One Step Too Late

Having witnessed Hela's ferocity and overwhelming power as she slaughtered everyone in her path, fear rose uncontrollably in Loki's heart.

Of course, it was impossible to make Loki obey Hela and simply get down from the throne. With so many people watching, Loki was the sort who would never willingly lose face unless pushed to the absolute brink.

If things had been different and the siblings had been alone, perhaps the God of Mischief would have half-willingly knelt before his sister. He might even have comforted himself: An eldest sister is like a mother. Kneeling to half a mother isn't embarrassing.

Hela's patience had long been worn away over her centuries and millennia of imprisonment. With the throne now within reach, how could she possibly restrain herself? Giving her opponent a chance to surrender was already the last shred of goodwill she had toward the people of Asgard.

Seeing Loki hesitate, Hela stopped wasting words. A rain of death swords appeared behind her.

The Golden Palace guards stirred in alarm. That very move had just pierced through the palace's outer defenses.

Wearing Odin's face, Loki forced himself to maintain the empty bearing of the Allfather and drove Gungnir hard into the floor. At once, arcs of lightning flickered across the hall's beams, pillars, and floor.

Hela swept her gaze around, utterly dismissive of the seemingly fierce lightning. She merely stamped her foot casually, and the deathly frost of Niflheim spread outward from beneath her feet in every direction.

Where the frost reached, the lightning vanished.

Hela sneered. "You're just a pathetic clown. You have no right to wield Gungnir."

Had the real Odin been here, lightning would have flooded the entire hall like a surging spring, trapping any invader within a sea of thunder.

The remaining Golden Palace guards let