This suit of powered armor was not the black combat armor Solomon had previously prepared for low-intensity warfare. It was a masterpiece crafted from plates forged by dwarves, with Malcador personally combining rare materials and alien technologies into an integrated servo system. The armor was designed to accommodate both brutal close-quarters combat and high-intensity spellcasting. The thick golden plating was etched with faint runes, and the Uru metal forged with a blend of magic and advanced technology was virtually indestructible. Vibranium-made electronic muscle coils hugged the body with incredible precision, while a layer of soft, mysterious alien material completely eliminated friction injuries during battle.
Even more powerful were the gemstones embedded across the armor, which channeled various magical effects. The pinnacle of technological and magical craftsmanship had been unified in this armor. This was war-forged power armor—not the sleek, streamlined creation of Stark's Iron Man suit with its elegant interlocking segments. No, this was bulk, tonnage, and high-output servos, built with one purpose: to take lives.
Dozens of invisible servitors carried in the chestplate, inserting neural probes into the pre-installed surgical ports. Solomon winced slightly from the inevitable pain as the nerve links connected. His neural signals were captured by the probes and converted into commands for the servos, syncing his movements with the armor's electronic musculature. Fully suited, Solomon appeared taller than before. His previously removed relic-cloth robe was now draped over the fixed pauldrons, transformed into a deep red armored robe and cloak. As the power system activated, the chamber's air grew stifling from the heat expelled by the cooling vents. But cooling was a minor issue—the spells embedded in the power lines were triggered one by one, bringing the temperature back down. He ran a full systems check: verifying the function of the limb coils and servo systems through the interface ports.
Kaecilius circled him, curious.
"How much do you weigh now?"
"In tons. Uru isn't light—especially with a full life-support system. See this port? It can inject stimulants directly into my bloodstream." As the sealing process completed, the data lines and power cables disconnected one after another, leaving a tangle of black rubber-sheathed cables and several calibration computers on the floor.
"I don't even know when you put all this together." Kaecilius glanced at the cluttered table full of computers, his tone full of amazement. Solomon didn't immediately catch his meaning, and by the time he did, he simply smirked to avoid saying something sentimental. "You're planning to go to the banquet in that armor?" Kaecilius asked. "If so, Loki's not going to give you a chance to sneak out of the palace."
"I'll use an illusion. Whether Loki sees through it or not, he won't interfere."
Solomon sheathed the Holy Sword at his waist, strapped the Holy Lance and Aegis shield to his back, secured in place with magnetic locks. Malcador had also provided a specially crafted sidearm for ranged combat. With gauntleted fingers, Solomon picked up his helmet and stepped forward. Thanks to the servos, the armor didn't hinder him in the slightest—he moved as freely as if he were wearing cloth, even though the weight remained substantial.
"Besides, I've got other business at the banquet."
"Wait!"
"What is it?"
"I just wanted to say... watch your head on the doorframe, my boy." Kaecilius tossed him the gray cloak. "A little extra disguise never hurts."
"You're right, old man."
Beneath the throne, a skeleton removed its own head and mounted it on someone else's cervical spine. The little skeleton patted its new skull, seemingly still confused. The male servant named Sluggish and the head maid named Slow stood slack-jawed, as if still surprised by the trick despite having seen it countless times over the centuries.
"You should be surprised! This is Helheim's finest circus—I used three swords to get them!" The Goddess of Death's laughter echoed through her corpse-strewn palace, her madness seeping into every crevice of the obsidian tiles. The male and female servants offered no reaction, only nodding mechanically with the grating creak of neck bones—responses personally controlled by the Death Goddess, for her servants had long since perished, reduced to well-preserved mummified corpses. Through the hall's skylight, dim light filtered through the planet's thick clouds, limping across the obsidian palace lit by ghastly green flames, illuminating scars left from her last battle.
She suddenly stopped scolding her servants, narrowing her eyes to examine the wobbling skeleton beneath her throne.
"Oh, is that you, my old friend?" Hela rose from the throne of sword-thorns, twirling dramatically, her voice taking on the tone of an operatic reunion. "My dear Valkyries, I didn't expect you to join the circus! Hey, I recognize that blade scar—let me guess… Brunnhilde, is that your head? How did it end up in that lowborn's hands… Don't tell me you fell in love with another wretch? Have you forgotten how furious Odin was last time? I wanted to support you—I really did, my comrade-in-arms…"
She froze in mid-step, suddenly realizing how dull and flavorless everything around her had become.
"And yet I still killed you. A shame—we could've been the best of friends." Bored, she slumped back into the towering throne made of countless black swords, the edges slicing into her flesh with every movement. She delighted in the pain. As the centuries passed, the blades increased in number, and the pain grew sharper and more frequent.
To her, pain was the only thing that kept her sane.
She couldn't help but remember the powerful warrior who had appeared just before the last Mist-Winter—only to vanish just as quickly. It had been the most interesting event in her long imprisonment, the fierce battle evoking vivid memories of her past campaigns. Though stripped of her full powers and unable to defeat him, the proud Death Goddess believed she could best any mortal with her experience in countless wars. Her last defeat, she insisted, was merely a concession—to feel pain.
When that warrior disappeared, she fell into a state of anticipation, hoping he would return to duel her again. She even prepared more weapons—ordering her mindless skeletons to wield blades, form ranks, and march the endless legions of corpses across canyons, plains, and mountains of this death-world.
But she soon grew bored of the opponent-less war. The skeletal pantomimes only deepened her tedium.
She began to curse under her breath, slumping into the throne in dejection, embracing the silence that had accompanied her for so long.
At the beginning of her imprisonment, she had unleashed her rage wildly, destroying everything on the planet that could be destroyed. But now, her rage merely simmered—waiting for the destined moment of release. That fire, stoked for centuries, would one day burn the entire world.
She would rebuild her empire amid the smoldering gray ruins.
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I Am Zeus, KING OF GODS (Chapter 79)
Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 391)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 471)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 677)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 1059)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1418)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1422)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1452)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1504)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld!(Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 703)
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