Across the vast expanse of the Nine Realms, tremors rippled simultaneously — whether in the frozen wastelands of Jotunheim, the bustling cities of Asgard, or the battle-ready strongholds of Vanaheim, sharpening their blades for war.
The entire Nine Realms were quaking.
High atop a mountain, Odin, the strongest being of the Nine Realms, stood solemnly, his gaze fixed in the direction of Svartalfheim. In the icy expanse of Jotunheim, where he was rallying his forces before the war, Laufey's expression darkened. At that moment, a frantic communication channel from Vanaheim buzzed to life.
"Laufey?!"
"What in the Nine Realms is happening?!"
The voice of the Vanaheim king crackled with terror — and a hidden undercurrent of dread.
Svartalfheim was crumbling under the clash of two overwhelming forces. Worse yet, Malekith, the Dark Elf King who had enticed Vanaheim into the coalition against Odin, was nowhere to be found. That implication alone was enough to leave the Vanaheim king in a state of panic.
Odin was still seated on his throne in Asgard.
That meant whoever caused this catastrophe wasn't him.
But then — when had Asgard birthed another figure strong enough to rival Odin?
Panic gnawed at the heart of the Vanaheim king.
He could feel the ship they sailed on — the rebellion — might capsize at any moment.
"There's no need for alarm," Laufey replied coolly. Battle-hardened from countless clashes against Odin, he remained far calmer. He didn't know the full extent of Malekith's strength, now empowered by the Aether, but one thing he was certain of — Malekith would not be weaker than Odin.
Otherwise, with Odin's brutal and tyrannical nature, he would have already abandoned his throne and turned the Nine Realms into a river of blood.
The very fact that Odin still sat, awaiting the final confrontation on Midgard, spoke volumes about the threat posed by Malekith's completed form.
"But—"
"No buts."
Laufey cut him off without mercy.
"Everything proceeds according to plan. Even without the Dark Elves, do you understand?"
The cold finality in his tone made the Vanaheim king clench his fists in frustration — but with strength inferior to Laufey's, he had no choice but to swallow his anger.
There was no turning back now.
Having been lured into rebellion, the Vanir had no path forward but to see it through with Laufey — into darkness.
"I understand."
"Then... what about Malekith?"
The king hesitated.
The cataclysm unfolding on Svartalfheim sent a chill deep into his soul. In the Nine Realms, the worlds were entwined like a vast web; the destruction of one would inevitably bring devastation to the others.
"I will go myself," Laufey declared.
Silence answered him.
Laufey's strength far outstripped the Vanaheim king's. His decades-long war against Odin had earned him the undisputed title of the Nine Realms' second mightiest warrior. Rumors claimed that he had lost the Casket of Ancient Winters and that his power had diminished — but seeing Laufey's confidence firsthand, the Vanaheim king realized those tales were nothing but Asgardian propaganda.
"Foolish, short-sighted insect,"
Laufey sneered once he cut the transmission.
Turning away, he resumed his rallying speech, rousing Jotunheim's frostbitten legions into a frenzy. After the speech, Laufey returned to his throne room and activated a teleportation array.
As Malekith's ally, Laufey's palace contained a direct portal to the Dark Elf King's court.
Just as he had told the Vanaheim king — he needed to see the situation with his own eyes.
If necessary...
the Aether...
Laufey narrowed his eyes, and then, stepping into the array, his figure vanished into the swirling magic.
...
Meanwhile, on the shattered plains of Svartalfheim—
A towering silver beam of energy tore apart the tide of darkness, cleaving the skies for several seconds before slowly fading away.
From the shattered ground, Malekith staggered to his feet, coughing up a mouthful of blood. His wounds, old and new, marred his face grotesquely.
"This... this can't be!"
"I am king!"
"The supreme king!!"
"You're nothing but a monkey with a tail! How is this possible?!"
Malekith's bloodied gaze locked onto the golden-haired, green-eyed figure descending from the skies, his face twisted with rage and disbelief.
He couldn't accept it.
He refused to accept it.
"Is that so?"
The light in his hand fading, Lothar landed softly before Malekith, his face cold and expressionless.
"Then your so-called 'king'... is pathetically weak."
Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, Lothar's right fist smashed through Malekith's defenses and hammered into his jaw!
Spurt!
Blood and shattered teeth flew through the air.
Enraged beyond reason, Malekith's arms flared with power, and the space around Lothar began to warp under the intense energy!
"Unforgivable!"
A furious punch landed squarely on Lothar's face — yet he remained rooted to the ground, unmoved as if anchored by the earth itself.
"What...?"
Malekith's eyes widened in shock.
"Is that the limit of your rage?"
Lothar grabbed Malekith's left arm, slowly forcing the Dark Elf's clenched fist away from his own face. Cold green eyes stared straight into Malekith's soul.
With a sharp roar, Lothar unleashed a surge of power Malekith had no hope of resisting.
Boom!
Malekith was hurled across the plain, crashing into the fractured earth.
"Your rage... your strength... your body..."
Lothar strode forward at a measured pace, completely ignoring the widening cracks beneath his feet.
Reaching down, he seized Malekith by the head and, with brutal force, ripped him out of the ground.
Leaning in close, Lothar's voice was low, lethal:
"Pathetic beyond measure."
Malekith's heavy, ragged breathing slammed against Lothar's calm face. In desperation, tendrils of dark energy burst from Malekith's back, trying to drain Lothar's life force — or at least force him to release his grip.
But—
"Hand over the Aether. Now."
Lothar's voice was deafening in its stillness.
With a roar, a shockwave blasted outward, shredding every dark tendril into nothingness.
"Dream on."
Malekith's defiance triggered a catastrophic reaction. All across Svartalfheim, volcano-like eruptions of energy began to tear through the surface, forcing Lothar to momentarily release him.
"Then I'll beat you until you stop dreaming."
Cracking his knuckles, Lothar reappeared beside Malekith in an instant, unleashing a storm of blows that shattered each of Malekith's defensive barriers one after another.
It was a merciless onslaught, a tempest of fists and kicks that left Malekith battered and broken.
He tried desperately to widen the distance between them — but he could never escape.
Lothar understood his own strengths and refused to give Malekith even a sliver of opportunity to turn the tide. Close-quarters combat — relentless and suffocating.
Malekith could only cling to survival through the experience gained from nearly ten millennia of battle.
And yet, that only made the terror grow in his heart.
No matter how many exotic energy techniques he used to catch Lothar off guard, the Saiyan would instantly learn and adapt, turning his own moves against him.
That monstrous ability to evolve mid-battle — it was suffocating.
Saiyans... just what kind of race are they?!
Why had he never heard of such a terrifyingly gifted warrior species before?!
They were born for battle.
Born to grow stronger through war.
Every secret technique, every hidden energy circulation pattern that Malekith had cultivated over millennia — Lothar absorbed it all, mid-fight, and wielded it with devastating effect.
The despair in Malekith's heart only deepened with each passing second.
What kind of monster have I provoked...?!
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