Odin, King of the Gods, crossed the dimensions and descended into the mortal world.
Dark-gold divine patterns flowed beneath the God King's robes, brightening and dimming like a slow breath. His single eye was as deep as an ancient, silent starfield; no one could read the slightest emotion in it.
He simply stood there. He raised no hand and made no show of force, yet an aura of supreme authority seemed to make him the center of the world.
It was the weight of an age-old ruler of the Nine Realms, a level of pressure that mortals, superhumans, and even ordinary gods could never hope to match.
Heimdall followed close behind, stepping out of the streaming light.
The guardian of Asgard gripped the Guardian Sword in both hands, its straight blade planted in the alloy floor. His golden eyes were sharp as blades, his face stern, and a stubborn mix of resentment and bewilderment lingered in his brow.
The argument on Asgard's high platform was still fresh in his mind.
He had sworn to defend Asgard's glory, built over millions of years, and had fiercely opposed handing its foundational resources to the mortal world. But the God King's will was immovable. However deeply Heimdall disagreed, he could only swallow his objections and obey the order to lead the force to Earth.
Behind them, an entire elite Asgardian army landed in formation.
The first several dozen Asgardian Warriors wore gilded bronze armor covered in ancient runes. Every inch of metal had been tempered in stellar flame and carried a faint divine sheen.
Spears angled down, pauldrons aligned, and boots struck in unison. As they landed, the rustle of armor rose in a wave, and the army's chilling might filled the entire spaceport with suffocating pressure.
Floating platforms glided in behind the