Chapter 349: All Men Are Masochists

The Death Goddess's insistence that Solomon kneel was, in his view, nothing more than a manifestation of her pent-up frustration from isolation. Her anger only intensified as Solomon repeatedly ignored her commands. To Hela, a lack of reverence was a silent mockery, a denial of her innate authority. The more she was denied, the colder and more desolate her domain of bones became.

To her, Solomon's defiance was a deliberate insult, and it enraged her to no end.

Solomon had already developed a keen understanding of Asgardian noblewomen. They prized steel over silks and revered strength over intellect. Hela, the Death Goddess, was undoubtedly such a woman. When Solomon refused to kneel, her temper boiled over. Seizing her black blade, Night Sky, she lunged at the sorcerer, her pride as Asgard's idolized warrior of yesteryear driving her to violence.

Her strike came fast, but Solomon was faster. He parried with his sacred sword and counterattacked swiftly. With the stigmata deactivated, Solomon had lost his mysterious surge of power, leaving him more evenly matched with Hela, who no longer possessed Asgard's full might. Yet her swordsmanship far exceeded his.

Though both practiced techniques designed for fighting multiple opponents, Hela's vast combat experience was leagues beyond Solomon's. Every movement of hers radiated the lethality of a seasoned killer.

Still, Solomon had the powers of the Vishanti to fall back on. Simple spells complemented his techniques. His movements were ghostlike, narrowly avoiding Hela's blade before it could reach his armor. Floating daggers deflected her attempts to deliver a killing blow to his helmet.

Hela's eyes burned with venom. Each clash of blade against blade or blade against shield sent echoes of steel ringing through the desolate hall. Her strikes grew more ferocious, her swordplay increasingly cunning. Solomon, forced to retreat across the crunching, bone-strewn ground, struggled to stay ahead of her calculated attacks.

When Night Sky left a deep gash across his armor, Solomon realized he had to put more distance between them. Hela had begun predicting his movements, feinting with one attack to force him into another, her serpent-like sword poised to exploit any opening.

"You lunatic!" Solomon snarled through gritted teeth. His torso throbbed with pain as the wounds left by Malekith tore open further under the strain of the fight. Alchemical potions had failed to heal them quickly, and he could feel his damp shirt clinging to his skin.

The scent of blood filled the air, and Hela's eyes lit up with glee. This place, filled only with bones, had long lacked the fresh vitality of the living. To her, blood was the essence of life and death, and its presence exalted her magnificence.

"Faster, mortal!" she cried gleefully. "Your swordplay is decent, but not enough! More blood! Only then can I truly be entertained! Offer your queen a gift, warrior of Midgard!"

Countless black swords materialized from her hands, hammering against Solomon's shield with deafening clangs. Hela advanced relentlessly, deflecting his counterattacks with ease. When Solomon pinned one of her blades under his shield, another drove toward the visor of his helmet, forcing him to dodge. The moment he sidestepped, the suppressed Night Sky slashed upward, carving a deep groove between his chest plate and side armor.

To Hela, the fight was pure entertainment, and death was its crowning joy.

"Your swordplay amuses me," she laughed maniacally. "I won't kill you yet because we'll be together for a long time. But beware—I make no promises about your integrity. Today, I think I'll start by taking your little finger. Pain will teach you the proper attitude toward your queen!"

Black spikes erupted from the ground, targeting Solomon's legs where his shield couldn't protect him. He was forced into a corner of the throne room, with no space left to retreat.

"Move faster, mortal!" Hela taunted, her grin wild. "Or die!"

Far away, Queen Frigga observed the battle through a silvery scrying basin. The scene before her was anything but reassuring. Her daughter, she realized, had truly descended into madness.

She had thought that sending Solomon to converse with Hela might alleviate her daughter's loneliness. Any method would have sufficed—Frigga didn't mind. After all, Asgard could afford to grant Solomon a princely title if it came to that.

"Doesn't this worry you?" Frigga asked the Sorcerer Supreme, who was busy slicing smoked salmon with an air of indifference. Even when Hela's blade came within inches of Solomon's eye, the ancient mystic remained unperturbed.

"No," the Sorcerer Supreme replied, not looking up. She had chosen not to share the details of Solomon's battle with Malekith or the secrets of the stigmata. That knowledge, passed down by Agamotto, was known only to a select few eternal beings.

"He'll manage," the Sorcerer Supreme added, savoring another bite of salmon. "Perhaps he'll even calm your berserk daughter. But don't count on me next time, Frigga. Odin's parenting problems aren't my responsibility. Midgard isn't Asgard's daycare center. Between them, your children barely qualify as three years old."

Meanwhile, the fight escalated. A black dagger pierced Solomon's shoulder armor as his Dragon Wing boosters roared to life. Seeing no other option, he activated the stigmata.

The clash of sacred and dark swords rang out as he rammed Hela against the obsidian walls of her throne room. She retaliated with a short blade, aiming for his abdomen, but Solomon countered by driving the edge of his shield into her head, breaking her jagged, menacing helmet.

Frigga gasped audibly as she watched the scene unfold.

The Sorcerer Supreme lazily glanced at the scrying basin before resuming her meal.

"This isn't what you meant by 'he'll manage'!" Frigga exclaimed. "He's about to die!"

"Relax," the Sorcerer Supreme said, unfazed. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of dealing with unruly lower-planar creatures, but she seemed utterly uninterested in the unfolding drama. "He's fine. He's my disciple, after all. Besides…" She smirked, leaning back in her chair.

"Solomon likes women like her."

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [www.p@treon.com/Mutter]

[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]