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Chapter 349: Asgard's Life-or-Death Crisis
🕑 Added 2025-09-27 16:23:15 +0000 UTC
"H-how is this possible!"
Thor’s voice cracked as if the words themselves resisted leaving his throat. His eyes bulged in disbelief, Mjolnir’s absence in his palm like a phantom ache.
He stood frozen, watching Hela hold the hammer as if it were nothing more than a toy.
Catching it—catching his hammer—with her bare hand?
That wasn’t merely unthinkable; it was blasphemy.
"You poor child," Hela purred, her grin widening, eyes alight with cruel amusement. "You have no idea what’s possible."
Her slender fingers tightened around the sacred weapon.
Kaboom!
A surge of dark, terrible energy rippled outward. In the next instant, the weapon that had struck fear into giants and shattered mountains was reduced to glittering shards. Mjolnir’s fragments scattered across the golden tiles, lifeless and dull, as though its legacy had been crushed alongside it.
Thor staggered back as though the blow had landed directly on his chest.
Loki inhaled sharply, the sound ragged, his entire body recoiling.
Both brothers stood stunned, their very identities shaken. Thor without Mjolnir was like a king without a crown, a warrior stripped of his blade. The hammer wasn’t just a weapon—it was him.
Catching it bare-handed was horrifying enough, something only Alex or a godlike being could manage. But to destroy it so casually? That was heresy made flesh.
Their world, their faith in blood and steel, shattered along with the hammer.
"Kneel," Hela commanded, brushing her hands together as if wiping away dust. "Kneel before your queen. I will not say it again."
She walked forward with a predator’s grace, every step a declaration of supremacy.
Thor’s fists clenched. His voice, hoarse with rage, tore through the air. "Someone like you could never be queen!"
He charged, bare-handed but unyielding, the thunder in his veins driving him forward. Yet to Hela, he was nothing more than a child throwing a tantrum. She struck him aside with contemptuous ease, leaving him sprawling, battered and humiliated.
"I surrender!" Loki’s cry rang out almost immediately. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his face twisting into a mask of obsequiousness. "My Queen, I surrender! Surely you didn’t know I’m not Odin’s son at all, but merely adopted?"
Hela’s eyebrow arched, curiosity flickering across her cold features. "Is that so? How… quaint. Almost entertaining."
"No, not entertaining at all!" Loki corrected quickly, shaking his head with theatrical fervor. "In truth, it’s tragic. Odin lavished all his love on his trueborn son, Thor. No matter how clever or capable I was, he ignored me. He even crowned this buffoon king!" He gestured at his brother, his words dripping venom. "Look at him—does he carry himself with the dignity of a ruler?"
"Loki, you—" Thor tried to protest, but his swollen lips barely moved before Loki cut him off with a snarl.
"Silence! What right do you have to lecture me as a brother? Do you know what I’ve always wanted?" Loki’s eyes glittered with malice. "To beat you down, just as Queen Hela has done."
Hela folded her arms, amused, her lips curling in a faint smile. "You seem to understand the way of things."
"I merely live by the law of strength," Loki declared smoothly. "Power deserves its throne. Unlike Thor, who is nothing but a stumbling oaf—my Queen, may I indulge in a small… catharsis? Something long overdue?"
"Do as you wish," Hela replied with a shrug, as if granting a trivial indulgence.
Thud! Thud!
Loki laid into Thor with sharp kicks and blows, venting years of pent-up envy under the guise of loyalty. Each strike landed with an audible crack.
Shing!
But suddenly, the dagger flashed into his palm. With a serpentine flick of the wrist, Loki drove it deep into Hela’s chest.
Her body jolted at the impact. For the first time, her grin faltered.
"Success!" Loki’s lips twisted into a triumphant smile.
"Well done, Loki!" Thor wheezed through swollen lips, though even in his battered state he found the strength to grin. "But next time—by Odin—could you hit a little softer?"
"My brother," Loki said with mock solemnity, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, "I confess, I rather enjoyed it."
Thor opened his mouth to retort, but his expression froze. "Loki! Look out!"
A blur of emerald and black moved like a viper.
Hela’s longsword thrust upward in a vicious arc.
Loki barely had time to twist before the blade sank deep.
Ssshhhk!
The sickening sound of tearing flesh echoed through the chamber. Loki’s body was hurled back, crashing against the marble floor, blood staining his robes in a spreading crimson bloom.
"Loki!" Thor’s roar tore through the hall as he scrambled toward his brother, fear and fury in his eyes.
"You treacherous little worm," Hela sneered. She wrenched the dagger from her own chest, the wound knitting itself closed with unnatural speed. The blade fell to the ground with a clatter, useless. She looked unbothered, almost amused, as if Loki’s betrayal had been no more than an insect bite.
"Stay away from my sons!"
Frigga’s voice rang out, fierce and unwavering. A gleaming sword materialized in her grasp, and she lunged at Hela with surprising speed.
Clang!
Steel clashed with shadow. Sparks hissed through the air.
"My dear Mother," Hela laughed coldly, parrying blow after blow with lazy precision. "Do you truly wish to follow Father to the grave?"
She pressed forward mercilessly, her strikes so relentless that Frigga staggered under the assault, struggling to keep pace.
"Mother!" Thor cried, summoning what remained of his strength. Bruised and broken, he and Loki—bleeding, yet still alive—threw themselves back into the fray.
For a brief, desperate moment, mother and sons fought as one. Their blades and bodies moved in unison, striking at the goddess who threatened everything they loved.
But Hela was unstoppable. She broke their formation with a single sweeping strike, sending them crashing down one by one.
Just as her blade was poised to end them, a thunderous voice echoed across the courtyard.
"My Queen! Thor! Hold on!"
The Warriors Three burst onto the scene, their golden armor gleaming, an army of Asgardian soldiers surging behind them. They formed a wall of shields and steel, encircling Hela in disciplined ranks.
"Thor, are you hurt?" Volstagg’s booming voice carried concern as he rushed to Thor’s side.
"My friend," Thor managed a faint smile, wincing at the pain. "We yet live. Do not fear for us."
"Then let us stand in your stead!" Volstagg roared. He turned, pointing his blade at Hela. "Form ranks! Protect the Queen and the princes! Get them to safety!"
The army surged forward, escorting Frigga, Thor, and the wounded Loki away.
The clangor of steel filled the palace.
Bang! Clash! Slash!
But no matter their bravery, the Asgardians were lambs before a lioness. Hela carved through them with effortless grace, each strike leaving corpses in her wake. The golden halls of Asgard, once filled with music and glory, now echoed only with screams and the ring of death.
By the time she strode into the royal palace itself, blood soaked her path. Corpses lay strewn across the floor like broken dolls.
Finally, Hela ascended the steps to Odin’s throne. She sat with casual authority, her shadow stretching long across the ruined hall. The sight was a nightmare made real: Asgard’s throne, now claimed by the Goddess of Death.
In the caverns beyond the city, Frigga, Thor, Loki, and a scattering of surviving citizens huddled together, the weight of despair pressing down on them.
Asgard had fallen into its darkest hour.
The realm stood at the very brink of annihilation.
