Soren lounged in the medical hall, half-distracted, until the late-night news flickered across the screen, footage of the Hulk tearing through a city block like a rampaging monster.
Cars flew. Buildings crumbled. Civilians screamed.
"So... they finally reaped what they sowed."
The Avengers, once again, had let things spiral out of control. And this time, it looked like they'd finally hit a wall.
But just as he was turning away, something stirred. A ripple of energy swept across the threshold of the medical hall. His expression changed in an instant.
"Natural magic…" He whispered. "Freyja?"
He vanished in a blink, reappearing at the entrance. Hovering in the air was a small, glowing creature, a snow-white crane, shimmering with ethereal light, its wings barely flapping as it chirped urgently.
Tweet! Tweet!
Soren held out his hand, and the energy construct fluttered into his palm. He closed his eyes, letting the spell unravel.
A familiar voice echoed from the magic within.
"Soren, I'm in trouble. I need your help—immediately."
The spell collapsed, revealing coordinates encoded in the weave of natural magic.
He didn't hesitate.
Suburban Wastelands
Soren emerged with a gust of air, appearing on the edge of a rundown neighborhood outside New York, a place overrun with crime, decay, and shadows that whispered of things worse than men.
He felt the chaos before he saw it.
Ahead, a swirling clash of steel and fangs. Freyja stood her ground, her long sword gleaming with raw natural power.
Each swing of her blade scattered green trails of energy, cutting through the darkness.
But she was surrounded.
At least a dozen figures circled her, humanoid in form, but not quite human.
Their eyes glowed crimson, and their snarling mouths revealed elongated fangs. Blood dripped from their lips.
"Vampires?" Soren muttered, incredulous.
One vampire lunged at Freyja, and she pivoted, slashing its arm clean off. But within seconds, the limb began to re-form, regenerating.
"They're healing too fast…" Freyja growled, breath heavy.
Another vampire hissed. "Give her time… she'll tire. Then we feast."
"Not tonight." Came a voice behind them.
A violent burst of energy split the ground.
In his hand materialized the blade he had taken from the Red Devil. Under his grip, it pulsed with flames, its blade forged from molten shadows, streaked with glowing crimson veins like flowing magma.
The air turned heavy.
The vampires hesitated, instincts screaming at them.
"Soren!" Freyja gasped, relief flickering across her face. "Took you long enough."
He gave a half-smile. "Blame the bird. Not exactly 5G."
One of the larger vampires snarled. "Who dares interfere?"
Soren raised the lava blade, and its flames roared to life, licking the sky. "Someone who burns bloodsuckers for sport."
He stepped forward, dragging the tip of the blade along the cracked pavement.
"You came after the wrong goddess."
WHOOSH!
Without a word, Soren vanished in a blur. The next second, his flaming blade sliced clean through the neck of a vampire.
The creature barely had time to scream before its body was engulfed in black fire, crumbling to ash that scattered into the wind.
The vampires recoiled, hissing in fury and confusion. They began growling in an ancient, guttural language, forming a loose perimeter around the two warriors.
Soren stepped beside Freyja, lava blade in hand, dark power pulsing from his body like a storm ready to break.
He didn't say a word, just glared coldly at the bloodsuckers, fury simmering in his expression. They had surrounded her.
Hunted her. That alone sealed their fate.
Freyja's breath was still uneven, her sword gleaming with natural Asgardian energy.
"Be careful." She warned. "They're stronger than they look, and they don't stay down easy."
"They won't get up at all then." Soren didn't even glance her way.
He raised his blade, and Freyja felt the temperature shift.
The sword in her hand pulsed with holy green light. His with burning black-red flame. Her aura radiated nature.
Together, they looked like chaos and creation forged into one.
The contrast should've clashed, but it didn't. It was… perfect.
"Let me handle this." Soren said, a grin forming.
And then he moved.
The alley lit up in flashes of molten death. With every slash of his enchanted lava blade, a vampire fell, screaming before dissolving into ash.
Their regenerative power meant nothing against the flames, blessed by Dormammu, born of infernal heat.
SHHK!
CRACK!
WHOOM!
It was a massacre. A black, flaming dance of precision and wrath. Freyja could only watch, her awe growing with every second.
In less than a minute, it was over.
Soren stood amid the remains, ashes drifting around him like snow. His shoulders relaxed. His power receded.
The black fire flickered out, and the sword dissolved into glowing embers.
He turned to Freyja, now safe.
"Are you alright?" His eyes scanning her for wounds. "You're not hurt, are you?"
Freyja blinked, a little stunned. "I'm fine. Just… winded."
But as he took her hand to check her wrist, her face flushed red, and she immediately pulled back.
"I said I'm fine!" She muttered, flustered.
Soren raised an eyebrow. "Right. That didn't sound convincing."
Freyja avoided his eyes. Her heart was still pounding, not from the fight, but from watching him.
The power.
He wasn't just a warrior.
Soren tilted his head. "You sure you're not running a fever? You look… red."
"I—I'm not!" Freyja snapped, cheeks burning deeper.
Soren studied her expression, caught between confusion and amusement.
The mighty goddess of war, battle-hardened, unshakable, was now blushing like a mortal girl.
He stepped closer, voice lowering. "You're acting strange."
"I am not!" She shot back, clutching her sword tighter.
"You're imagining things."
"I don't imagine anything."
Her glare could have cut through steel, but she couldn't deny the way her heart fluttered when he smiled at her like that.
Soren finally chuckled, a quiet, rare sound. "Well… if you're not injured, we should talk."
Freyja turned away, muttering under her breath, "Next time I need help, I'll send someone less charming."
Soren just grinned.