Now that Hela had completely surrendered to him, Luke naturally intended to fulfill his promise.

Besides, Hela's strength was no trivial matter. In the Marvel world, her power stood among the highest tiers, she could rival even Thanos without faltering.

But there was a fatal shortcoming tethered to her existence.

And that shortcoming was Asgard itself.

Asgard was both her wellspring and her chain. As long as the realm stood, its power would flow into her endlessly, making her stronger day by day. But if Asgard were ever destroyed, her strength would bleed away just as quickly.

It was a double-edged sword, one that Hela knew well.

Luke tapped his chin thoughtfully before speaking in a steady voice.

"I'll go to Asgard with you. Once there, our first task will be to take Surtur's crown. It should be kept on Earth, locked away from the Eternal Flame. With it gone, Ragnarök won't be triggered so easily, and Asgard will be safe."

Hela's emerald eyes glimmered with a cold light as she nodded. "That… is indeed the wisest course."

Luke glanced back at his companions, Doggo wagging his tail expectantly and Bumblebee standing tall but wary. He softened his voice.

"You two return home first. I thought we'd be fighting to the death with Hela, but things turned out differently."

Doggo let out a low "woof" of reluctant protest, while Bumblebee emitted a short, electronic chirp. But they obeyed, retreating toward the ripple Luke had opened for them.

"Alright then," Luke said with a faint smile as he turned back. "Let's go."

Without hesitation, he stepped into the shimmer of distorted space that opened in front of him. Hela followed right behind, her long cloak brushing against the ripple as she entered.

…

Asgard, Odin's Vault.

A dazzling golden chamber stretched out before them, lined with relics and treasures gathered over countless ages. At the center, resting ominously on a pedestal, was a crown taller than a man, the blackened, jagged crest of Surtur.

The two figures emerged from the spatial ripple with barely a whisper of sound, yet the enchantments in the vault instantly flared to life. A shrill alarm rang out, echoing across the palace.

Luke's gaze landed on the massive crown. He exhaled slowly, then smirked. "There it is. Everything begins and ends with this."

The pounding of boots echoed outside the chamber as Asgardian soldiers rushed to intercept the intruders. The vault's golden door trembled as it was forced open from the outside.

Luke tilted his head toward Hela. "I'll take care of the crown. The rest…" He spread his hands slightly, his smile widening. "The rest is yours. Don't disappoint me."

He lifted Surtur's crown with one hand as though it weighed nothing, then hurled it into the still-open ripple of space. The artifact disappeared with a flash of light.

Luke lingered only long enough to meet Hela's eyes, hers already alight with a dangerous gleam, before he stepped backward into the closing ripple.

Left alone, Hela whispered softly after him, her voice carrying an edge of reverence. "Don't worry, Master. Soon, the entire universe will know your name."

The moment her boots pressed firmly against the floor, she felt it, power. Like a tidal wave, it surged through her veins, a forgotten strength rekindled by Asgard itself. Her body thrummed with it, and for the first time in thousands of years, she felt complete.

A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips, unbidden. "Ah… this is how it should be."

The vault's door suddenly burst open. A squadron of golden-armored soldiers stormed inside, weapons raised.

"You there! Intruder!" one of them shouted. "By order of the King of Asgard, drop your weapons and surrender immediately!"

Their voices wavered slightly. None of them had ever seen the woman before, but the sheer aura rolling off her made them uneasy.

Hela turned slowly, emerald light flashing in her eyes. She gave them a chilling smile, her voice cutting through the tension.

"After all these centuries, has Asgard's army grown so soft? You are not even shadows of the warriors who once followed me."

The soldiers glanced at each other in confusion. One whispered, "Followed her…?" but they quickly steeled themselves and charged forward.

Twin blades bloomed from Hela's hands in a shimmer of black steel. No longer made out of plastic, these were the true weapons of the Goddess of Death. She spun them once with a flick of her wrist, the air itself shuddering with sharpness.

"Kneel," she commanded coldly, "before your queen."

…

Back on Earth, Luke's Helicarrier.

Luke stepped out of a ripple, Surtur's crown in his grasp. He set it gently on the deck before him, the object emanating faint heat and menace.

"Safe and sound," he murmured. Closing his eyes, he summoned another ripple and sent the crown to a secured chamber in the helicarrier.

He let out a quiet breath. He could have stayed to help Hela reclaim Asgard, but he didn't. There was no need. With Odin gone, no one there could truly oppose her, except perhaps Thor.

Thor now wielded Stormbreaker ahead of time, a weapon far surpassing Mjölnir. That axe was dangerous. Yet Luke wasn't overly concerned. Experience outweighed raw power, and Hela had centuries more fighting experience than Thor, who grew up in relative peace.

"If she loses to her little brother, then she deserves her fall," Luke muttered, shaking his head. "A leader shouldn't need her master to fight all her battles."

…

Nidavellir, Forge of the Dwarves.

While Hela carved her way through Asgard's unsuspecting defenders, elsewhere the universe trembled.

The great star-forge of Nidavellir, a colossal ring of dark metal encircling a roaring neutron star, suddenly shook under the arrival of an invading fleet.

Warships loomed like shadows, their hulls blotting out the forge's light. At their head stood the dreadnought of the Mad Titan.

Thanos himself descended onto the forge's bridge, flanked by his five generals and an army of soldiers. The dwarves, masters of blacksmithing, froze at the sight.

They knew the figure immediately. His infamy had spread far and wide. The Mad Titan, last of his kind, famous for invading worlds and killing half of their population before leaving.

Eitri, King of the Dwarves, clenched his fists, his massive frame trembling. His deep voice carried urgency as he barked to his kin, "Send word to Asgard at once! If ever we needed their protection, it is now!"

Messengers scattered. Runes flared as a signal was cast through the cosmos.

But Asgard could not answer.

At this very moment, its armies clashed against the newly returned Goddess of Death. The whole realm shaking under the weight of chaos.

And even if Asgard's army could come, what hope did they have against Thanos in his prime, already wielding one Infinity Stone?

…