Chapter 352: Look at What You’re Protecting

The power of the Frost Giants was not to be underestimated, yet Loki was genuinely baffled when his razor-sharp daggers failed to elicit even a flicker of pain from Malekith. Instead, red and black Aether particles unfurled like wings, closing in on Loki as if to engulf him.

"Fine, I'm done playing," Loki muttered as he vanished from Malekith's grasp, leaving behind a gold-and-green snake plummeting alongside the Dark Elf King. The snake, a product of Loki's shapeshifting magic, slithered mid-air, but Malekith immediately detected the distinct scent of rune magic. No longer vulnerable to toxins, he reached for the serpent, only to be struck by a thunderous hammer.

Mjolnir descended from the heavens, cloaked in lightning, and smashed into Malekith, sending him hurtling into the Thames.

The golden-green serpent opened its mouth in a silent, mocking laugh. But before it could savor its escape, a massive hand snatched it out of the air. Loki's eyes widened like a child in a cartoon, his exaggerated expression betraying his shock. It seemed he might vomit up his internal organs as Thor's grip tightened around him.

Annoyed, the God of Mischief sank his fangs into his brother's arm, but Thor didn't loosen his hold. Instead, he held onto Loki and leaped toward Malekith's impact point, seemingly intent on using Loki as a makeshift whip.

After all, Frost Giants were tough. No matter how much punishment Loki endured, Thor felt no guilt about wielding him like a weapon.

"Do you think Thor can win?" Queen Frigga asked, pouring a glass of Solomon's treasured sweet wine for herself and the Sorcerer Supreme. Solomon, of course, wasn't permitted to drink; the Sorcerer Supreme made sure of that.

With the topic of Hela set aside, Frigga shifted her attention to her son, watching Thor and Malekith's battle through the silvery scrying mirror.

For some reason, Frigga seemed worried. Malekith, empowered by the Aether, was the most formidable foe Thor had ever faced. Even Odin might struggle against an enemy with near-immortality and unparalleled regenerative abilities.

The Sorcerer Supreme, capable of peering into the future, could have answered this question with ease. But she took malicious delight in remaining silent, ignoring Frigga's growing anxiety. The Queen of Asgard had no assurances, particularly since the Sorcerer Supreme had just sent Solomon to confront Hela, indicating that Kamar-Taj had also invested its resources in Hela, not solely Thor.

For Midgard, it made little difference who ruled Asgard. Sovereignty was earned through iron and blood, something Thor had yet to fully grasp. Should Asgard's new ruler refuse to acknowledge humanity's independence, another declaration could always be made.

"I know you have a contingency plan," Frigga said bluntly. "There's no way you'll let the Dark Elves succeed. No one wants to see the Nine Realms return to primordial darkness."

"My contingency plan just fought your daughter," the Sorcerer Supreme replied with an exasperated roll of her eyes. "He needs a proper rest. That's the price of solving Asgard's parenting problems. If Thor gets hurt, do you want me to bring him to you?"

"No, thank you."

"Coulson!" Skye ran frantically around the S.H.I.E.L.D. bus. "Everything down there is in chaos!"

"Stay calm, Skye." Coulson remained composed, gesturing to the holographic table in the meeting room. Several communications were displayed, one prominently labeled Nick Fury.

"Agent May and Agent Grant are piloting the Quinjet to take out those Dark Elf soldiers," Coulson explained. "Dr. Erik Selvig submitted a sample, and Fitz and Simmons are working on a prototype."

"But what's the point?" Skye tugged at her hair in frustration. "Thor and that Dark Elf are tearing the place apart! Their fight isn't confined to Greenwich University anymore! We should evacuate all of London! I could use S.H.I.E.L.D.'s authority to issue a citywide alert! And where's Solomon? I just remembered—he disappeared early in the fight and messed with my memory!"

"I haven't been able to reach him, and I doubt he's conveniently at his place in New York," Coulson admitted, equally exasperated. The battle between Thor and Malekith showed no signs of resolution. Both combatants seemed more intent on smashing things than defeating each other. Public infrastructure was being destroyed at an alarming rate. Coulson was thankful this invasion wasn't as large-scale as the Battle of New York—otherwise, a nuclear strike might already be on the table again.

"And evacuating all of London? Not feasible. The roads would be jammed," Coulson added.

"What about the other Avengers? Captain America, Iron Man, Hulk… Actually, forget Hulk."

"Wise choice. Only Fury knows their whereabouts, and they're too far from here to intervene."

"We need Solomon Damonet!" Skye growled, miming the act of tearing something apart. "When he opens a portal, I'll rip him to shreds! How dare he tamper with my memory!"

The word memory triggered something in Coulson's mind—a faint recollection of Project T.A.H.I.T.I. He felt a vague unease but pushed it aside. His priority was directing May and Grant to navigate the Quinjet through the sudden appearance of portals. At the same time, he coordinated with the British Royal Navy and Air Force, liaised with Erik Selvig and Jane Foster, and prepared for cleanup and biohazard containment efforts.

"You can issue an alert, but I think it's redundant. The entire city can already see the aliens," Coulson suggested, trying to redirect Skye's energy. "Go remind the public to stay indoors."

"They'll just come out to watch. There's no shortage of idiots in this world."

"Speaking of which, you mean yourself?" Coulson teased. "I haven't forgotten who ran to the explosion site to watch."

"You're right—there's no shortage of idiots in this world," came an unexpected voice.

The room fell silent. Sitting nonchalantly on the couch was Solomon, his pale complexion catching everyone's attention. Coulson nearly drew his gun in shock.

"When did you get here?" Coulson holstered his weapon and studied Solomon, noting the sorcerer's weary appearance. "And what happened to you? You look terrible."

"Ten minutes ago. My wine stash is empty, so I came to raid yours. Also, my wounds hurt like hell." Solomon swirled a glass of wine lazily. "I didn't bother making my presence known—I've been sitting here the whole time. As for my face… Malekith doesn't pull his punches. If it's not too much trouble, could Simmons stitch me up? And don't give me that look, young lady," he added, addressing Skye. "Magic has its limits. My liver just finished healing—it won't take much more."

"I'll handle it," Skye offered with a grin. "I know where the med kit is."

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