The blade broke the sound barrier. The shockwave that effortlessly tore through flesh was merely an echo of the thunderous clash of weapons. As the air pressure plummeted, water vapor formed a white mist before the armor and weapons. From the moment it began, the confrontation between the Emperor and Hela had become a forbidden zone of death for ordinary people. Even knights in Power Armor had to retreat, for the psychic heat currents floating through the air instantly melted an ancient Asgardian hero clad in furs and wielding a battle-axe. Not even Asgard could protect his soul.
As the general who had once led Asgard's military expansion, Hela had nothing to say to the Emperor. There was only one option for both sides: fight to the death. Thus, the battle reached a fever pitch from the very beginning. Fist struck fist, blade struck blade. Neither the blazing psychic currents nor the misty white vapor could keep the Emperor from seeing the savage expression on Hela's face.
Hela's fury nearly froze the air solid. Imprisoned in Niflheim for a thousand years, she had thought that once she escaped, Asgard would be within her grasp and she could easily launch an expedition. But a powerful enemy stood before her, and she could only watch her dream expedition drift farther and farther away. The contrast between reality and ambition was enough to drive anyone mad. She charged the Emperor without regard for her own safety, trying to punch a few holes through him with Black Sword Night Sky.
She did not dare fight as recklessly as before, trading wound for wound and relying on her powerful regeneration to drag her enemy into death. The Emperor's Sacred Sword posed a grave threat to her. She could clearly feel that if that burning blade