Chapter 248: Hela's Double Kill

A Police officer was struck by the tail of a Leviathan, sent flying into a wall, and bones in his waist snapped.

He lay on the ground, unable to move, but the layer of golden Fire covering his entire body caused his broken bones to knit back together, and the excruciating pain began to recede.

He struggled to stand up, leaned against the wall, picked up his service weapon that had fallen to the ground, and continued to fire.

A civilian, holding only a steel pipe, charged into the area where the Chitauri warriors were most densely packed.

He shouted, “I am not afraid of death! I am still alive! I will keep living!”

His steel pipe smashed the helmet of one Chitauri warrior and kicked another over, before his abdomen was pierced by an energy beam from a third.

He fell, closed his eyes—then opened them again, stood up, his abdominal wound healed, and laughing, he continued to charge at those grey figures.

Tony hovered in the air, watching the crowd launching a counterattack, watching those figures standing back up amidst the ruins, and his eyes grew a little warm.

He did not know what power Mavuika had used, nor did he know where that layer of golden Fire had come from, but he knew—he was protecting them.

…

Asgard.

Hela stood on the city wall, feeling the layer of golden Fire covering her entire body, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly.

The Valkyries fighting on the battlefield were covered in Fire, power surged through the warriors of the Undead Legion, and even Fenrir’s fur was coated in a faint golden glow.

Hela leapt off the city wall and landed on the battlefield.

Black-green Death Energy condensed around her into hundreds of black swords, their tips pointing at the Outriders still swarming in.

She raised her hand, and the black swords shot out, pouring down like a rainstorm, piercing, tearing apart, and grinding the Outriders charging at the front into powder.

More black swords condensed around her, each one precisely piercing an enemy, each one plowing deep trenches through the black tide.

The Valkyrie Legion began their charge; the winged horses dove from the sky, their spears piercing the skulls of the Outriders, and the gale stirred up by their wings sent the black monsters reeling.

The Valkyries weaved through the battlefield, their armor covered in golden Fire, their wounds healing rapidly, and their stamina recovering continuously.

The warriors of the Undead Legion also moved; those ancient Asgardian spirits charged in silence, without shouting or roaring, only the sound of heavy footsteps and the clashing of armor.

They charged into the formation of the Outriders, using swords, spears, and fists to knock down those black monsters one by one.

Even if their chests and abdomens were torn open by the sharp claws of the Outriders, they would stand back up after a few seconds, their wounds healed, and continue to fight.

Fenrir charged at the very front; its body was like a small mountain, its black fur coated with golden Fire, and its fangs as sharp as short swords.

It opened its mouth and crushed a dozen or so Outriders, then shook its head to throw them away, smashing them into the wreckage of a transport ship in the distance, leaving deep dents.

Its claws swept past, and a row of Outriders was sliced in half, black blood gushing out like a fountain.

Its roar resounded across the battlefield, shaking the very ground.

Hela stood in the center of the battlefield, black swords rotating and cutting around her.

She watched the retreating Outriders, watched the black tide being wiped out, and then her gaze landed in the distance.

Corvus Glaive and Proxima Midnight were regrouping their forces, attempting to organize a second attack.

“Still want to come?” Hela’s voice was cold. “Then come.”

She charged forward.

The moment Corvus Glaive saw Hela charging over, his pupils contracted sharply.

He raised his glaive, preparing to counter, but his right hand had already been severed, and he could only grip the blade with his left hand.

Proxima Midnight’s spear had also been shattered by Hela, leaving only half a length which she held in her hand like a fire poker.

Hela did not give them any chance to catch their breath; she instantly appeared in front of Corvus Glaive, and her black sword slashed down, moving so fast that Corvus Glaive could only barely parry.

Blades met, sparks flying; Corvus Glaive was jolted back a dozen steps, the web of his left hand split, and droplets of blood dripped onto the golden ground.

“You—”

Hela did not let him finish; the second sword had already slashed down, this time aiming for his skull.

Corvus Glaive dodged sideways, but the black sword grazed his helmet, splitting it open and revealing the split scalp underneath and the blood seeping out.

Proxima Midnight charged up from the side, the half-spear thrusting toward Hela’s flank.

Hela did not even turn her head, just waved her hand casually; a black sword emerged from the void and precisely pierced Proxima Midnight’s wrist.

The spear flew out of her hand, and Proxima Midnight screamed, stumbling back several steps, clutching her wrist as blood gushed from between her fingers.

Proxima Midnight looked up at Hela, and fear finally appeared in those eyes.

She was no longer that calm, powerful warrior, but a mortal driven to a dead end by the Goddess of Death.

Hela walked toward her. Each step was slow, but each step felt like it was trampling on Proxima Midnight’s heart.

Corvus Glaive struggled to stand up again, trying to pick up the glaive that had fallen to the ground; as long as the glaive was in his hand, he would not die.

But just as his fingers touched the hilt of the glaive, Hela’s black sword descended, pinning his wrist to the ground.

She raised her hand, another black sword condensed in her palm, its tip aimed at Corvus Glaive’s heart.

“No—you cannot—” Corvus Glaive’s voice trembled.

Hela did not answer; the black sword descended, piercing into Corvus Glaive’s chest.

His body stiffened, his eyes widened, his lips parted slightly, and then his body began to turn into ashes, like sand grains scattered by the wind, disappearing bit by bit.

Subsequently, Hela stepped up to Proxima Midnight, casually brushed aside the arm she still tried to resist with, and the black sword descended.

Proxima Midnight’s body fell to the ground, black blood gushing from the wound and staining the golden ground; her eyes remained open, staring at the sky as if looking at some distant direction.

Hela turned around, no longer looking at the two corpses.

She looked up at the largest transport ship in the sky; its engines had died, and the hull was slowly tilting, out of control.

“Valkyries, clean up the remnants.” Hela’s voice echoed across the battlefield. “I am going to get something.”

She turned and walked toward the Golden Palace, her steps fast, each one carrying an unquestionable determination.

The vault of the Golden Palace was hidden deep underground, its heavy stone doors cast from uru metal, the surface covered in sealing runes carved by Odin himself.

Hela stood before the stone doors, raised her hand, and pressed it against the seal.

The stone doors slowly opened.

The interior of the vault was much larger than one would imagine from the outside; countless ancient weapons, armor, and Catalysts were neatly arranged on shelves, each one exuding an ancient and powerful aura.