Antony watched Queen Frigga's retreating figure.
He said nothing. He simply picked up the golden apple he had taken a bite from earlier, studying it in silence.
"Destiny is set…" he murmured, repeating her final words.
In his previous life, Antony had read countless scripts. He knew this truth better than anyone:
Some characters exist to survive until the very end.
Others exist to die beautifully.
Frigga—Asgard's most powerful sorceress—was more than capable of surviving. If she truly wished to live, that Dark Elf wouldn't even be able to touch the hem of her robes.
She had seen the future.
And she had chosen her ending.
In Asgardian tradition, only those who die bravely in battle may enter Valhalla and drink with their ancestors. For a queen of gods, fading away in bed or withering in old age would be the greatest humiliation.
She chose how she would exit the stage.
Respecting another person's fate is basic adult etiquette—
especially when that "person" has lived for thousands of years.
-----
Earth — London
Cold rain poured endlessly, the damp chill seeping straight into the bones.
At the abandoned factory lot, the massive scorched rune still hissed faintly with residual heat.
Jessica Jones sat in the mud, looking utterly miserable.
She clutched her chest. The damn thing inside her felt alive—pulsing with every heartbeat, slithering through her veins, bringing waves of searing pain mixed with an intoxicating sense of power.
"That bastard…"
Jessica stared at the empty ground, grinding her teeth.
"Vacation, my ass. Two million pounds, my ass. He just dumps me here and disappears?"
Nearby, Darcy Lewis crept closer, trembling.
"Um… so, Jane and Mr. Homelander… they got sucked away by a rainbow? Like The Wizard of Oz?"
"Shut up."
Jessica squeezed the words through clenched teeth.
"Right. Sorry." Darcy shrank back. "But maybe we should… call S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean, that was Homelander. And Thor. You can give me the number—I'll call—"
"I said shut up!"
Jessica snapped her head up. A sinister dark-red glow flashed across her pupils.
KRRRUNCH—!
A nearby forklift twisted violently, compressed by an invisible force, collapsing into a mangled ball of scrap metal.
Darcy screamed and fell backward into the mud, hands clamped over her mouth.
Jessica sucked in a sharp breath, forcibly suppressing the raging energy inside her.
Then, finally, police sirens cut through the rain.
Scotland Yard officers arrived cautiously, surrounding the factory like a flock of terrified penguins.
"Hands up! This is the Metropolitan Police!"
The voice from the loudspeaker carried classic British restraint—yet the fear beneath it was obvious. After all, lightning strikes and rainbow beams didn't exactly scream normal crime scene.
"Fuck…"
Jessica muttered, trying to stand. Her knees buckled, nearly sending her back into the mud.
Darcy and the intern Ian were already huddled together, shaking uncontrollably.
"Ma'am! Remain still! Do not move!"
Two officers in reflective vests approached with tasers raised, sweating bullets.
"Don't touch me."
Jessica lifted her head, the dark-red glow returning to her eyes.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," she growled, riding out the storm inside her chest,
"but if you poke me with those stupid tasers… I'll shove them so far up your asses you'll taste batteries."
The officers recoiled instinctively.
"W-we need you to cooperate with our investigation, ma'am," one officer said weakly.
Jessica closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down.
Antony wasn't here anymore.
No one was covering for her now.
She reached toward her waist.
"Don't move!!" the police shouted.
"Relax, idiots! I'm grabbing my phone!"
She rolled her eyes and pulled out Antony's satellite phone—he never had pockets in that ridiculous suit.
"Beep… beep…"
"Yes, sir?" Ashley's professional voice came through. "Your signal is unstable. Do you have instructions?"
"He's gone," Jessica said flatly. "This is Jessica."
"Ms. Jones?" Ashley's tone shifted instantly from flattery to businesslike precision.
"According to the schedule, you should currently be attending… uh… a date?"
"A date my ass," Jessica snapped. "He got taken by a rainbow. Literally. Along with a scientist named Jane Foster and a blond muscle idiot with a hammer."
There was a full five seconds of silence.
"…A rainbow? …A hammer?"
Ashley exhaled slowly. "Understood. What do you need?"
"He's missing," Jessica said bluntly.
"And I'm surrounded by London cops who want to slap cuffs on me. You might want to fix this before I lose my temper with these Brits."
-----
Vought's efficiency—once lubricated by money—was terrifying.
Ten minutes later, the police received an emergency withdrawal order.
Thirty minutes after that, a customized Gulfstream G650ER touched down on Heathrow's private runway, a massive V logo emblazoned on its fuselage.
Jessica collapsed into a leather seat, waving off the flight attendant's champagne.
"Whiskey. Bottle."
Her body needed alcohol—anything to dull the burning sensation inside.
As the jet climbed into the clouds, Ashley sat across from her, holding a thick black folder.
"So," Jessica said, swirling the glass and staring out the window,
"you mentioned some kind of contingency plan? That idiot really thought he might die?"
"No," Ashley replied calmly. "Mr. Homelander never believes he'll lose."
She adjusted her glasses.
"But he is a perfectionist. He ensured that even in his absence, Vought would continue to operate exactly as he intended."
"He prepared for everything. Including—but not limited to—getting lost in space, trapped in another dimension, or… undergoing physical mutation that requires sunbathing on the surface of the sun for several years."
"…What the hell goes on in his head?" Jessica muttered.
Ashley opened the folder and slid a document across the table.
"What's this?" Jessica frowned.
"According to Mr. Homelander's directive," Ashley said evenly,
"if he is confirmed missing, off-world, or otherwise incapacitated for more than twenty-four hours…"
She tapped the name on the page.
"…the position of Acting President of Vought International will be assumed by you."
"—PFFFT!!"
Jessica sprayed whiskey all over Ashley's expensive Chanel suit.
"What?!"
--------------
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