Ch.256 Memories She Refuses to Touch

Hela slowly approached Ronan, her right hand gently tilting his chin up.

A hint of mockery flickered in her eyes.

For someone—no, a goddess—as self-assured as her, the Infinity Stones could never inspire true fear.

If anything, she merely found them… mildly interesting.

Her earlier words were nothing more than an attempt to unsettle Ronan's mind.

Ronan, meanwhile, stared back at her, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of his mouth.

"Still, I wasn't entirely lying," Hela mused.

"Legends say the Infinity Stones do bring disaster… to mortals."

"But prophecies never mention gods."

"And you—strong as you may be—are, at your core, just another ordinary human."

Her fingers tightened around his chin, her gaze softening with something almost like pity.

"Such a shame, handsome."

"Had you accepted my offer and stood by my side… who knows? You might've become the future king of Asgard."

She clicked her tongue, as if the thought only deepened her regret.

Ronan, trembling, raised his hands and slowly reached for Hela's face.

A dangerous move.

Yet, given his condition, Hela didn't stop him. Instead, her eyes flickered with something complicated—perhaps admiration for his stubbornness, or disdain for Thor, who didn't deserve such loyalty.

Whatever it was, her emotions were undeniably tangled.

As Ronan's hands neared her cheeks, he seemed to exhaust his last ounce of strength, his held breath finally escaping in a ragged sigh.

Then—

SNAP!

His seemingly lifeless hands suddenly pinched Hela's cheeks and yanked them outward!

Pain jolted her back to reality.

Stunned, Hela could only watch as Ronan grinned through bloody teeth.

"Did you forget? The Time Stone lets its wielder see the future."

With that, his image faded—only for another Ronan to materialize behind her.

This Ronan, however, wasn't smiling.

His eye twitched.

Because the moment the spike had struck, the real Ronan had swapped places with a duplicate.

The dramatic, cheek-pulling version? Just a clone.

And Ronan would never admit to such childish antics.

Pinching Hela's face?!

That was all the clone's fault!

And no, he absolutely rejected the idea that clones reflected their creator's personality.

No. Way.

"Ahem."

"Believe it or not… that wasn't actually me," Ronan said dryly, already sensing the storm of fury brewing in Hela's glare.

She turned slowly, all traces of amusement gone.

Only cold, seething rage remained.

She couldn't even remember the last time someone had dared pinch her cheeks.

If she had to guess? Probably back in her childhood, when she and Odin still played together.

Back then, the Allfather had been a doting parent—much like any Earth father spoiling his daughter.

They had laughed, schemed, and even teamed up to sweet-talk Frigga into forgiving their mischief.

Those were some of the few warm memories Hela had of Odin.

But after their falling-out, after her imprisonment on Earth, she had buried those moments deep.

Her only goal had been vengeance.

To reclaim Asgard. To take back her throne.

Yet now, Ronan's stupid, impulsive act had dredged up memories she never wanted to relive.

"You're hilarious," Hela hissed.

"So hilarious that I won't kill you. No—I'll lock you in Asgard's dungeons for eternity and visit you every single day."

Her right hand flexed, dark energy swirling into existence.

The same energy that had formed the spike impaling Ronan's clone.

Ronan recognized it instantly.

Some form of dark matter, he guessed.

"Again, it wasn't me—it was the clone!"

"Want me to summon him back so you can kill him one more time?"

"Just once, though. Any more, and I'll lose face."

He sighed, genuinely aggrieved.

Why did his clones always cause trouble?

Why couldn't they just be as composed as him?!

"You just get funnier," Hela snarled.

"So take that humor straight to HELL!"

With a roar, she unleashed a storm of black spikes, hurtling toward Ronan like a deadly rain.

He dodged and weaved, muttering under his breath.

Women. So fickle.

First, she wants me immortal—now she's sending me on a one-way trip?

Even if I ended up in Hell, you think Mephisto would dare keep me?

The second Ancient Mystic found out, she'd stomp him flat!

Despite his grumbling, Ronan moved swiftly.

Just as he suspected, the dark energy ignored conventional defenses.

His Shields of the Seraphim shattered on contact, fragile as glass.

"ENOUGH!"

Infuriated by Ronan's evasion, Hela raised both hands, summoning a massive black spear—faster and deadlier than before.

Ronan's eyes narrowed.

His hands flew into a series of seals.

"Hoggoth's Ancient Shield!"

A colossal crimson barrier erupted before him.

The spear struck—

But instead of a deafening impact, it disintegrated into shimmering particles, dissolving into the air.

Seizing the moment, Ronan's hands moved again.

Though the motion almost looked like silly hand-waving, the effect was anything but.

Twin crimson chains materialized from nothing, coiling around Hela's arms and yanking them apart!

"Crimson Bands of Cyttorak!"

As Ronan spread his hands, Hela's arms were forcibly stretched wide.

Now locked in a battle of raw power, neither could afford to relent.