With the Underworld Dragon's death, one-sixth of the Crown of Death fell into Ben's possession. The sight of their fellow Lord's severed head rolling across the cursed ground sent an unmistakable message to Killer King Cato and the Black Bone Monarch.
Resistance was futile.
They had already been outmatched individually, and now their opponent possessed the same death-power that had once made them formidable. The strategic calculation was brutally simple—surrender immediately and possibly retain their existences, or follow the dragon into permanent oblivion.
"Wouldn't it have been wiser to cooperate from the beginning?" Ben asked conversationally as green light flashed around him.
Wildmutt's massive form dissolved, replaced by a Ultimate Heatblast's familiar magma-rock physiology. The Crown of Death fragment settled onto the Pyronite's head, but now the spider-leg design had evolved—what had been a single twisted horn now sprouted four symmetrical points, creating a more complete and balanced appearance.
Nearby, Wanda stood over Lady Omor's unconscious form, having stripped the ancient lord of her Crown fragment with clinical efficiency. The rose-colored energy still danced around her fingers, ready to strike again if necessary.
The surviving former Lords knelt in the cursed earth, their millennia of pride reduced to desperate supplication. Their Crown fragments lay scattered before Ben's feet like offerings to a conqueror.
"Please," the Black Bone Monarch rasped, his skeletal form trembling. "We offer our portions of the Crown willingly. Surely our cooperation earns us—"
Ben raised his hand, and raging fire erupted from his form.
The flames consumed all three Lords in seconds, reducing their ancient forms to ash and shadow. Their death-screams echoed across Niflheim's gray landscape before fading into eternal silence.
"Cooperation offered only after defeat isn't cooperation," Ben stated flatly, watching the ashes scatter in the supernatural wind. "It's cowardice disguised as pragmatism."
Wanda studied his expression, noting the complete absence of remorse or hesitation. "No mercy for the Lords of the Underworld?"
"None deserved," Ben replied, gathering the abandoned Crown fragments. "Niflheim isn't a prison for the unfortunate—it's the final destination for the truly dishonored. These beings ruled through cruelty and despair for millennia. I have no burden eliminating them."
The logic was sound, if harsh. Every soul condemned to Niflheim had earned their fate through acts of exceptional malice or cowardice in life. The Lords who rose to power in such an environment were necessarily the worst among the worst.
Ben examined his expanded Crown fragment, now displaying two-thirds of its complete design. The death-power flowing through the artifact felt substantial but incomplete, like wielding a sword with half its blade missing.
"Only one-third of the Crown remains," he mused, the flames dancing around his rocky form creating an almost regal appearance. "Our plan is proceeding smoothly."
Wanda nodded, though her expression carried a shadow of concern. "Much smoother than our experience in Asgard. The Lords were powerful—Lady Omor alone exceeded the magical strength of both Enchantresses we faced—but they fell far more easily than expected."
She was right. If they had attempted this mission with their original team composition, particularly with Thor still unable to lift Mjolnir, the four Lords would have presented an insurmountable obstacle. The difference wasn't the enemies' weakness—it was Ben's overwhelming strength.
But Wanda's thoughts had already moved to their next challenge, and her expression darkened further.
"The remaining third belongs to Hela," she said quietly. "That woman... she seemed invincible. Even possessing fragments of the Crown ourselves, can we really face her?"
Ben's fiery form flickered as he considered the question. "Hela's power draws from two primary sources—her connection to Asgard itself, and her dominion over Helheim's underworld. Here in Niflheim, both sources are diminished. Her seeming immortality will weaken, her ability to raise infinite undead armies will be constrained."
He gestured toward the Crown fragments now integrated into his own artifact. "More importantly, our goal isn't to destroy Hela—it's to claim her portion of the Crown. If we can separate her from the artifact, the battle becomes much more manageable."
Flames danced along the Crown's four black thorns like molten veins, the interplay of fire and death-magic creating an unexpectedly harmonious aesthetic. The Ultimate Heatblast form and Crown of Death complemented each other perfectly, transforming Ben into something resembling a lord of fire and shadow.
But Heatblast was already formidable enough without additional power sources. The real recipient of the complete Crown would be Ghostfreak, creating a permanently enhanced form optimized for supernatural warfare.
"Let's retrieve the final piece," Ben declared, extending his hand toward Wanda.
They departed the battlefield, leaving behind only ash and silence. The journey toward the confrontation between Hela and Hoder should have been straightforward—Ben expected to find Hela victorious, her superior power and undead legions having overwhelmed her brother's fractional authority.
Instead, they discovered a scene that defied all expectations.
The first confrontation between Odin's children had ended with Hela's decisive defeat. The seemingly invincible Goddess of Death had been forced to retreat, her massive wolf Fenrir bearing fresh wounds that spoke of desperate combat. Even from a distance, they could see the great beast's labored breathing and the dark ichor staining its fur.
"It's hard to believe Hela actually lost," Wanda said in amazement, her voice carrying genuine shock. "After witnessing the Asgardians' complete defeat, I assumed... Could it be that among Odin's family, only Thor and Loki are the weakest?"
"Not exactly," Ben replied, studying the distant battlefield with enhanced Pyronite vision. "In Niflheim, Hela cannot fully manifest her power. This represents a significant weakness among the Aesir—many of their divine abilities are bound to external sources rather than originating from within."
It was a double-edged aspect of Asgardian divinity. Thor had initially required Mjolnir to channel his lightning, Hela's immortality depended on her connection to Asgard, and various other gods drew strength from mortal worship, fear, or belief. Such power sources provided tremendous strength but also created exploitable vulnerabilities.
The comparison to wandless magic from Earth's fictional works was apt—wizards accustomed to focusing their power through wands often struggled when deprived of their tools, even though the magic originated from within themselves. Similarly, gods accustomed to drawing power from external sources could find themselves diminished in unfamiliar environments.
"So Hela's defeat is temporary," Ben concluded. "She retains her undead army and can regroup for another assault. But Hodr's situation is different."
With only one-third of the Crown's power, Hodr couldn't fully utilize death-magic or raise significant numbers of undead warriors. His victory had been tactical rather than decisive—a temporary advantage that would erode rapidly once Hela adapted to Niflheim's constraints.
"When you obtain the complete Crown of Death, will we become immortal too?" Wanda asked with curious interest.
"Hardly," Ben chuckled, flames flickering with his amusement. "That form of immortality comes with a significant price. Everyone except the Crown's wielder becomes essentially undead—preserved from decay but cut off from many aspects of living sensation and emotion."
He gestured toward the distant armies. "Look at Heimdall under Hela's command. His body continues functioning, but he's become a shadow of his former self. Death-based immortality isn't life extended—it's death postponed."
Wanda quickly dismissed any thoughts of joining an undead army. "What's our approach now?"
"We attack Hodr while he's still weakened," Ben replied without hesitation. "Two against one, with superior firepower. The advantage is clearly ours."
They advanced toward Hodr's position, but before they could close the distance, the ground beneath their feet erupted in a forest of black thorns. The deadly spikes burst upward like seeking spears, their obsidian surfaces gleaming with malevolent energy.
"Hela's Death Blades!" Wanda shouted, her hands moving in practiced gestures.
Rose-colored energy coalesced around them as she invoked her defensive magic. "Sphere of Protection!"
The protective barrier manifested just as the thorn barrage reached its peak intensity. Countless death-spikes hammered against the mana construct like siege weapons, each impact sending shockwaves through the mystical shield.
Unfortunately, Wanda's barrier couldn't withstand such concentrated assault. Cracks spider-webbed across the sphere's surface as black thorns punched through, transforming their protection into a pin-cushion within seconds.
Ben stepped forward, wrapping Wanda in his protective embrace as flames swirled around their feet. The fire spiraled upward, becoming a towering pillar that brought solar warmth to Niflheim's perpetual cold and darkness. The death-thorns withered and crumbled upon contact with the purifying flames.
At the far end of the thorn-path, Hela stood atop Fenrir's massive form, her black armor gleaming and her eyes burning with fury. When she had searched Asgard's treasury for the Eternal Flame, she had found only empty spaces where the artifact should have resided. Loki's claim that it had been given to the King of Sakaar now proved accurate.
"Hodr," Hela called to her brother, never taking her gaze from Ben. "It seems you told the truth about our visitors."
The God of Darkness emerged from behind his assembled forces, his form wreathed in shadow and malice. Behind him, various undead legions stood in perfect formation—the remnants of dishonored armies from across history.
"Kill the outsiders first," Hodr declared with cold authority. "We can settle the Crown's ownership afterward."
His allegiance to Malekith had provided advance warning of Ben's arrival and his interest in Niflheim's Crown of Death. The Dark Elf king's instructions had been simple—delay Ben Parker as long as possible while the greater plan unfolded across the Nine Realms.
But Hodr had no intention of merely delaying his opponent. He planned to end Ben's interference permanently, claiming all Crown fragments for himself and using that power to negotiate with Malekith as an equal rather than a subordinate.
Within the pillar of fire, the withering death-thorns crumbled to ash.
"They knew we were coming," Wanda observed grimly, having used her magical senses to eavesdrop on the siblings' conversation. "Hela's previous defeat was completely staged. They've been planning this alliance from the beginning."
Her expression grew thunderous as the implications sank in. "The question is how they obtained advance intelligence. Only the Plumbers present at our strategy meeting knew about this mission."
Ben's flames flickered as he processed the same realization. The security breach represented a fundamental threat to their organization's effectiveness.
"That leaves only one possibility," Wanda continued, her voice rising with outrage. "Loki! He's the only one with opportunity to contact Malekith and pass along classified information. That backstabbing bastard betrayed the Plumbers!"
Her hair began floating as Chaos Magic responded to her emotional state. "I'll tell Brunnhilde to execute him the moment we return!"
"Don't jump to conclusions," Ben cautioned, though his own thoughts were racing through the possibilities. "I don't believe Loki would betray us. The old Loki, perhaps—treachery was his specialty. But the Loki who sacrificed the throne of Asgard has no reason to submit to Malekith."
A more disturbing possibility occurred to him. "If that's the case, then the 'Loki' who attended our strategy meeting wasn't Loki at all."
The implications were staggering. If Malekith could perfectly impersonate one of their most trusted members, no intelligence was secure.
"You disguised yourself as Loki to infiltrate the Plumbers," Ben called out across the battlefield. "Was obtaining information about the Aether your primary objective?"
Silence answered him, but the tactical picture was becoming clear.
"Thor and the others may be walking into a trap as well," Ben murmured. "We need to warn them."
He wasn't overly concerned about the Plumbers' headquarters. The Aether remained secure with Eunice. on Primus, and the other Infinity Stones were scattered across multiple locations precisely to prevent situations like this.
The Mind Stone accompanied the Aether, the Time Stone resided in Genesis under the Ancient One's protection, the Space Stone remained in Ben's personal custody, and the Power Stone had been relocated from Sakaar to Earth's most secure facility.
The Soul Stone, however, occupied the safest hiding place of all—Caiera's office desk, disguised as an ordinary paperweight.
Ben had sealed the Soul Stone's energy signature completely, making it appear to be nothing more than an attractive ornamental rock. Placed casually among other decorative items, it drew no attention whatsoever. The very mundane nature of its location made it invisible to those seeking space artifacts.
Malekith would never imagine that one of the universe's most powerful objects sat unguarded on a subordinate's desk, masquerading as office décor.
"Wanda, try contacting Thor," Ben ordered, stepping forward to face the assembled divine powers.
Wanda quickly activated her Plumbers communicator while Ben advanced toward their enemies. Hela and Hodr represented formidable opposition—two of Odin's children wielding divine authority backed by thousands of undead warriors.
But Ben's enemies weren't limited to the siblings.
Heimdall attacked first, his death-enhanced form moving with supernatural speed as his Guardian Sword swept toward Ben's head. A casual gesture from the Pyronite generated a heat wave that sent the former guardian tumbling backward, his armor glowing red-hot.
Then came Fenrir, the giant wolf's mountain-sized form lunging forward with jaws wide enough to swallow a house. Ben showed no hesitation in his response.
"Death-Fire Bomb!"
The projectile shot directly into Fenrir's gaping maw, traveling down the beast's throat before detonating in its stomach cavity. The explosion sent death-flames erupting from every orifice as the wolf collapsed, writhing in agony.
Hela leaped from her mount's smoking back, her obsidian blade trailing shadow as she descended like a fallen angel. Simultaneously, Hodr raised his war hammer, dark energy crackling along its surface as he charged from the opposite direction.
Both possessed divine power that exceeded Thor's current abilities—their additional centuries of existence had allowed for greater accumulation of Asgardian might. Their coordinated assault represented enough force to conquer most civilizations single-handedly.
Unfortunately for them, their opponent was Ben Parker.
"Perfect timing to teach Odin's rebellious children some manners!" Ben declared, his voice carrying across the battlefield.
Under normal circumstances, such words would constitute deadly insult. But given Odin's family's track record, the All-Father would probably thank Ben for the discipline.
"Ultimate Heatblast!"
The flames erupted.
In an instant, the entirety of Niflheim seemed to ignite as fire-power merged with death-energy and the Eternal Flame's space heat. The atmosphere itself combusted, bringing nuclear-level temperatures to the realm of perpetual cold.
The heat swept across every corner of the death-world, transforming the landscape into something resembling the aftermath of stellar collision. Even the fire demons native to this realm—beings composed entirely of supernatural flame—burst into ash upon contact with Ben's enhanced fire-power.
Hela and Hodr were hurled backward by the expanding wave of destruction, their divine forms tumbling across the burning ground as their carefully assembled armies crumbled to dust. The temperature climbed beyond anything Niflheim had experienced in its eons of existence.
In the space of heartbeats, Ben had transformed the confrontation from a tactical battle into an apocalyptic demonstration of power.
The Crown of Death would be his, one way or another.
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