The enormous alien spaceship loomed above, teeming with grotesque extraterrestrial beings. The recent clash between Gene and the Dark Elves had already left Dr. Foster overwhelmed, her mind spinning. So when Malekith and his forces appeared before her, she instinctively leaned closer to Gene, the only "high-tech freak" who seemed like a lifeline in this chaos.

But to her disbelief… that very lifeline sold her out without a second thought.

Gene calmly grabbed the back of Dr. Foster's coat and lifted her slightly off the ground. "She's yours," he said coolly. "Her body contains the Aether. You can extract it from her."

"What? What are you doing?" the poor doctor cried out, panic creeping into her voice.

But Gene didn't even glance at her.

Malekith's chilling eyes swept across Dr. Foster's body. She shivered uncontrollably. His gaze was cold—penetrating—making her feel utterly exposed, as though her very soul was under a microscope. The chill behind those eyes made her tremble from within.

The Dark Elf raised his hand toward the sky, his fingers spread as if offering a prayer to some forgotten god. Or perhaps it was a twisted ritual of devotion. Suddenly, the Aether hidden deep inside Jane Foster responded, as if drawn by an unseen force. Crimson matter burst out from every pore—her eyes, nose, mouth, ears… it erupted from within her, pouring into the air and forming a chaotic, shifting shape.

Just then, Gene raised his hand and launched a palm repulsor blast at the unguarded Malekith.

But the Aether transformed instantly—becoming a fluid, living shield that blocked Gene's attack effortlessly. The bright blue energy clashed against the Aether… and fizzled out without leaving a mark.

The crimson V-shaped visor on Gene's helmet flickered faintly. As expected. It was just as he had calculated.

The Aether had formed a link with Malekith. It would now instinctively protect him. That little strike? It was merely a test.

It was clear now: to resolve this, he'd have to follow through with the full process. There was no avoiding this fight.

With the Aether forcibly extracted from her, Jane Foster collapsed to the ground, her body limp. The crimson substance, now detached from its host, responded eagerly to Malekith's pull. It surged toward him like a bird returning to its nest, merging with him completely.

The dark red Aether seeped into Malekith's body, infusing him with raw power. He exhaled slowly, deeply, and when he opened his eyes again—they had turned a terrifying shade of pitch black. He had evolved. A Dark Elf now elevated by the Aether to a higher plane of existence.

His cold, lifeless stare fell upon Gene and Jane.

"Curse Warrior. Eliminate them," Malekith ordered.

To him, these two mortals were nothing more than ants. The Nine Realms awaited his conquest. Deploying a Curse Warrior to deal with them was already a generous overkill. Like using a missile to swat a mosquito.

Curse Warriors were the trump card of the Dark Elves—second only to the Aether. Warriors who had willingly sacrificed their lives, embraced the curse, and were reborn as monstrous juggernauts. Five thousand years ago, they stood toe-to-toe with Asgard's elite, with each Curse Warrior capable of taking on a hundred foes.

In Thor: The Dark World, one such Curse Warrior had delivered a terrifying performance—clashing head-on with Thor's mighty Mjölnir and overpowering him through sheer brute strength. That's why Malekith had no doubt: this fight was already over. The Curse Warrior would finish them in seconds.

But just as Malekith turned to leave—confident, cold, already preparing to board his ship—he suddenly heard the dull thud of flesh hitting rock, followed by a guttural roar of pain and the unmistakable whine of a charging repulsor.

The next second, the massive Curse Warrior's body came flying past him like a cannonball, crashing into a distant mountain and shattering it on impact. The avalanche of debris buried the warrior instantly. No heartbeat. No second chances.

Malekith spun around in shock.

There—standing calmly—was Gene, his crimson V-shaped visor glowing eerily in the dark.

"What's the rush?" Gene asked, his voice like sharpened steel. "Aren't we going to play a little?"

With a graceful flick of his wrist, Gene began tracing arcane patterns in the air. Golden symbols shimmered to life, forming a complex magical array. This was a pre-prepared spell circle—one he'd set up back on Earth. Now that Jane's Aether problem had been resolved, she would be teleported home.

And waiting for her on Earth were Skynet and the Red Queen—both ready to heal her injuries and erase her memories from the past 24 hours. After all, he couldn't risk psychological trauma scarring the poor doctor.

Golden light enveloped Jane Foster, and in a blink—she vanished.

"Now," Gene said, turning his full attention back to Malekith, "we can really begin."

"You are from Midgard," Malekith said coldly. "But you just made the gravest mistake of your short and pitiful life—challenging me."

Gene didn't even flinch. "I've heard that line too many times," he replied with utter calm. "The last guy who said that tried to devour Earth. I beat him so hard, he still doesn't dare show his face. And you…? Compared to him, you're nothing."

The battlefield fell silent.

The storm was coming.

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