Thor's voice tore through the air, raw with desperation as he watched the black sword pierce through Heimdall's chest. The Bifrost guardian's eyes dulled instantly, as if the weapon had stolen the light from him.
Thor stumbled forward, half-crazed, blood trickling from the cavity of his lost eye. His chest heaved, his grip tightened on Stormbreaker until his knuckles whitened. How he wished, how he cursed himself for not being stronger, faster, for not stopping that fatal strike in time.
Heimdall's tall frame swayed, then collapsed heavily to the ground. The clang of his armor echoed through the vault like a funeral bell. Yet, to Thor's disbelief, his friend did not die immediately.
As an Asgardian, Heimdall's body was unnaturally resilient. Even with the blade having torn through his chest, faint breaths rattled in his lungs. His golden eyes, dimming but still burning with resolve, shifted toward Thor.
And then, he began to whisper.
His lips barely moved, his words little more than a rasp. Pain twisted his features, but he ignored it, muttering quietly, something only Thor's ears could barely catch.
Hela didn't even notice. She had already turned her attention to Thor, her heeled boots clicking ominously against the stone floor as she walked forward with an expression colder than the void.
Thor dragged himself upright. His once-proud armor was dented, torn and barely holding, his hair matted with blood. His chest rose and fell, each breath jagged with exhaustion. He looked utterly broken. His lightning had failed him. His eye had been lost. His spirit was crushed.
The God of Thunder felt utterly powerless.
"Just kill me," Thor whispered hoarsely, lowering Stormbreaker slightly. "I am… done."
In his mind, he thought of his people. Most had escaped thanks to Heimdall's sacrifice. Loki was surely at Odin's Vault by now. Perhaps his mission, to delay Hela at any cost, had been enough.
Hela tilted her head at him. Her voice was as sharp as the blades she conjured.
"I'll give you one last chance. Kneel, swear loyalty to me. Serve me… and my master. Do this, and I may let you live."
Thor's head jerked up. His one good eye burned with confusion.
"Your… master?" His voice cracked, half disbelief, half anger. "You… serve another?"
The very idea rattled him. Hela, his sister, the firstborn of Odin, wielder of death itself, bowing to someone else? Asgardians bowed to none. The thought was unthinkable. Who in the cosmos could demand her submission? Fınd the newest release on novel-fire.ɴet
Hela's gaze softened, if only slightly. For the first time, a flicker of reverence touched her expression. Her lips curled into something disturbingly close to admiration.
"My master walks Midgard," she said slowly, almost dreamily. "He is no ordinary man. He is elegant, noble. He commands a mighty machine and a loyal hound. He moves freely through the stars."
She didn't even realize the faint warmth in her voice, the way her tone shifted from icy disdain to fervent devotion.
Thor stiffened. Every word she spoke made his stomach twist.
He knew someone exactly like that.
The thought slammed into him like a hammer to the chest. 'No… impossible!'
"There is no need for lies," he said quickly, shaking his head. "There is no such man."
But Hela only smirked at his denial.
"My master exists," she insisted. "When he wills it, he calls me. When he commands, I obey. His presence… is absolute."
Thor's grip on Stormbreaker faltered. A cold dread ran down his spine. His mind flicked back to a figure he had met not so long ago, someone who did have a towering machine that could disguise itself as a car. Someone who traveled through realms as if doors were simply left open for him. Someone accompanied by a monstrous yet oddly endearing hound.
His lips parted as the thought escaped in a whisper.
Hela tilted her head. "What did you say?"
Thor froze. Then, quickly, desperate to convince himself otherwise, he shook his head again. "It can't be him. Not Luke. Not… him."
But when Hela continued, her words only crushed his fragile denial.
"I do not know my master's name," she admitted, her voice unwavering. "But he is young, lean, with short black hair… and eyes the color of earth. He sent me here from Midgard. If he ever requires me, he will call."
Thor's blood ran cold. The description was undeniable.
His mind reeled. Luke, consultant to the Avengers, technically an ally in battle, a man who seemed more bizarre than threatening, was her master?
His throat tightened. If Hela and Luke truly worked together, what hope did the universe have? Her insatiable lust for conquest combined with Luke's terrifying unpredictability… even the stars would tremble.
And then another thought struck him. Fury. Nick Fury had always had a closer connection to Luke. If Thor lived, he must speak with the man. Perhaps the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. knew truths that he had overlooked.
But the chance to think further was stolen from him. A sudden shimmer of radiant light burst beside Thor. The familiar prismatic glow of the Bifrost enveloped him.
Thor gasped, whipping his head toward the source.
The guardian, blood soaking his chest, had raised a trembling hand. Without Hofund, the guardian sword, this act was tearing away his very soul. His vitality poured into the rainbow bridge, burning him alive from the inside. His body shook, but his golden eyes burned with purpose.
He had one final mission: to save Thor.
The energy surged, lifting Thor's battered frame into the light.
"No! Heimdall!" Thor's voice cracked, desperate. "Don't do this!"
Heimdall's lips curved faintly, a ghost of a smile. His voice was no more than a whisper now.
"Live... For Asgard…"
And then Thor was gone, swallowed by the Bifrost. Hela blinked as the glow faded, but she didn't look frustrated, only mildly amused.
"So, Midgard," she mused softly, "you run right to where he is. How fitting."
Her boots clicked against the stone as she turned her gaze back to Heimdall. He still stood, barely, chest heaving, sweat and blood staining his golden armor.
"You've played your part," Hela said coldly. She raised her hand, and the ground beneath him erupted. A massive black blade of death itself speared upward, impaling Heimdall clean through and lifting him from the floor. His body hung suspended in the air, skewered like a broken banner.
The place grew eerily quiet. Only the drip of blood echoed in the vast chamber.
A cruel smile tugged at the corner of Hela's lips. "One brother gone. One remains."
Her eyes glinted with anticipation. Loki had not yet escaped.