Looking down at the girls who had picked up their weapons and examined them, Yelena and Melina stood on either side of Leon, smiling.
As former Black Widows, they naturally empathized with this group of girls, all of whom had endured harsh and painful pasts. For Yelena and Melina, their own pasts had once seemed like nothing more than a desperate struggle for survival. They had lost their childhoods, but in exchange, they had stepped into a larger world.
Both of them understood what lay ahead.
The girls before them were no longer ordinary. After experiencing their transformation, they would embark on a path that led far beyond the limits of normal human existence. Their potential would allow them to reach heights that even the world's most powerful elites and billionaires could only dream of—strength beyond disease, beyond frailty, beyond mortality.
Just as Leon had said, they would likely die one day on a battlefield. But such a death would be an honor.
They would have lived extraordinary lives, filled with passion and purpose, witnessing a world that ordinary people could never see. That alone was magnificent. And in the future, their names would be remembered, forever engraved in the hearts of every soldier who followed Leon.
Most importantly, their futures might become even grander as Leon himself continued to grow.
Yelena and Melina had never once believed that what they saw of Leon now was his limit. In fact, no one truly knew where his limits lay. As two of the closest members of Leon's family, they had insight into some of his plans. Even if they didn't know all the details, they were smart enough to guess.
After all, Leon's every move over the years—from his growing influence to forging alliances with Asgard—had never been without purpose.
If he had no ambition, neither Yelena nor Melina would believe it.
At his level, Earth alone could no longer contain his aspirations.
"I'm looking forward to seeing it," they both thought, watching the tall and imposing figure before them.
The Underworld of Hel
This was a land of the dead. Only those who had passed from the living could enter, and there was no sunlight here—only eternal night.
Thick fog filled every direction, obscuring visibility beyond ten meters. The air was heavy, saturated with a dampness that clung to everything.
But in this forsaken place, someone lurked—someone terrifying.
Few in the Nine Realms knew of him, for few had ever come here.
And yet, a man now walked through the underworld.
Dressed in a green robe with golden armor, a ram-horned helmet resting atop his dark hair, and gripping a scepter embedded with a gem, he moved through the gloom with purpose.
It was none other than Loki Odinson.
His steps were unhurried as he traversed the desolate landscape. The ground was soft beneath his boots, the twisted and barren trees seeming almost alive, their gnarled branches stretching as if to grasp at him. The very air seemed to whisper, gnawing at the edges of one's sanity, luring the weak to sink into darkness.
High above, a single pale moon hung in the mist-filled sky, offering the only faint light in this endless void.
The stagnant air carried the stench of decay, yet Loki walked on undisturbed. His face remained impassive as he moved through the warped forests, his focus unwavering.
No one knew how long he walked.
Then—suddenly—the world before him shifted.
Like a rippling illusion being peeled away, the landscape transformed, revealing a different realm.
Loki now stood upon a floating landmass, suspended in the vastness of space. Above him stretched a breathtaking galaxy, its stars and nebulae casting a soft, ethereal glow over the terrain.
He came to a stop, his expression unreadable, before slowly turning his head.
Behind him, not far away, stood a hunched figure, draped in a heavy hood that obscured his face. In his hand, he held a scepter—not like Loki's, but darker, rougher, forged in a style entirely its own.
Loki's lips curled slightly as he spoke the figure's name, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Chitauri King."
The ruler of the Chitauri race stood before him.
"Loki."
The Chitauri King's voice was low and rasping, each word laced with disdain.
"You are even more foolish and arrogant than I expected."
"You have disappointed both me and the master."
Loki let out a scoff, unimpressed. "Oh? And what exactly do you want to say?"
His eyes were filled with contempt as he stared at the alien king.
The Chitauri King stepped forward, raising his scepter and pressing it against Loki's chest. Loki merely frowned but did not step back, allowing the gesture.
The alien's voice carried venom.
"Loki, I recall telling you once before—when you serve the master, you do as you are told."
"Because of your foolish ambitions, you cost me one of my Chitauri vanguard warships. And for what?"
"You gained nothing. Asgard remains untouched. The Infinity Stone that the master entrusted to you is still lost."
"Is this the answer you intend to give to your master?"
His words burned with fury, his disappointment palpable.
And yet, Loki remained composed, his smirk tinged with amusement.
It was as if he had not been the one to fail.
"I told you before—I have my own plans, Chitauri King. You have no right to question me."
The alien narrowed his eyes, sneering.
"Oh? And how do you plan to explain that to the master?"
"Or are you still clinging to the same feeble excuses?"
The Chitauri King's voice grew colder.
"Loki, I warned you not to betray the master's trust. Your so-called plan? It was nothing more than a child's game."
"You sacrificed my army, yet Asgard remains untouched. Their warriors still celebrate in their halls, singing and feasting as if nothing happened."
"The master is patient, but tell me—how much longer do you think that patience will last?"
He pushed the scepter harder against Loki's chest.
But Loki simply exhaled, his tone indifferent.
"You are not qualified to question my plan. The master wants results. And I will deliver them."
"Until then, your only task is to cooperate."
"Or... do you plan to disobey the master's orders?"