Chapter 118

With a wave of her hand and a pulse of cosmic energy, the barren landscape of the rock within the borders of the Genoshian Empire vanished. Suddenly, they were back on Earth, the fresh, green landscapes of Norway replacing the arid rocks.

Thor and Loki were caught off guard by the abrupt displacement, the solid support of the stools evaporating beneath them. They hit the ground with soft thuds, grunts escaping their lips as they scrambled to regain their bearings. They found themselves sprawled on the lush grass, the sudden shift in scenery a sharp contrast to the bleak, alien landscape they had just been on.

In the background, the picturesque fjords of Norway stood proud and serene. The azure sky was speckled with clouds, and the air was filled with the soothing songs of birds and the rustling of leaves. The breathtaking beauty of the scene was marred only by the sight of Hela, sprawled on the ground, the former Asgardian Queen still struggling to breathe.

Lydia, on the other hand, appeared unaffected by the sudden teleportation. She stood tall, her armor gleaming in the warm sunlight, an aura of calm authority surrounding her. With an unreadable expression, she looked at Hela, her gaze analytical and distant. The woman was broken, physically and emotionally. Whether she could be mended was yet to be seen.

Hela's once commanding figure was now just a shell, heaving in pain as she gasped for breath. The humiliation of defeat was etched into every line of her face. Her strength was gone, sapped by the brutal fight and the energy consumed in the contract.

"Steady, sister," Thor muttered, his gaze fixed on Hela, his hands clenching into fists on the soft grass. He was torn between wanting to help and not knowing how. The idea of Hela becoming a part of Lydia's empire was frightening, and yet, there was a small glimmer of hope. A chance, however small, for Hela to change.

Loki, on the other hand, lay on his back, staring at the sky. He found himself studying the swirls of white amidst the expanse of blue, his mind whirring with thoughts. He had just watched his sister get utterly beaten by Lydia, a woman of immense power, who he himself now served. It was a lot to take in.

"Hmm," Loki mused, a smirk playing on his lips, "It appears, dear brother, that we are not the only ones who have fallen from grace. Let's hope Hela learns as much as we did." Loki's voice was low, filled with contemplation, the words heavy with unsaid thoughts. Yes, Loki thought, this was going to be interesting.

The sound of Hela's voice, hoarse and weak, but still filled with enough vitriol to make both brothers wince, broke the tense silence. "Shut... up," she wheezed out, her harsh gaze turning to her brothers. It was a bitter reminder of her usual fierce demeanor, now reduced to a pitiful shadow of what it once was.

The harsh command was met with laughter from Lydia. The sound was genuine, a rare display of mirth that seemed to clash with her stern demeanor. Her head tipped back slightly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips, the sound echoing against the silent backdrop of the Norwegian landscape.

The sight of Thor, Loki, and Hela in their current predicament brought back memories of her own brothers. James, the loyal sibling who now served by her side in the Genoshian Empire, and Victor, the fallen brother whose loss she still felt keenly. Her eyes softened momentarily at the memory, a pang of sadness making its presence known, before her gaze hardened once again.

Now her gaze fell on the scattered shards of Mjolnir, the remnants of Thor's once mighty weapon. The fragments were scattered about, each piece telling a story of the power it once held. A grim reminder of the battle that had just transpired, the pieces lay dormant, their magic quiet under the warm sunlight.

Staring at the fragments, Lydia couldn't help but think about the significance of the broken hammer. Mjolnir had been a symbol of strength and worthiness, a weapon that only the worthy could wield. Yet here it was, shattered and discarded, much like the three Asgardians in front of her.

A thoughtful expression crossed Lydia's face as she glanced from the pieces of Mjolnir to the trio. A decision was being formed in her mind, the gears turning as she pondered over the potential outcomes. The scene before her was a reflection of their fallen states, a powerful reminder of the battles they had fought and the choices they had made. It was a scene that would shape the path of their future, a crossroad that had the potential to change their fates drastically.

"Interesting," she mused aloud, her gaze steady as she studied the broken hammer and the broken Asgardians. What she would do next was anyone's guess. The one thing that was certain, however, was that whatever Lydia chose, it would have a significant impact on all their lives.

Taking in the fragments of Thor's once proud weapon, Lydia lifts her hand with a swift gesture of command. The leather-wrapped handle rises from the scattered debris and sails towards her, settling securely in her grasp. A sense of authority exudes from her, commanding the elements as if it were second nature. She lifts the handle skywards, its worn grip fitting snugly into her hand, as if made for it.

The sky above responds to Lydia's silent call, its bright expanse swiftly transforming into a vast canvas of inky black. The change is sudden, turning the peaceful afternoon into a surreal tableau of shadows and gathering storm clouds. Thor and Loki watch in wide-eyed astonishment as the fragments of Mjolnir tremble on the ground before rising in a flurry of activity, moving with an unnatural grace toward the handle.

A vivid bolt of lightning strikes the handle in Lydia's hand, a breathtaking display of power and grandeur. There is a resonant hum of energy as the fragments fuse with the handle, the broken pieces rebuilding under the power of the storm and the direction of Lydia's will. The process is hypnotic, like a dance of nature's elements choreographed by an unseen force, directed by a conductor whose knowledge transcends mortal understanding.

The hammer is whole once more, the light of the lightning reflecting off its surface, yet the signs of its prior destruction remain evident. There are still cracks webbing the surface of the weapon, like an intricate map of the battle it has just endured. A grim testament to the fight it had participated in, the hammer now stands as a symbol of resilience and survival.

With a flick of her wrist, Lydia sends the restored Mjolnir flying back to Thor, the hammer spinning with an undeniable grace through the air. A smirk graces her lips as she delivers her quip, "Be more careful next time, Thunderer."

The moment is punctuated by the renewed peals of thunder in the distance. A potent reminder of the power she wields so casually, an assertion of her dominance over nature and cosmic forces. The scene serves as a powerful testament to the woman who stood in front of them, radiating power and authority. Lydia, the woman who had just easily repaired what they had believed to be irreparable, commanded attention and respect. She was truly an entity of immense power and depth, and in this moment, they were all reminded of her unfathomable strength and skill.

There was an undeniable gravity to Lydia's words, a tone of authority that was not to be questioned or dismissed. She directed her gaze at Loki, her eyes holding an icy determination that only emphasized the seriousness of her command. "Expand your search for Annihilus," she instructed, her voice ringing with a crispness that echoed in the silent atmosphere. "Report anything...anything at all that seems suspicious."

Loki nodded, a swift and succinct acknowledgement of her order. There was a note of obedience in his nod, an acceptance of Lydia's authority and his own role under her command. A slight wave of her hand and the two Asgardian brothers were encapsulated in a translucent bubble of energy. The bubble shimmered for a moment, radiating a gentle hum of power before abruptly vanishing, whisking Thor and Loki back to the golden halls of Asgard.

Once they were gone, Lydia shifted her focus to the fallen Hela. The woman was still on the ground, her chest heaving in heavy, laborious breaths as she continued to struggle for air. It was a pitiful sight, a stark contrast to the proud, fierce warrior Hela had been just moments before.

Looking at Hela's sorry state, a mirthless laugh escaped Lydia. It was a sound devoid of any real humor, more a statement of her own superiority than anything else. "What's the matter, Hela?" Lydia goaded, her voice rich with unspoken mockery. "How much longer until you can stand on your own?"

Yet as she spoke, there was a slight tinge of respect in Lydia's voice, a grudging admiration for the woman who refused to give up. There was strength in Hela's eyes, a resilience that resonated with Lydia. It was an acknowledgment that perhaps, in another life, they could have been allies. Now though, they stood on opposing sides, two powerful beings forever caught in a dance of power and rivalry.

Lydia watched as Hela strained and grappled, the passage of an hour marked by the Goddess of Death's grunts and hisses of pain. Finally, after a considerable struggle, Hela managed to hoist herself up to her feet. She was shaky, her legs trembled, her body swaying like a reed in the wind. Yet there was a dogged determination on her face, a stubborn resolve to stand tall.

Without warning, the world spun into a haze of colors, their surroundings reshaped in a heartbeat. As the kaleidoscope of light faded, they were no longer in the green, dewy pastures of Norway, but in the lavishly decorated office of Lydia's Genoshian Empire. The abrupt shift in location sent Hela reeling, and she fell to the ground in a heap.

Astrid's body chose that precise moment to enter the room, her robotic senses alerting her to the presence of an intruder. Her metallic face was typically devoid of expression, but at the sight of Hela sprawled on the floor, her artificial brow raised in surprise. She turned her attention to Lydia, a silent question in her visual sensors.

Lydia spared a glance at the fallen Hela before turning to Astrid. "Long story," she began, waving her hand dismissively. Her voice held a thread of nonchalance as she explained the recent events, her tone painting a vivid picture of their encounter with Hela, their clash, the ensuing battle, and ultimately, Hela's humiliation.

Astrid listened in silence, her robotic mind processing the information with machine-like efficiency. She took in the battered Hela, the cracks in Thor's once-immaculate hammer, the absence of Loki and Thor, and the presence of their once-mighty sister, now seemingly reduced to a fragile creature desperately clinging to life.

In Lydia's story, Astrid caught a glimpse of the intricate web of power and dominance, the primal battle for control that had taken place, the dance of strengths and weaknesses that Lydia had orchestrated. It was a testament to Lydia's power, her strategic brilliance, and her unyielding determination.

Even as Lydia shared the details, Astrid couldn't help but admire her leader's prowess. It was a demonstration of Lydia's capability to command, to strategize, and to emerge victorious, even when the odds were stacked against her. It also brought forth an underlying concern for the potential risk Hela posed, but given the current state of the Goddess of Death, it was a risk Astrid found herself willing to trust Lydia with. After all, Lydia had a knack for making the impossible possible.

A.S.T.R.I.D.'s humanoid form was a masterpiece of art and engineering, a testament to Lydia's genius. The ethereal glow of her holographic form had given way to the metallic brilliance of Adamantium-Vibranium-Uru alloy, gleaming under the muted lights of the office. It was a body born of science, bereft of biological limitations, yet projecting an almost human-like countenance that spoke of sophistication and efficiency.

Her streamlined features softened as she turned to Lydia, the artificial intelligence's concern for New Genosha manifested through the intricacies of her programming. "Hela's past actions have caused significant harm. Her presence here, even defeated, could cause unrest," Astrid voiced out, her synthetic vocal chords emulating the nuances of human speech.

Lydia glanced at Hela then back at Astrid. She nodded understandingly, acknowledging Astrid's apprehensions. "I know, Astrid," she responded, her voice carrying a quiet authority. She moved to the side, allowing Astrid a clear view of Hela's still recovering form. "But see, I have her life force under my control," Lydia stated, her gaze pinned on Astrid. "One wrong move and I can snuff out her existence."

Hela's seething rage bubbled up within her at Lydia's words. To be treated like a pawn in their conversation, to be discussed as though she wasn't present stoked the embers of her pride. She was Hela, the Goddess of Death, not some docile creature to be tamed.

Her icy eyes shifted to Astrid. She examined the AI, her gaze taking in the metallic form that stood upright with an almost regal bearing. It was a body wrought from the most indestructible materials known to their universe, a body that held power and resilience. But to Hela, it was nothing more than a showpiece of Lydia's technological prowess.

The sting of defeat and the bitterness of her present condition gnawed at Hela. She was at the mercy of Lydia, a position she detested. But she understood the precariousness of her situation. Her gaze shifted from Astrid to Lydia. For now, she had no choice but to bide her time, to heal, and to learn from this powerful, yet enigmatic woman who held her life in her hands. After all, even the goddess of death could learn a thing or two about survival.

Astrid's iridescent eyes shimmered with concern, her forehead creasing in a facsimile of human worry. "With due respect, Lydia," she began, her voice a symphony of controlled modulations. "Hela's unpredictability could pose a significant risk, even within the boundaries of the Empire. I trust your judgment, but it's necessary for us to consider every possible outcome."

Astrid's anxiety was a testament to the depths of Lydia's coding genius. Though a product of silicon and code, the AI had been designed with an ability to anticipate and adapt, akin to human intuition. A trait that had proven invaluable time and again in the defense and administration of New Genosha.

Lydia leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled before her face as she contemplated Astrid's words. She was well aware of the risks, of the storm that Hela could brew if left uncontrolled. Her gaze wandered over to the weakened Goddess of Death, sprawled on the floor, a far cry from the powerful entity she was known to be.

"I'm well aware of the potential risks, Astrid," Lydia finally responded, her tone steady. "But we can't ignore the potential benefits. Her power, harnessed and directed correctly, could be an asset."

She paused, considering her next words. "For the time being," Lydia continued, her gaze never leaving Hela, "She'll stay with me. Close proximity will allow me to monitor her actions and intentions. If at any point I deem her to be a threat, I'll deal with her accordingly."

A swell of defiance roiled within Hela at Lydia's words. She loathed the thought of being seen as a risk, a problem to be managed, but she held her tongue. There was a time for battle, and there was a time for strategic silence. As much as it grated against her nature, Hela recognized that this was the time for the latter.

Her teeth clenched and her fingers dug into the cold floor as she forced herself to accept her new reality. She would endure this, learn from this woman who'd bested her, and then, when the time was right, Hela would regain her standing. Not as a threat or a weapon to be harnessed, but as a force to be reckoned with in her own right.

A faint smile ghosted over Lydia's lips, her steel-blue eyes twinkling with an unreadable light. The connection with Hela's mind gave her a front-row seat to the seething defiance simmering within the fallen goddess. Lydia reveled in the complexities of the thoughts she witnessed, the raw determination that was all too familiar to her.

"Your plan, Hela," Lydia began, her voice carrying a note of amusement, "is terribly misguided." Her words, spoken aloud, were a wake-up call for the goddess sprawled on the floor. It was a stark reminder that her mind was as bare as an open book before Lydia.

Hela's face stiffened, her jade green eyes darkened with a mix of shock and indignation. Her thoughts, her very sanctuary, violated. Her nostrils flared, a silent oath sworn under her breath. She quickly locked her jaws, forcing herself to swallow her pride, and with a barely audible whisper, she managed to utter a begrudging apology. "I... apologize, Lydia."

The simple act of Hela, the Goddess of Death, apologizing was as surreal as it was hilarious. Lydia laughed, a sound that filled the room with a sense of exhilarating dominance. The laughter was echoed by a softer, metallic tinted laughter of Astrid. It was not a mocking laugh, but more of an acknowledgment of the absurdity of the moment.

For Lydia, it was a reminder of the power she held. She sat there, reveling in the irony of the situation, the God of Death herself brought to her knees. But there was also a sense of satisfaction. The first, necessary step to Hela's redemption was humility, and this, Lydia hoped, was a sign of it.

Hela, on the other hand, was once again reminded of her predicament. She seethed inwardly, her pride taking a hit with each passing second. But she masked her emotions well, allowing no sign of her inner turmoil to show. She was learning, albeit grudgingly, the art of patience. And for that, she knew, she had to swallow her pride, again and again, till the right moment arrived.