The air grew colder, the mountains beneath the storm clouds dark and grim. Thousands of niches had been carved into the scarred rock face, where the broken remains of warriors in dust-covered Asgardian armor were displayed. These armors had once belonged to warriors who fought and died on vast battlefields spanning the galaxy. The terrible scars on the plates told stories of mortal wounds. Medals and decorations proved these warriors had served in the most brutal, dangerous arenas. While the finest dwarven smiths could mend iron, flesh and bone once broken were lost forever—most of the bones inside the armor were incomplete, and even Hela could not awaken them to fight again. Still, she had preserved them, repairing missing limbs, spines, and ribs with black swords, arranging them alongside their old armors and her war trophies throughout the blackstone mountains of the realm of the dead.
The screech of a black sword against a shield cut the air, and in the moment of impact, Solomon used the goddess of death's own power to spin away, swinging his holy sword horizontally at a speed no ordinary eye could follow. Hela arched back, narrowly evading the blade, her supple waist twisting her out of harm's way. She had encountered this kind of counterattack before—indeed, she had anticipated it the moment Solomon began to spin—but avoiding it was no easy feat. She could feel the unbearable heat radiating from the blade as it seared the air, tightening the skin on her face.
Irritated again, Hela's rage toward Odin, who had stripped her of her full power, flared. With practiced skill, she struck back in the beat between heartbeats—but Solomon caught her blow on the rim of his shield. He stepped forward, driving the shield forward like a battering ram. The impact shattered the black sword with a thunderous boom. The force could have broken a spine, pulverized a ribcage—yet the goddess of death only danced back lightly on her toes, nimble as ever.
"That's the fourth time," Solomon panted through the amplifier built into his helmet. Sweat soaked the interior of his armor, its inner lining slick and stinging against his skin. "You can't kill me, Hela."
Under the influence of battle adrenaline, Hela hurled a black sword at him in fury—easily deflected by Solomon. Even those few blades that slipped past his defense couldn't leave a scratch on his golden armor. But it was enough for Hela to seize the moment.
She summoned back hundreds of black swords scattered in previous exchanges—from niches in the walls, from cliffside drops, even from shattered remnants. All surged toward Solomon from every direction. Accompanied by their howling whistles and a silver mist, Solomon vanished. Confidently, Hela swung her sword Nightfall backward—Solomon had played this trick several times, and this blade had already sliced through his vambrace and greaves, severing arteries.
But this time, Solomon didn't appear behind her.
Instead, he dropped from above, a golden meteor crashing down. His armored boots crushed Hela's leg bones, and the blazing holy sword carved from her clavicle to her waist. Blood soaked the stone wall; her organs sizzled and smoked from the heat.
For the Hela of today, such a wound required time to heal.
Solomon stepped back, giving her space to recover her pulverized legs. He even supported the half of her body that had collapsed, helping her knit herself together more quickly. But feeling insulted, the goddess of death drove him away with a black sword. Without even repairing her tattered battle dress, she jammed short swords through her body to reattach limbs and drove two black swords through her thighs to replace her twisted, ruined legs. Blood poured as she staggered back to her feet, howling with fury as she resumed her savage assault.
For Solomon, he had never met a warrior as mad as her. He'd seen people fight naked before, but this—deliberately inflicting agony just to continue—was a first. He began to question whether this entire endeavor was a mistake. Was Hela, in her madness, even capable of rational judgment? Could she ever agree to his vision of the future?
"She'll never agree," Frigga said, shaking her head.
Though the vision from the Sorcerer Supreme had been brief, the Queen of Asgard recognized the three girls immediately. They were indeed Thor's granddaughters—blonde-haired Frigga, red-haired Eirith, and Atli—all clearly Aesir in blood. Even without the massive axes and hammers they wielded, their crudeness alone proved their lineage. Yet the other glimpses of the future extinguished her initial joy—Asgard was completely destroyed, reduced to a floating wasteland in space. The Asgardians were scattered—enslaved, or stripped of their heritage, reduced to mercenaries. Her son Thor, now gray-haired, sat silently on a throne made of stone, staring at the lifeless ruin that had once been Asgard.
"This is only a gamble. Violence can only be subdued by greater violence."
"What if you fail?" Frigga asked. "What if Hela decides to take revenge on Midgard?"
"Kamar-Taj isn't without methods to kill an immortal, Frigga," the Sorcerer Supreme replied, casting a sideways glance at the queen, who now clutched the vision fragment tightly, clearly intent on studying it further. "The Holy Sword could do it—but that boy Solomon is still being polite. He refuses to unseal the sword's full power. He sees it as an insult to an already weakened opponent."
"Hela won't appreciate that," Frigga said bluntly, cutting to the heart of it. "If she escapes, she'll put fighting Solomon at the top of her list. What if she wins? Who will stop her? If you lose, humanity will lose far more than it gains."
"The future is too heavy. Solomon must find a way to bear it."
"Unless he completely conquers Hela, I wouldn't object to letting him co-rule Asgard with her. On one hand, the wars to come would satisfy her bloodlust. On the other, Solomon's wisdom could temper Thor's recklessness—and Loki's—as a stabilizing force across the Nine Realms. Humanity has seen co-rule before in its history. I believe Asgard could too."
Frigga's suggestion was so startling even the Sorcerer Supreme was momentarily taken aback—though good manners prevented any visible reaction.
"I don't think Solomon would agree to that." After a pause, the Ancient One added, "He doesn't want to rule a kingdom full of Asgardians. His mission is to uplift humanity, not Asgard."
"I know how my daughter thinks when it comes to warriors," Frigga said, unimpressed. "If he impresses her in Helheim, he might already be lying in her bed! Don't be shocked—we're not ascetics like you monks. Asgardians are direct about these matters." She scoffed. "If that happens, Solomon becomes both Midgard's king and Asgard's regent. Thor remains king, Hela becomes war chief. If they stand united, no force could oppose them! Look—if your disciple can conquer my daughter completely, Asgard and Midgard will become one. The Nine Realms will rise again! His mission, Solomon's grand ambitions, even Thor and Hela's desires—all fulfilled! So get word to your disciple—tell him to hurry up and get my daughter pregnant in Helheim! This concerns the fate of the Nine Realms—we can't afford to waste time!"
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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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