A host of fallen Frost Giants.
Their souls plunged straight into the [Realm of the Dead] under Herman's dominion.
Just as he had declared earlier, all of them—including their king, Laufey—found neither heaven nor hell awaiting them. Even the Marvel Universe's deathly afterworld refused them. Bound by the authority of the [Lord of the Dead], they were condemned to eternal enslavement.
That was the gift of Herman's title. Any enemy slain by him could never find true release.
"Their pain, their screams—they will all become my nourishment."
Reflected in Herman's eyes was the bleak, twisted landscape of the [Realm of the Dead]. He could feel it shifting.
The Casket of Ancient Winters had infused his realm with a biting cold, but the Frost Giants' deaths delivered the first harvest of souls. At last, the [Realm of the Dead] was beginning to function as it should.
As those souls writhed in agony, Herman drew power from their torment.
"What a wicked way to grow stronger."
He felt the steady rise of death energy seeping into every corner of the [Realm of the Dead].
The Frost Giants weren't low-tier lifeforms. They belonged to a highly developed cosmic civilization, and the ones absorbed here were all elites—plus one quasi–Sky Father king.
So even though there weren't many—barely more than a dozen—
The energy they yielded was anything but meager.
It was roughly equivalent to the total soul energy of an entire densely populated nation being poured into his [Realm of the Dead].
And that was without him employing any real "extraction" methods yet. Had he pressed harder, the giants could have provided far more.
"The cold cuts them to the bone, but even they can endure a little. That's why their suffering hasn't reached its peak."
Herman glanced into his realm, watching as the Frost Giants' souls shrieked under endless frost.
It was the only environment in his embryonic domain—frozen torment born of the Casket's power. Compared to what it could become, it was still terribly barren.
The Casket's energy was impressive, yes. In the hands of a Sky Father, it could display remarkable might.
But in truth, it was still no match for a true Sky Father's own strength.
Odin's missing eye, Herman mused, was unlikely lost to the Casket. More likely, the King of Asgard had paid that price to glimpse the universe's harshest truth—the Celestials. That fit Asgardian myth far better.
"There'll be time to refine it later."
He imagined constructing an eighteen-layer hell, something far more efficient than Marvel's own realm of the dead. Perhaps that was a goal worth working toward.
For now, he knew one thing—he had gained yet another way to grow stronger without lifting a hand.
"How long are you planning to stand there staring?"
Pulling his awareness back, Herman turned his gaze on Thor, who stood not far away, clutching his arm, visibly shivering.
"You'd better promise you won't turn me into... into one of those things."
Thor pointed uneasily toward the corpses of the Frost Giants, felled in an instant by Herman's death aura.
His expression was nervous. After all, he had just used Herman as a distraction, baiting Laufey and the others onto him.
That left him worried Herman might retaliate with a "gruesome death" of his own. Based on what he had witnessed in the strip club, and the horrific end of the Frost Giants, Thor doubted this man was the forgiving sort.
"Your father already paid something for this little trip of yours. So no, I won't punish you for dragging trouble my way... at least not for now."
Herman arched a brow. He was in a good mood, and not inclined to press the issue with Thor.
If not for the son, then at least for the father.
The old man knew how to play the game. He kept sending gifts.
"For now..." Thor forced a nervous laugh, still too wary to get close to Herman. He crossed his arms over his chest, shivering despite his godly frame.
The city's deadly chill came half from the realm of the dead and half from Laufey, the Frost Giant King, a quasi–Sky Father–level being.
Even an Asgardian body struggled to endure it.
"Now that my deal with your father is done, it's time you returned to where you came from. Some of Earth's organizations don't want you wandering around too much... they begged me to guarantee you'd pose no threat to them."
With one crisis after another finally resolved, Herman urged Thor to leave Midgard.
If this man stayed here, who knew what kind of chaos Asgard's second prince might stir up? Herman worried he might lose patience and storm into Asgard himself to twist Loki's head off. He had never had any tolerance for schemes and trickery.
"I'll return, of course. I want to see what ridiculous messes my foolish brother has gotten into... but before that, I need to say goodbye to my friends..." Thor's voice cut off suddenly.
"No!"
As if struck by a terrible thought, his expression changed. He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the makeshift camp he and the mortals had built.
The entire city was frozen solid. Even Thor, with his divine power restored, could barely withstand the cold. He didn't dare imagine what the refugees and children had suffered.
"No... it can't be."
Dread twisted his features as he reached the underground shelter. With a burst of strength, he wrenched open the heavy metal doors.
A rush of white mist burst out.
Carrying tiny shards of ice.
Thor already knew what he was about to find. And as he stepped inside, his worst fear was confirmed.
Hundreds of people lay quietly on the ground.
Every single one had closed their eyes forever.
In their final moments, they had clung to one another, huddling for warmth—but against the absolute cold, it had been meaningless.
"No... everyone... everyone..."
Thor staggered through the bunker, grief etched deep into his face as he checked body after body.
None had survived.
Every corpse bore a faint icy-blue tint, as if frozen in a cold storage locker.
Uncle Sam, Brother Sheldon, Sister Penny, little Lim, little John... all the people Thor had grown to know in these short days were now cold, lifeless bodies. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, in the face of powers like these, were as fragile as any ordinary human.
It could be said...
The moment the city froze, their lives had ended. Not one had escaped.
"Why did this happen!"
"It's my fault! If I hadn't come to Earth, the Frost Giants wouldn't have followed. None of these people would have suffered this!"
Thor, for all his pride, was a man of deep feeling. Memories of the past days flashed in his mind. His time on Earth had been brief, but he had felt kindness.
He had felt warmth.
Many had given him the will to endure during his lowest moment—an experience he had never known in his glory days.
He cherished his bond with the rescue team and the refugees. He couldn't accept that those who had laughed with him only yesterday now lay as cold corpses.
"You didn't deserve this..."
His voice trembled violently, tears streaming from the god's eyes.
"This is the hidden price behind battles that look so glorious. Behind every legendary tale are the blood and tears of those caught in the crossfire."
Herman had entered silently, now standing behind him. He showed no surprise at the scene. Ordinary people surviving clashes of this scale was nearly impossible—especially battles waged at such a high level.
Even the shockwaves alone could wipe out countless lives.
Every time the Avengers assembled, the spectacle grew greater. And each time, more innocents were caught in the aftermath. For every superhero victory, who could say how many corpses lay buried in the rubble?
Baron Zemo, the man who later fractured the Avengers, had turned villain because his family was wiped out in the collateral damage of the Ultron War.
It was proof enough that stories of heroes weren't all shining and beautiful.
"This is my fault. I was too naive, thinking war brought only glory, never realizing the suffering it inflicted on others."
"As a king, as a warrior, my duty should have been to protect the weak—not to bring this pain upon them!!"
Thor bowed his head, sinking to his knees in the bunker. "If I hadn't been exiled, they wouldn't have died here because of me."
He didn't blame Herman or even the Frost Giants for the intensity of their battle. With years of battlefield experience, he knew once a fight began, collateral destruction was inevitable.
In this moment, he placed the blame solely on himself—for bringing death to Earth's good people.
"I'm glad you've come to understand that."
Herman stepped up beside Thor, feeling that this little "Crown Prince's Transformation" had gone exactly as planned. As the director of the scene, he couldn't be more satisfied.
"Don't put on such a look of final parting. They're not beyond saving." He glanced at the frozen bodies scattered throughout the shelter.
"There's no chance anymore... Even if my father, Odin, himself tried, he couldn't bring these poor people back. They've lost every spark of life." Thor lowered his head in grief, his voice steeped in sorrow. He knew too well how fragile mortal lives truly were.
"I don't agree. Just because Odin can't doesn't mean I can't. In fact..." Herman walked up to the kneeling Thor, slipping a lollipop into his mouth. Post-battle sugar was perfectly reasonable, and the ones Carrie bought were always to his taste.
"For me, it's hardly difficult. Without my permission, death remains nothing but a luxury for them."
He strode to the center of the shelter. In his eyes, deathly energy surged endlessly, the aura he exuded so chilling that Thor's very soul trembled.
"What... what kind of power is this?" Thor felt an oppressive weight bear down on him, stronger even than what he had felt watching Herman battle before. Even with his godhood fully restored, he felt just as small and powerless as when Herman had crushed him earlier.
At that moment, his own thunder power recoiled inward, retreating completely, too terrified to emerge.
It was instinct—an uncontrollable fear of offending something far too terrible.
"Who in the Nine Realms is he!?"
Even without meeting his eyes, just looking at Herman's back made Thor's heart pound with dread. His body shook, fear rising uncontrollably.
"It's like... standing before Death itself..."
Thor had escaped death countless times on the battlefield. He knew this feeling perfectly.
"A thought just came to me."
Herman suddenly turned, amusement flickering across his face.
"Do you know what a miracle is?"
Thor froze, caught off guard by the question.
"..."
Before he could even attempt an answer, Herman spoke again.
"Coming back from death—for most people, that's the greatest miracle of all."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
An unseen law stirred.
Supreme power.
It descended upon the mortal world...
Before Thor's wide, unbelieving eyes, the icy blue faded from the frozen corpses. Vitality, long extinguished, returned with a violent rush.
One by one, their skin regained color. Their bodies softened from stiff ice to living flesh. Chests began to rise and fall.
"Haa—"
Almost in unison, every person who should have been dead snapped open their eyes and sat up from the cold floor.
Their expressions varied—most filled with terror—as they darted frantic glances around the shelter.
"So simple."
"See?"
Herman lowered his hand, plucked the lollipop from his mouth, and smiled brightly as ever.
The resurrected mortals had no idea what had just happened, but Thor had witnessed the entire process.
"To draw souls back from the realm of the dead and return them to life... Who are you really!?" Thor finally shouted, his face pale with horror.
He understood too well what had just happened—that Herman had reached into the deathly realm itself. Even Odin dared not pry into that place, let alone trespass within it.
"Looks like you weren't listening carefully. I told you, I wield death. So tell me—what does that make me?" Herman arched a brow, smiling faintly as his gaze fell on Thor.
Of course, he knew Thor could never answer.
"I don't like noise."
As the newly revived people began to cry out, Herman had no desire to linger, especially not to hear them shouting "Homelander!" at the sight of him.
"The warm reunion is yours. Say your goodbyes, then return to where you belong."
A cloud of ravens rose beneath his feet.
In the next instant, he was gone.
...
The Land of the Dead.
Endless souls drifted in its gray expanse. A domain forever out of reach to the living. Some had held power. Some had ruled nations. Yet no matter how mighty they had been in life, all ended here, with almost no chance of seeing the light again.
Unless... a soul was granted Death's pardon. That had always been the only way out—until today.
"I feel... a temptation. An allure."
In the bleak wasteland, the absolute ruler of this realm condensed into a form—a woman draped in black veils.
Death lifted her gaze to the distant exit. Hundreds of faint souls had just been drawn away by some outside force.
She did not intervene.
Nor did she feel anger.
"Perhaps... it's time I stepped outside myself."
She watched quietly as the souls vanished from her domain. Then, she split off a fragment of her own essence and sent it into the world of the living.