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In Asgard's sky, countless spatial rifts opened through orange magic circles slowly closed.

The anguished screams of the dimensional demons unwilling to lose their food were like the shrieks of humans before death, especially terrifying, horrifying, resentful, and desolate.

Requests, pleas, entreaties, begging on their knees—after every undignified word proved useless, endless curses, maledictions, and raging abuse were hurled at the caster who had opened and closed the spatial rifts. Their vocabulary was rich and varied; they took turns greeting the caster's ancestors for eighteen generations several times over. They were cruder, more vulgar, and more vicious than any Man-Wolf, with none of the bearing of the strong.

But once they learned that Ancient One was controlling it all, vast numbers of dimensional demons fell silent and spoke no more.

The spatial rifts vanished, leaving only chaotic, evil auras in the sky. Below, Asgard's gods and people finally let out the breaths they had been holding in terror and anxiety, only then discovering that sweat had soaked through their clothes.

At last, the orange magic circles blanketing the sky vanished piece by piece into the night.

The hollowness in Ancient One's eyes gradually returned to a human warmth and serenity, while the magic circles on her slender, pale fingers shrank away.

She lowered her hands.

Clearly, Ancient One understood how to conduct herself.

She had not come here to make an enemy of Odin, but neither had she come to let Odin look down on her or Earth.

If they truly fought, both Earth and Asgard would be destroyed.

Odin could not deal with such a vast number of dimensional demons, but could he not destroy the Earth Ancient One wished to protect?

Odin's previously grim expression eased when he saw Ancient One withdraw every magic circle. His dignified bearing