In the small living room next door, a breeze lifted the gossamer curtains, filling the room with the scent of flowers. Some birds flitted past the window.
Su Ming casually picked up a bottle of wine from the table, standing near the fireplace to watch the flickering flames.
In Asgard, nearly every room had a fireplace, though the Asgardians hardly needed the warmth—their physiology was highly resistant to cold. Here, fireplaces were merely for illumination and decoration, occasionally used to cook food.
"Right now, aside from Mephisto and the Serpent having some connection, other forces seem uninvolved. The Serpent's escape is the cause, and its later contact with Hell's lords is the effect. This timeline clears Mephisto of suspicion."
He spoke to the two women of the Vanir.
"You can't be sure it's the Serpent. I still believe the Serpent is dead," Frigga replied softly, her large eyes fixed solemnly on Su Ming, staring at the face of the false Odin.
Just then, Gin returned, having spoken with her boss. "Boss, Master Ancient One confirmed it: the Serpent has broken free of its seal, and the Hammer of Winter is no longer on Earth. Both are unaccounted for."
Su Ming tilted his head, spreading his hands toward Frigga as if to say, See for yourself.
Frigga covered her mouth, a wave of panic twisting her stomach. The Vanir had suffered greatly at the Serpent's hands in the past, and her fear of that mad creature was overwhelming.
Su Ming sighed, passing her the wine bottle to calm her nerves, then turned back to Gin.
"What else did the Master say?"
"Master Ancient One said the Serpent must be resealed, but not on Earth this time."
Gin glanced at Frigga, who was chugging the strong liquor, her lips twitching slightly. In her memory, the Mother of the Gods always carried herself with dignity, lofty and composed.
Now, she seemed no different from a common warrior.
Su Ming rubbed his brow, exasperated. The Supreme Sorcerer made it sound simple, but sealing the Serpent? In the Marvel universe, he could barely cast a fireball, let alone perform a large-scale magical seal. It would likely fall to Odin and the World Tree.
His original plan was to find a way to kill the Serpent once and for all.
He didn't buy the idea that the Serpent could only die by fulfilling a prophecy. If it couldn't be killed, the method was simply wrong.
If he could get his hands on the Ultimate Nullifier or even the Heart of the Universe, the Serpent would be finished.
But Ancient One's suggestion was to maintain the prophecy of Ragnarök, preserving the cycle of the gods' destruction and rebirth. There seemed to be a deeper significance to this than Su Ming had realized.
Or perhaps… had Ancient One seen something with the Time Stone?
After a brief moment of thought, Su Ming decided to follow the Supreme Sorcerer's advice. Though she hadn't given specific reasons, he trusted she wouldn't lead him astray.
Except, perhaps, when it came to taking up the mantle of Supreme Sorcerer…
With the Serpent and the Hammer of Winter shrouded in mystery, no one knew their whereabouts. But the Serpent, an ancient relic whose understanding of the world was stuck ten thousand years in the past, would likely target something within its limited scope.
Namely, the Nine Realms.
"Queen Frigga, I need to make a trip to the Underworld," Su Ming said softly.
Frigga, having finished the bottle, sat slowly at the table. "Any soul that doesn't die gloriously in Asgard ends up in the Underworld."
"I'm just informing you. The eight-legged steed will take me there."
"What do you want me to do?" Frigga rubbed her face, feeling lost. If Odin didn't wake soon, how could they face the Serpent?
"Keep an eye on the palace's movements. I've always suspected there's a traitor involved with the Serpent."
With that brief instruction, Su Ming left with Gin, their footsteps leaving faint prints on the carpet.
Gullveig glanced at his retreating figure, then at her sister.
"You'd better do as he says. I sense he can instill fear in others while feeling none himself. He acts without hesitation or restraint."
Frigga gave a bitter smile, shaking her head. "I know. I'm just worried he might kill us at any moment."
Gullveig set a laptop on the table. "I don't think so. Look at this tech—he's having us learn from it. That means we're still useful."
The queen sighed, her delicate hand brushing the black laptop, so unlike anything in Asgard.
There was a darkness to that man, his true intentions still a mystery to everyone. That was what truly terrified her.
Frigga wasn't afraid of death—she feared Asgard's end. His ability to shapeshift into anyone was simply too frightening.
And with her sister's fate in Deathstroke's hands, only he could now help the people of Vanaheim escape the influence of the flame's power.
She had been pulled into this vortex against her will, caught in an invisible web that seemed to ensnare everyone.
"Boss, are you really going to the Underworld?" Gin asked as they rode the eight-legged steed, which galloped as if traversing the cosmos.
"Yes. First, we need to see if Hela has any connection to the Serpent. Then, we investigate why she's been attacking Asgard's forces."
Su Ming answered calmly, riding the steed without needing to guide it—just name the destination, and it was like a cosmic taxi.
He absently smoothed the steed's mane, untangling some knots.
"Her power… it's immense. If Tyr's with her, I'm not sure the two of us will be enough."
"Hm? I never said we were going to fight Hela. We're just dealing with a dog."
"A dog?"
Su Ming glanced back at Gin, her short hair fluttering in the breeze like pages of a book, her face full of confusion.
…
Hela and Tyr were celebrating their victory.
The army of the dead had grown once more, bolstered by the souls of Asgard's active warriors.
Unlike the endless fodder of the Underworld, these were elite troops.
Trading cannon fodder for a new elite army was a no-loss deal, especially since the souls of the fallen, even if pulverized on the battlefield, would return to the Underworld to be remade.
But celebrations in the Underworld were, as always, subdued.
Hela and Tyr sat at a small table with a jug of wine and two cups, speaking in low voices as they drank—a modest celebration.
The hall remained eerily silent, with cold and death permeating every corner.
Asgardian customs were twisted here; everything was the antithesis of the Golden Realm.
Where Asgard's fireplaces burned with warm flames, Hela's glowed with an icy green light.
Where Asgardians smashed their cups in revelry, Hela's were made of human skin—unbreakable, landing with a wet splat when thrown.
Asgard's streets and markets bustled with life, but the Underworld's grand palace, larger than Asgard itself, was forever haunted by only two figures.
Hela had already realized the World Tree's fire was a ruse. She'd merely seized the opportunity to raid, and now she would wait for the true moment to strike.
For the Underworld, the war was over, the army strengthened—a single day's gain worth decades.
Odin, that old fool, wouldn't dare face her. Hela was utterly confident.
"How are my two brothers doing?" Hela asked, reclining on her chaise, sipping mead from her cup as she questioned Tyr.
The Underworld's wine, brewed from the honey of death-spore flowers, was lethal to mortals—one whiff would turn them into zombies.
Tyr bore charred marks from hammer strikes, but as an undead, he felt no pain. The wounds were mere scratches.
"Thor's still a fool, but Loki seems sharper. At the war's outset, it's like he already saw the outcome."
"…Time is a fearsome force," Hela mused.
Tyr raised his cup to the queen, his smile grotesque, his decayed face exposing his gums.
"But Odin sending troops against Surtur? That's baffling. Numbers mean nothing against a being like that."
Hela closed her eyes, fingers idly tracing her cushion, before opening them again. "Odin's done plenty of incomprehensible things—making peace with Laufey, cozying up to Xandar and others, sending the Valkyries against me… I heard from new souls that he proclaimed some 'Will of Fire' yesterday. I suspect he set the World Tree ablaze himself."
Tyr shrugged. As the queen said, Odin's actions were often bizarre.
But the time wasn't right yet. The Underworld's army would slumber beneath the ground, awaiting their next awakening.
They drank a few more cups, discussing grim topics. Hela's hand kept searching the cushion, as if missing something.
"Oh, where's Fenris?"
She finally remembered—it was the absence of her wolf that felt off.
Fenris, the beast destined to be Odin's doom, was one of Hela's trump cards. Part of why Odin avoided the Underworld was his fear of the prophecy coming true too soon.
Tyr's feelings toward the wolf that bit off his hand were complex. He'd helped trick Fenris into being chained on an island for ten thousand years, but the wolf had also crunched his hand like a crisp fruit.
Now an ally of Hela's, Fenris was a daily presence, yet Tyr still found it unsettling.
"No idea. With so many corpses and souls flooding the Underworld today, it's probably off looking for something to eat."
Hela sighed. Fenris was the only living creature in the Underworld—even she was half-dead. "Let it be. The Underworld never even had a bone to chew before. I'm glad it's endured this long. Go fetch more wine."