Hela emerged from the rubble, her movements slower but deliberate. Her eyes burned with frustration, though deep inside, fear flickered. The lightning attack she had just endured left traces of thunderous energy coursing through her body, disrupting her equilibrium. Though her power of death allowed her to recover, she had to suppress Thor's residual energy constantly.
She clenched her fists. I can't take many more of those.
Thor, standing tall and steady, called out to her. "Enough of these games, Hela. If you want the throne, prove your strength."
Hela narrowed her eyes. "As you wish."
With a flick of her wrist, a sleek black sword materialized in her hand. This was Night-sky, her personal weapon, crafted to channel her full power. Unlike her magic-fueled flying swords, this blade was made for direct combat—a perfect match for her lethal skill in close-quarters.
The crowd leaned forward, sensing the battle's intensity shifting.
Hela, though renowned for her magic, was also a master swordswoman. Her combination of martial prowess and death magic had once wiped out Asgard's legendary valkyrie legions and brought Thor to his knees.
But Thor was no stranger to close combat either. His axe, Stormbreaker, gleamed in the arena's light, humming with latent power.
As the two closed the distance, their weapons collided with a resounding clang, sending shockwaves through the arena. Sparks flew as sword met axe, their strikes so forceful that the very air trembled.
Each swing of Hela's blade left trails of dark energy, while Thor's counterattacks crackled with divine lightning. They danced around the arena, the clash of their weapons echoing like thunder.
Meanwhile, light-years away in the vastness of space, a lone spaceship drifted lazily through the void.
From the cockpit, rhythmic beats pulsed through the air. Star-Lord—Peter Quill—was doing what he did best: dancing.
"Hey, hey, hey, feeling good!" he sang, oblivious to the exasperated groans from the rest of the Guardians.
"Damn it, Gwill!" Rocket growled from a safe distance. "How much longer is this gonna take? If you keep shaking your idiot hips, we'll never get to Asgard in time."
Peter paused mid-spin and held up a finger. "Correction: It's Quill, not 'Gwill,' thank you very much. And don't worry, Rocket, I've calculated everything. We'll make it to Asgard just in time for Thor's big event."
Gamora, sitting nearby with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow. "How do you know? The event's probably already started. By the time we get there, the battle might be over."
Star-Lord shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh, doesn't matter. Knowing Thor, he'll throw a massive, all-night party afterward. We'll just catch the good stuff."
Drax frowned. "Why would there be a celebration? Thor's father just died. Isn't this supposed to be a sad occasion?"
Peter froze, struggling for a response. "Uh… well… yeah, but… I mean…"
He floundered as Drax continued, "Shouldn't he mourn instead of celebrating? Why would anyone dance when someone dies?"
Peter scratched his head, suddenly feeling out of his depth. Growing up on Earth, he vaguely remembered stories about royal succession. Wasn't there supposed to be some crying before the festivities?
Gamora interjected, her voice dry. "Not everyone mourns. If my father died, I'd probably throw a disco party."
The room fell silent for a beat. Rocket snickered nervously. "Well, that's… not dark at all."
Gamora's face tightened. "You don't understand. When I was a child, Thanos slaughtered my entire planet. Then he adopted me, trained me, and acted like it was all for my benefit. He… he treated me well. But it doesn't erase what he did."
Her voice wavered as she continued. "If he were gone, I wouldn't mourn. Not for a second."
Peter's usual humor faded. "Yeah. I get it."
Rocket looked away, uncharacteristically quiet. Groot, now a lanky teenager, paused his video game and glanced at Gamora, offering a rare moment of solemnity.
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