
"Swear loyalty... to you?" The Other hesitated, uncertain if he had heard correctly.
"Yes," Malekith said smoothly. "Leave behind this man who disrespects you. Serve me instead."
He twisted his fingers sharply, stomping down again, crushing any further resistance from Lothar.
"Of course, you must bring that stone with you," Malekith added, eyeing the Mind Stone atop the scepter.
"But," he continued, voice turning cold, "I have little patience. Decide now."
"Decide... before the son of Thanos."
Beneath Malekith's boot, Lothar writhed in agony. Hela stood frozen, lost in a false reality woven by the Mind Stone's power. The Other closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made his decision.
"I understand," he said quietly.
"In that case—there is only one answer."
Lifting the scepter high, The Other's eyes snapped open with a fierce, resolute light. With a sharp crack, he broke the scepter in two!
Crack!
"I—pledge my allegiance to you!"
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