The battlefield did not resume.
Because above it, something far more terrifying than war itself had taken form.
Wanda hovered in the sky, utterly still, as though the world itself had paused to accommodate her grief. In her arms lay Harry—his body limp, his head tilted slightly against her shoulder, his life flickering like a candle caught in a dying wind. There was no movement from him. Only the faint, fragile proof that he still existed.
And around her—
Reality was breaking.
Brick by brick, the shattered remains of Malekith's palace began to lift from the ground, each fragment caught in a crimson glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. Entire walls peeled away from their foundations, drifting upward as if gravity itself had abandoned its purpose. Towers twisted, their broken spires stretching toward the sky, suspended in a silent, unnatural ascent.
The sky darkened further, as though even the heavens recoiled.
Thor watched.
For once, the God of Thunder did not move.
"…Loki," he said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual thunder, "this is not a battle anymore."
Loki did not answer immediately. His sharp eyes remained fixed on Wanda—on the change overtaking her, on the terrifying transformation that neither magic nor reason seemed capable of halting.
A crown began to form.
It rose from nothing, shaping itself from raw chaos energy into a jagged, burning construct that settled upon her head. Her eyes followed, their natural color vanishing beneath an overwhelming scarlet glow. There was no restraint left in them.
"…she's losing herself," Loki murmured at last, his voice quieter than it had any right to be.
Thor's jaw tightened. He had seen rage before. He had been rage before. He knew what it meant to lose oneself to fury, to let power override reason.
But this—
This was something else entirely.
"If she breaks," Loki continued, his tone uncharacteristically serious, "she won't distinguish between ally and enemy."
Thor nodded once, slow and grim.
"And we won't be able to stop her."
Below them, the battlefield had fallen into an unnatural silence. The clash of steel had ceased. Even the dark elves—creatures bred for war—had halted their advance.
Malekith stood unmoving, his pale gaze lifted toward the sky.
For the first time since his rebirth—
He did not feel in control.
The air screamed.
Wanda's power surged outward in a violent wave of chaos energy, forcing everything back—Asgardians, frost giants, dark elves alike. It spread like a living storm, pressing against flesh and bone, bending space itself.
A barrier formed around her.
No one could approach.
Lightning erupted around him as he launched himself into the sky, Mjolnir pulling him forward with relentless force. The closer he came, the stronger the resistance became, an invisible pressure pushing against him, slowing him, threatening to cast him back to the ground.
Still—
He pushed through.
"Wanda!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the distortion.
There was no response.
She did not even look at him.
The stones continued to rise.
"Wanda, listen to me!" Thor tried again, forcing himself closer, every inch a battle against her power.
Her grip on Harry tightened ever so slightly, as though even in her unraveling, she refused to let him go.
Thor's voice hardened.
"Stop this!"
Still—
Nothing.
Below, Loki watched, his expression darkening.
"This is useless…" he muttered under his breath.
Thor reached the edge of the barrier and pressed against it, the energy crackling against his skin, resisting him with terrifying strength.
"Wanda," he said again, quieter this time, his voice no longer commanding—but pleading. "Don't do this."
The crown flared brighter.
The world trembled.
Thor closed his eyes for the briefest moment, drawing in a slow breath.
"Think about Harry."
Silence followed.
For a fraction of a second—
Everything stopped.
The rising stones halted midair.
The trembling of the world stilled.
Wanda's head tilted slightly.
Her glowing eyes flickered.
From red—
To something else.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, she looked down.
At Harry.
His face was pale, drained of life. His breathing was shallow, barely there—a fragile rhythm that could cease at any moment.
Her expression shifted.
The rage—
Cracked.
"…Harry…" she whispered, the word fragile, almost disbelieving.
The crown dimmed, its chaotic light faltering.
Thor exhaled slowly, careful not to break the moment.
Wanda's eyes softened further, their violent glow receding, though not entirely gone.
"He needs you," Thor continued, his voice steady, grounded.
Her grip loosened, her fingers no longer digging into him, but holding him—protecting him.
The chaos around her weakened.
"Make sure he lives," Thor said. "Take him to Asgard."
"…you'll handle this?" she asked, her voice quiet, but steady.
Thor nodded.
"We will."
From below, Loki stepped forward, his voice carrying upward.
"Go," he called. "Before you lose control again."
Wanda hesitated only a moment.
Her gaze fell upon Malekith.
The dark elf king met her eyes.
"If you survive this," Wanda said, her voice calm—but beneath it lay something colder than rage, something absolute, "do not rejoice."
The air tightened around her words.
"Because I will come back for you."
A star-shaped portal tore open beside her, its edges glowing with unstable light.
Without another word—
Wanda stepped through.
And vanished.
The floating stones dropped, crashing back to the ground in a thunder of ruin.
Reality snapped back into place, as though it had been stretched too far and finally recoiled.
The battlefield exhaled.
For a single heartbeat—
There was silence.
Then Thor raised Mjolnir.
"Now," he said.
Lightning exploded from the heavens.
And the war resumed.
In Asgard—
The royal palace stood in its usual grandeur, untouched by the chaos of distant battle.
Until the air itself tore apart.
A portal ripped open in the center of the hall, its sudden appearance sending guards scrambling, weapons drawn, eyes wide.
Wanda stepped through.
Still holding Harry.
Her expression was no longer wrathful—but focused. Urgent.
"Help him," she said.
Frigga was already moving.
She had felt it—the disturbance, the surge of power, the imbalance that echoed across realms.
And now she saw him.
Harry.
"…quickly," Frigga ordered, her voice calm, yet edged with command. "To the healing chambers."
Healers rushed forward at once, their hands already glowing with ancient magic as they carefully took Harry from Wanda's arms.
"He's barely holding on," one of them said, urgency cutting through his composure.
"Stabilize him," Frigga commanded. "Now."
They moved swiftly, carrying him deeper into the palace—to the most protected, most advanced healing chambers in all the realms.
Wanda did not follow.
Frigga stepped beside her, her presence steady, grounding.
"…he'll live," she said softly.
Wanda did not respond.
Her eyes remained fixed on the doors that had just closed, sealing Harry away from her sight.
"…he has to," she whispered.
The golden halls of Asgard had never felt so tense.
They were a place built for eternity—pillars carved with ancient victories, ceilings that held the glow of stars themselves, walls that had witnessed the rise and fall of realms. Nothing within them should have felt fragile.
Each second stretching into something almost unbearable.
An hour passed.
Slowly.
Wanda had not moved.
She stood just beyond the sealed doors of the healing chamber, her gaze locked upon them as though she could force them open through sheer will alone. Her hands hung at her sides, fingers curling and uncurling in subtle, restless motions.
Frigga stood beside her.
The Queen of Asgard had seen grief before. She had seen rage. She had seen the moment when power and loss intertwined and became something… catastrophic.
And she saw it now.
"He is strong," Frigga said softly, her voice carrying a quiet certainty.
Wanda did not respond.
If she heard—
She gave no sign.
The doors opened.
The sound, though soft, cut through the silence like a blade.
A healer stepped out, his golden robes still faintly glowing with residual magic. His expression was controlled, but there was something beneath it—something restrained.
"Lady Wanda… My Queen."
Wanda moved instantly.
"How is he?"
The healer hesitated.
"Alive," he said carefully. "For now."
The words landed like a blow.
Wanda's eyes darkened, something cold slipping beneath the surface of her gaze.
"What does that mean?"
Frigga stepped forward, her presence filling the space without raising her voice.
"Speak clearly."
The healer inclined his head, gathering himself before continuing.
"He is stable," he explained. "His body has responded to the healing energies. The damage—what we could repair—has been repaired."
He paused.
"But… something is missing."
Wanda's breath stilled.
The world seemed to narrow around that single word.
"Missing?"
The healer gestured toward the chamber.
"Come."
They entered.
The room was bathed in soft golden light, runes floating in slow, deliberate patterns around the central bed. Ancient magic lingered in the air, layered and precise, woven to preserve life against forces that should have extinguished it.
Harry lay at the center.
His breathing was steady now, his chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm. The strain that had twisted his features before was gone. The wounds that should have ended him were no longer visible.
Wanda stepped closer.
Each step felt heavier than the last, as though some instinct deep within her resisted what she was about to confirm.
Her hand rose slowly, hovering just above his chest.
She did not need to touch him.
She felt it instantly.
"…the Aether."
The word left her lips in a whisper that carried more weight than a scream.
The healer nodded.
"Yes."
Frigga's gaze sharpened, her composure tightening just slightly.
"They extracted it?"
"Yes," the healer replied.
The air around her flickered—just for a moment—as though reality itself reacted to the shift in her control.
"If it is not returned," the healer said carefully, "his body will fail."
He did not soften the truth.
"Slowly… but inevitably."
Silence filled the chamber.
Wanda did not ask for details.
Did not seek alternatives.
The air tore open.
A star-shaped portal burst into existence beside her, its edges glowing with raw, unstable energy. It did not form gradually—it ripped itself into being, as if space had no choice but to yield.
Frigga reached out, just slightly.
"Wanda—"
But she was already moving.
"I'll bring it back."
There was no doubt in her voice.
And then—
She was gone.
Back to Veltharion.
The battlefield had not calmed in her absence.
Thor stood at the center of it, lightning crashing around him in relentless waves as he forced back enemy after enemy. His armor bore the marks of sustained combat, his movements heavier—but no less determined.
"Hold the line!" he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos as another strike of thunder tore through the dark elves.
Loki stood not far from him, a shield of ice forming and reforming around him as he deflected a blast that would have torn through lesser defenses. His breath was uneven, his usual composure strained.
"This is getting tedious," he muttered, though there was nothing light in his tone.
The frost giants struggled to maintain their ground, their strength immense—but not enough.
Not against this.
Malekith stood above it all.
The Aether twisted around him, woven into the staff he wielded, its crimson energy warping reality itself. Attacks bent around him, space distorted, defenses shattered before they could fully form.
He raised the staff once more.
"End this."
The Aether pulsed.
And reality obeyed.
A wave of red energy surged outward, tearing through the battlefield—
And stopped.
Frozen.
Every movement halted.
Everyone turned.
Because she had returned.
Wanda stepped through the portal, her arrival not marked by sound or force—but by presence.
Hope surged through the Asgardians like a second wind.
The frost giants roared, their voices rising with renewed fury.
"She's back!"
Thor looked up, relief flashing across his face despite the battle.
Loki allowed himself the faintest smirk.
"Now it becomes interesting."
The dark elves felt something else entirely.
Fear.
Chaos magic erupted outward in a violent surge, not uncontrolled—but precise.
The first wave of dark elves never reached her.
They ceased.
Erased as though they had never existed.
Malekith's eyes widened.
"No…"
Wanda advanced.
Each step was measured.
And with each step—
Death followed.
Dozens fell.
Then hundreds.
"This is impossible!" one of the dark elves screamed, his voice breaking.
"Fall back!" another shouted.
But there was nowhere to go.
Malekith raised the staff, desperation threading through his movements.
"Aether!"
The power surged, reality bending violently as a massive wave of crimson energy crashed toward her.
She raised her hand.
And stopped it.
The energy writhed against her control, twisting, resisting, fighting to obey its wielder.
Wanda's eyes burned.
"You took it from him."
Her voice was not loud.
Malekith gritted his teeth, fury and something dangerously close to fear mixing in his expression.
"It was ours!"
Wanda tilted her head slightly, as though considering his words.
"And now…"
Her hand clenched.
"…it's mine."
She moved.
Faster than sight.
One moment, she stood across the battlefield.
The next—
She was in front of him.
Malekith's eyes widened, instinct screaming as he tried to raise the staff—
Too slow.
Wanda's hand cut through the air.
A flash of red.
A scream tore from Malekith's throat.
His arm—
Gone.
Severed cleanly, falling to the ground before dissolving into nothing.
The staff slipped from his grasp.
Wanda caught it.
Malekith staggered back, clutching at the empty space where his arm had been, his voice breaking.
"You—"
Wanda did not even look at him.
Her focus was on the staff.
On the crimson crystal embedded within it.
"This doesn't belong to you."
The battlefield fell silent once more.
Because everyone knew—
This was over.
Author's Note:
Enjoying the story?
Consider joining my Pat*reon to get early access to more chapters and exclusive fanfictions! Even as a free member you will get one extra chapter and you'll receive early access to chapters before they're posted elsewhere and various other fanfictions.Your support helps me create more content for you to enjoy!
Join here: Patre*on(dot)com(slash)Beuwulf