"I don't have any men's clothing here, but I do have a few suits of women's battle armor. What do you say?"
In the opulent grandeur of the palace, Hela—acting on her father Odin's orders to escort Lothar to rest—casually tossed several pieces of standard-issue armor at his feet. This happened just after Lothar ended a transmission with Proxima Midnight.
Naturally, they were all women's armor.
"Want to try one on?"
"I think that golden hair of yours would suit this one nicely."
With a flick of her foot, Hela nudged one of the upper-body pieces toward herself, lifting it with one hand as she sat regally in her chair. Her eyes glinted with amusement.
"You foolish woman—how dare you—"
The Other, perceiving the gesture as an insult to Lothar, stepped forward indignantly, but before he could finish his rebuke, a pitch-black blade shimmered into existence, mere inches from his face.
The blade's tip was only a step away—close enough to taste death. The Other instinctively wanted to retreat, yet knowing that he represented Lothar's honor, he forced himself to stand tall, spine straightened, and held his ground before the weapon Hela had flung out.
A display of fearless defiance.
Lothar didn't even glance at The Other, who was visibly trembling behind him. Rising from his chair, Lothar stared down at Hela, who lounged across from him.
"What a tedious little game."
"Is that so? I found it rather entertaining," Hela replied languidly, her eyes roaming across Lothar's bare upper body, as if evaluating whether the armor in her hand would fit his frame.
"If you want something else, you're welcome to try—just beat me and take it." The amusement in her voice gave way to sharp, feral intent. She bared her fangs.
This was Asgard—her domain, where her power surged. Here, Hela brimmed with confidence. She wanted to defeat Lothar in her own kingdom, in front of her father, Odin.
Only then could she erase the memory of her previous loss to him. Only a new victory could cleanse the stain of failure. Without it, her shame would remain carved into history.
Just like Laufey, king of the Frost Giants.
Rumors ran rampant: the young man named Lothar had pummeled Laufey like a training dummy right in the Frost Giant's own palace at Jotunheim. Worse still, with Hela's help, Lothar had laid waste to the Frost King's royal court and even stolen the race's sacred artifact—the Casket of Ancient Winters.
That ridiculous-sounding tale found eager ears across the battlefields of the Nine Realms. Thanks to Odin's subtle encouragement, the scandal not only refused to fade, but grew more outrageous with each retelling.
"Shocking! Laufey's greatest humiliation exposed—truth finally revealed!"
"Scandal! The Frost Giant King's hidden kink—wrestling with men in the palace?"
"Explosive! Laufey and the mystery man—unspeakable acts in the throne room!"
The gossip ran wild and weird, but they all stemmed from one simple truth: Laufey had failed to save face after his defeat at Lothar's hands.
Furious, Laufey had tried to salvage his reputation. But there was no refuting it—the Casket was gone. Lothar had taken it. That part of the story was irrefutable.
"You're still far from ready."
His tone was flat, his gaze contemptuous. Though Lothar's hair was no longer the raven-black Hela remembered, the sheer arrogance in his demeanor made her fists clench.
This was Asgard—her turf. Her power should have dwarfed his here. This wasn't Jotunheim.
But more than anything, she was tired of hearing her father occasionally speak of Lothar in admiring tones.
In her mind, Odin only mentioned Lothar to rub in the fact that he had once bested her.
With a sudden roar and strike, Hela lunged—but her vision blurred.
A force slammed into her with stunning power—her body lifted clean off the ground!
Five powerful fingers locked around her throat. In the next instant, Hela was pinned against a towering pillar of the palace, eyes wide with disbelief and helpless fury.
Not long ago, she had been able to hold her own against Lothar. What had changed? How had she fallen so far behind, so fast?
"I told you—if you want to challenge me, come back in twenty thousand years."
The despair and unwillingness in her eyes didn't escape Lothar's notice, but he showed no mercy. He had no patience for games—especially not from someone so fixated on beating him.
"Hela, this is no way to treat a guest of Asgard."
A calm, regal voice drifted through the hall.
A woman entered the chamber, accompanied by her attendants. Her presence radiated nobility, and she carried herself with effortless grace.
"A pleasure to meet you, Lothar. I am Frigga—Odin's wife and Hela's mother."
Her simple introduction made Lothar fall silent. He released Hela's throat without a word.
"I apologize for Hela's behavior," Frigga said warmly, her tone perfectly measured.
"I've had your clothing prepared. Would you like to try them on?"
Lothar looked at the serene and gentle Frigga. He said nothing, but his gaze softened ever so slightly.
"Lord Lothar, if you'll follow me this way," one of Frigga's attendants stepped forward with impeccable timing, bowing slightly.
Watching Lothar and The Other leave, Hela's frustration flickered across her face. She was bitter—furious at herself—but utterly powerless.
And she hated that feeling.
"What's wrong, child? This isn't like you."
Frigga reached out, gently smoothing her daughter's disheveled hair.
"I know," Hela replied, regaining her usual calm in her mother's presence.
"It just... doesn't sit right with me."
"That feeling... is what will drive you forward," Frigga said with a smile, comforting her daughter as her thoughts drifted back to Lothar.
As the most skilled sorceress in Asgard after Odin himself, Frigga had immediately recognized the power slumbering inside him.
Still, she hadn't lost faith in Hela.
As long as her daughter stayed on the path Odin had laid out for her, Asgard's inexhaustible might would flow into her. One day, Hela would fully awaken the divine aspect of death within her—and become a force beyond even Odin.
So long as Asgard endured, Hela's ascension was inevitable.
Yet Frigga couldn't deny how cruel that path would be.
It was Odin's decision—and Hela's own choice. There was nothing she could do to change it.
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