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The Golden Palace of Asgard!
Hela, the Goddess of Death, stood on the palace balcony wearing a headdress resembling the jagged, massive antlers of an obsidian stag. She had her half-brother, Thor, pressed mercilessly against the stone railing.
Thor lay gasping, his right eye freshly taken by his sister's blade. Lightning started to spark in the empty socket. For a moment, it felt like he was back on that cliff in Norway, looking at his father.
And right at that moment!
Hawk's voice, carried on the piercing cry of the Phoenix, echoed across the war-torn skies of Asgard.
"In the name of the Phoenix, Nidavellir shall reside under my eternal protection!!!"
"…"
Hela, her hand still wrapped around Thor's throat, snapped her head up. She looked toward the sector of space where Nidavellir was located.
"Nidavellir?"
"Phoenix."
"Well, isn't that precious."
A cold, cruel smile formed on Hela's pale face, which was characterized by hollow cheeks and eyes as gray and cloudy as pearls.
She had been gone for a very long time. Long enough that Odin had systematically and completely erased her from Asgardian history. As a result, her glorious return and rightful assumption of the throne hadn't exactly gone smoothly.
In simple terms, she had zero approval rating.
But that didn't matter.
Hela's platform was built on blood and fear. If they refused to bend the knee and accept her rule? Fine. She would just kill them all.
That was her approach to the rebellion currently raging across Asgard. If her people were so eager to die in battle and secure their place in Valhalla, she was more than happy to oblige.
So, upon her return, Hela had unleashed a torrential bloodbath.
Asgard's military forces had been systematically slaughtered.
As for the civilians?
Thanks to Heimdall, a large portion of the populace had managed to flee into the hidden mountain stronghold. But many hadn't made it. Countless Asgardians had died in the chaos. But since they had died fighting, they at least had a chance to enter Valhalla!
If that was how Hela treated Asgard, her treatment of the other realms was even worse.
Especially Vanaheim.
Vanaheim was Queen Frigga's homeland. But crucially, it was also Hela's mother's homeland.
The Aesir and the Vanir had a long history of intermarriage.
But when Hela came back, she showed no mercy to her mother's people. She went into Odin's vault and used the Eternal Flame to bring back the army of the dead that Odin had buried with her. Her first act as Queen was to send that undead army to attack Vanaheim.
It was a total massacre. Scorched earth. No survivors.
Don't ask why Hela was so ruthless.
Because in her eyes, they deserved it.
As her mother's people, when Odin had imprisoned her, they hadn't lifted a finger to help. Instead, they had just rolled over and sent Odin a shiny new wife.
Fine... If the Vanir preferred to hide in their shells like cowards, Hela's solution was straightforward.
Crush the shells.
And so, Hela had ordered her undead army to raze Vanaheim to the ground.
Her original plan had been to flatten Vanaheim and then send her undead legions to the other realms to announce the end of Odin's era and the dawn of Hela's reign. But the rebellion on Asgard had escalated faster than she anticipated.
So, she decided to crush the uprising at home before dealing with the rest of the cosmos.
After all, the other realms—the Frost Giants, the Fire Demons, the Dark Elves—had been thoroughly beaten down by her and Odin eons ago, and had been kept under strict Asgardian blockade ever since.
As for Nidavellir.
They were just a bunch of blacksmiths. In Hela's eyes, they weren't a threat.
That was why, while Asgard burned and Vanaheim bled, the other realms and Nidavellir had managed to stay out of the crossfire.
But now?
Nidavellir had just pulled off a huge stunt.
Odin was dead, yes. But she, the rightful Queen, was here! And yet, instead of groveling and offering a new covenant of servitude to her, the Dwarves had bypassed her entirely and signed a sacred protection pact with an outsider.
What was that called?
Treason.
Betrayal.
So, Hela was furious. So furious she wanted to fly to Nidavellir right now, slaughter every last Dwarf, and use their blood to send a chilling, undeniable message to the rest of the Nine Realms.
I, Hela, Goddess of Death, have returned.
Putting fantasies aside, she still needed to confront the problem directly in front of her.
Originally, Hela hadn't planned on killing Thor outright.
Because Asgardians who die in battle go to Valhalla.
And Valhalla was a paradise.
Lush mountains, clear waters, and endless peace and celebration. It was the heaven of the World Tree.
Hela had no intention of letting Thor go to Valhalla.
She intended to incapacitate him completely, discard him, wait until the battle concluded, then kill him calmly. By denying him a warrior's death, his soul would be barred from Valhalla, having only one fate.
Her domain. Helheim.
But that plan was out the window.
She needed to finish Thor off now, as quickly as possible, so she could head to Nidavellir and deliver a swift, brutal counterattack against this foreign God, Phoenix.
Therefore—
Hela looked down at her half-brother, a cruel, icy smirk twisting her lips.
"Goodbye, my dear bro—"
CRACKLE!
Before Hela could finish her sentence, Thor—who hadn't heard Hawk's voice, but the voice of his father, Odin—suddenly opened his remaining eye.
In the next moment, a massive, blinding lightning bolt streaked from the sky. Sparks erupted from Thor's vacant eye socket and his hands, causing the Golden Palace to shake with a thunderous roar.
The balcony where Thor and Hela struggled was instantly engulfed in a localized thunderstorm of unimaginable power.
Caught in the blast of concentrated lightning, Hela was violently thrown from the balcony of the Golden Palace, soaring into the sky.
Thor descended from the sky, his body wreathed in crackling electricity, his missing eye blazing with blue lightning. He landed on the Rainbow Bridge, stepping into his true power as the God of Thunder.
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"Finally!"
"God-tier."
"Not bad."
Hovering invisibly high above, hidden by the Reality Stone, Hawk watched Thor unleash his power. Under his golden visor, Hawk smiled with real pride at his friend's breakthrough.
It wasn't fake; it was sincere.
Even though Hawk was playing the long game, waiting to play the opportunistic oriole while the mantis stalked the cicada.
But as Hawk had told himself before.
Business is business, and personal is personal.
Most importantly, the gears of Ragnarok were already turning. Nothing could stop them now.
Not even Hawk.
True... If he intervened right now, he could definitely delay the onset of Ragnarok, but he couldn't actually kill Hela.
Because Hela drew her power directly from Asgard.
As long as Hela stood on Asgardian soil, her power would continue to grow exponentially.
It was obvious. When she first appeared, her clothes were in tatters, and she looked like a washed-up goth chick. But the moment she set foot on Asgard, her attire repaired itself, her pallor vanished, and her power surged.
So, as long as Asgard existed, Hela was virtually invincible.
And the most critical point, intervening now offers Hawk zero benefit and massive risk.
If he got lucky, he helped a friend.
But if he got unlucky?
Remember, every time he takes a step, he risks revealing himself to Time. What if Time exploits his act of compassion as a chance to lure him into a temporal snare?
Hawk was willing to help a friend.
But if the price of that help was his own existence? Sorry.
It wasn't about being a coward... It was the understanding that your intervention wouldn't alter the final result and might even ruin you in the process. That's not loyalty. That's just stupidity.
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Hawk remained quietly suspended above Asgard, watching Thor unleash his godly might against the army of the dead on the Rainbow Bridge.
And... he watched the Hulk, currently brawling with the giant wolf Fenris in the waters below Asgard.
Yes.
The Hulk.
You heard that right. The very same Hulk that Hawk vividly remembered drowning once, and then literally beating to death a second time.
The Hulk was back.
However, when Hawk saw the green behemoth wrestling with the giant wolf, he wasn't particularly surprised.
Because this Hulk wasn't the one he had killed.
Even Time itself couldn't resurrect the Hulk Hawk had killed.
Hawk had killed him not just once, but twice.
Within Hawk's personal timeline, the death of the Hulk marked a highly significant event. Essentially, it was a definitive, unchangeable moment in Hawk's past.
Because Hawk had sealed his timeline and made his past unalterable, even the primary universe's Time was unable to revive that specific Hulk.
Therefore, there was only one explanation.
The Hulk down there brawling with the wolf was a variant. An accidental tourist from another multiverse, brought in to fill the narrative void left by the absence of the primary universe's Hulk.
Hawk could already sense the faint, lingering traces of dimensional displacement radiating from this variant Hulk.
But Hawk had no interest in this new Hulk, nor did he have any desire to kill him.
His grudge with the Hulk was settled.
The first kill had wiped the slate clean. As for the second kill? That was just Bruce Banner willingly committing suicide by proxy for the sake of a misguided love.
Hawk had merely obliged him.
So, Hawk gave the variant Hulk fighting Fenris one brief glance, then shifted his attention back to Hela, who had reappeared on the Rainbow Bridge, preparing for a final showdown with Thor.
No, wait...
Where was Loki?
Hawk raised an eyebrow.
In the next moment, his eyes cut through the chaos of the battlefield. He swiftly identified Loki, who, amid Thor's frantic commands during the chaos, was dashing toward Odin's vault.
Hawk's lips curved into a predatory smile.
Finally—
It's showtime!
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