Chapter 50: Martin Shakes the Underworld

Mephisto is dead.

One of the most powerful contenders for the next King of Hell, gone.

Slain, right here in his own domain.

Every demon who witnessed it stood frozen in disbelief, staring blankly at the torn remains of Mephisto.

The moment his life was extinguished, Hell itself convulsed in fury, volcanoes erupting violently across the infernal landscape, as if the realm mourned... or raged.

"A human... stormed into Hell and killed Mephisto, even empowered by Hell's blessing?"

"An outrage! This is a declaration of war against all demonkind!"

"Never before, never, has a human led an army to invade Hell itself..."

Shadows writhed across the burning skies. Dark silhouettes stirred, cruel smiles curving across twisted faces. Hell had existed for eons, beyond mortal reckoning, but this... this was unprecedented.

From every corner, cold, bloodthirsty eyes locked onto the intruder. Killing intent crackled in the sulfurous air.

Then the demons struck, descending upon Martin's Iron Legion in a frenzy of claws, fire, and fury.

"Well done, human. You killed Mephisto. I should thank you…"

"And now, it's time for you to die."

The voice rumbled from a colossal demon charging forward, baring jagged teeth in a grin twisted by malice.

Zarathos.

The same Zarathos who, twenty thousand years ago, dared invade Earth, only to be driven back by a rain of fire and the wrath of the Spirit of Vengeance.

Martin didn't so much as blink.

"Surtur. Kill this worthless beast."

The command came cold and casual.

In response, Surtur, the fire-drenched Skyfather, erupted with a surge of hellflame.

Grinning savagely, he thundered toward Zarathos.

Two titanic entities, each towering far beyond mortal comprehension, clashed in a cataclysmic battle. The realm trembled.

But Surtur had the edge.

He wasn't any weaker than Zarathos to begin with, and he wielded the Twilight Sword, a divine weapon forged for Ragnarok itself.

Before long, Zarathos faltered. Wounds tore through his demonic flesh. Even his true form could no longer withstand Surtur's onslaught.

With a howl of agony, he tried to retreat.

But Martin, after vaporizing scores of lesser demons, let out a dark chuckle and invoked the Matrix of Leadership once more.

Roaring forward, he chased Zarathos down. Surtur joined him. Together, they obliterated the demon lord on the spot.

Another great demon, dead.

Hell screamed again.

"Mission accomplished. Withdraw. Return to Earth!"

Martin stood tall amid the chaos, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield. His eyes locked with the many hellspawn still watching, each filled with bloodlust, greed, or fear.

What they saw staring back was something cold… something unhinged.

There was no fear in Martin. Only fury. And a madness that promised he'd take everyone with him if they dared approach.

That glint alone gave the demons pause.

For all their hatred, Hell's denizens were a treacherous breed, always scheming against one another. None wanted to be the next corpse.

The Transformers surged outward in formation, engaging the enemy just long enough to retreat. The Ground Bridge roared to life, and one by one, the Iron Legion pulled back to Earth.

Then—

ROAR!

The Hulk let out a pained howl.

Confused, he looked around, like he could feel something... but couldn't find it.

A heavy, unnatural pressure filled the air, chilling and formless. Something... watching from beyond.

Martin's expression darkened.

With no hesitation, he kicked Hulk straight through the portal and back to Earth, then leapt after him.

"That presence… if I'm right, that was OBA, still lurking, still waiting. Good thing Hulk's still just a child. If he were grown… OBA would've taken him the moment we arrived."

Back on Earth, Martin stood silent for a moment, boots crushing the grass.

No joy. No triumph.

Only grim resolve.

He deactivated the Matrix of Leadership, its energy fading as the final seconds of its power allocation expired.

He reeked of blood and sulfur, Hell's stench still clinging to him. His face was cold as steel. Around him, ranks of Cybertronian warriors knelt and raised him high.

At that moment—

He was no longer merely human.

He was a god.

A god who had stormed Hell… and returned alive.

The world would not forget.

And beyond Earth, across the branches of the World Tree, countless beings took notice. They knew him now.

Martin. The one who defeated Odin.

That alone… was terrifying.

Far in Jotunheim, the Frost Giant King Laufey sat upon his icy throne. Snow and wind howled through his hall. His eyes, cold and calculating, fixed on the distant horizon.

"Prepare for war."

Rising to his full, monstrous height, Laufey's voice was laced with ancient hatred.

"That old fool Odin was already on the brink of death. Now he's been defeated, by a mortal of Midgard no less. This is our chance. While all eyes are on Midgard... we strike."

"The All-Father… will die by my hand."

Frost Giants gathered by the thousands.

And they were not alone.

From the outer reaches of Jotunheim, Rock Giants, Wind Giants, and others rose from slumber, their eyes glowing with vengeance.

Together, they marched on Asgard.

A war was coming.

One that would shake the Nine Realms to their core.

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