Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1740 The Wild Hunt

Upon receiving Salomon's message, Kamar-Taj immediately sent Thor and Loki over, as if they were two worthless items eager to be disposed of. Victor von Doom delivered the bills for Thor and Loki's expenses, and even used magic to teleport the receipts to Salomon, so that the Lord of Kamar-Taj could see how many barrels of beer Thor drank every day and how many antiques Loki destroyed with his dagger each day.

Victor von Doom possessed the Eye of Vishanti and the Time Stone, but his magic still required payment. Out of courtesy, Salomon didn't interrupt the family reunion, nor did he toss the bill to Frigga. He linked arms with the two witches' slender waists (Jeanne jolted symbolically a few times) and stepped aside to make room for the family. Both Thor and Loki were clearly closer to their mother.

Odin sat alone on a large rock nearby, the wind whipping his white hair. He looked utterly wretched, like an old man abandoned in a nursing home, abandoned by his children who refused to visit him, only able to play bingo once a week—this would have been Odin's fate if Frigga had died in the Dark Elves' raid on the Golden Palace. No one would have thought Loki's magic could control Odin, but he was just there waiting for Kamar-Taj to move him to a more suitable place, like a salted slug, sticky and annoying.

Fortunately, Frigga is currently taking care of this giant slug. If Salomon were in charge, he would probably just provide a year's supply of adult diapers and then abandon it. After all, even a 500,000-year-old creature inevitably develops an old man's odor. No matter how long Odin lives, he is not immortal; his body and soul will still age with time.

Salomon whispered among himself and the witches, Bayonetta chuckled softly from time to time, and even the usually aloof Joan of Arc couldn't help but smile occasionally. He was good at making them laugh, and they temporarily put aside the matter of Wanda and Natasha, since they had spent most of their nights together at the Oxfordshire manor, and Bayonetta really liked Wanda's scent.

With Wanda's intervention, the witches were prevented from hunting down the former Black Widow.

The cheerful atmosphere was quickly shattered by Saul's loud voice, and Joan glared angrily at the large golden retriever not far away. "He's just like Miss Peanut Butter," Joan said, frowning. "Loud voice, and sheds a lot."

"I have a sister? Mjolnir was supposed to be her weapon?" Thor stared at the warhammer in his hand with disbelief, like a husband unable to believe his wife's infidelity. The fact that he suddenly had a sister paled in comparison to the truth about Mjolnir—this warhammer wasn't originally intended for him—the blow was devastating. "This can't be! Mjolnir couldn't have betrayed me!"

"Children." Perhaps because sitting on the rock was cold and uncomfortable, Odin finally couldn't help but speak, trying to divert his two sons' attention from Frigga. "Let me tell you the whole truth." After about half an hour, Thor exploded again, and Mjolnir's matter was no longer important.

He rushed up to Salomon, raised his hammer sharply, and shouted, "I thought we were friends!"

He was greeted by Salomon's pitying gaze.

"It's the king's responsibility!" Odin roared angrily. "You want to duel for me? Then sit on the throne!" Frigga gently patted his back to keep the old man from fainting from lack of breath. Hearing this, Thor hesitated and took a step back, seemingly unable to make a decision.

Loki stood there with a complex expression, his gaze shifting between Thor and his father. During his time impersonating Odin, Asgard's internal affairs had proceeded smoothly; all the Aesir and Vanir gods were remarkably quiet, and no rebellions had occurred. Even among the most senior Asgardian nobles, it could only be said that, aside from some negligence in military matters, Loki had performed admirably in all other aspects.

"I did better," he muttered.

"I know, child," Frigga said gently. "So, would you like to take your father's place in the duel?"

"I think I'll pass," Loki said with a grin, bowing slightly to Salomon. "I've seen how formidable he is."

"That's why you can't wear the crown, Loki." Frigga watched Thor's expression shift from hesitation to anger, and finally to resolve. "A true king must make sacrifices."

"Then let's begin now, I'm getting impatient! After I die, it's none of my business who wants to sit on the throne, but right now I am the King of Asgard!" Odin stood up, supporting himself on his knees, and turned to instruct his two sons. Whether as king or father, he had so much to say to his sons, but he found that he could never finish speaking, and could only teach them with the most painful reality.

The old man, his beard and hair bristling, opened the box, took out a golden spear, and struggled to support himself, panting heavily. "You are not allowed to tarnish my honor, or you will no longer be my sons!" Seeing Thor and Loki bow their heads, his expression softened slightly. "Frigga…"

"I have already shared life with you, and saying anything more is superfluous." The Queen of Gods held Odin's hand. "My husband is a warrior."

Salomon patted the two witches on the back and whispered something. Bayonetta reached into the twisted black hole that had appeared out of nowhere and took out a golden rein, handing it to Salomon. Pegasus, the noble pure white horse, had abandoned Salomon and run back to Oxfordshire Manor when he returned to the 21st century, enjoying the sorority's meticulous care—a treatment it never received from its master.

He summoned Pegasus, the pure white horse, which spread its wings and proudly raised its head. Salomon curled his lip in disgust, for he noticed that Pegasus's belly had grown considerably larger; the weight lost during the intense battles of its eight-thousand-year journey had been regained in just a few months. Seemingly sensing its master's displeasure, Pegasus instinctively shrank its neck, trying to hide its head under its wings.

Odin walked step by step toward the dilapidated Bluebird, with each step more pale golden flames igniting from his body until he was completely enveloped in this ethereal, smoke-like fire. He placed his hand on the roof of the car and murmured, "You were born in the heart of a land of Judeo-Christian oppression, forged from the sweat of blue-collar workers. You were not born this way, but now you have become a berserker, and truly so." Odin's voice grew louder, "You are the banner of my world, and though this may not be your way, I still wish to honor you in my most sacred way."

You will dine at my table; farewell, Vallaha.

The dilapidated car burst into flames and was reduced to ashes in an instant. A neigh rose from the ashes, and a dark gray horse, flashing with the color of lightning, charged out of the crimson ash like thunder frozen in ice. The leaden sky finally began to move, the high-altitude winds began to howl, and the stagnant lightning descended from the sky, shattering rocks with a violent roar.

Pegasus excitedly raised its forelegs, thrilled by the appearance of a true rival.

"Sleipnir, my old friend, now let us march together to the final battlefield!" Odin roared, raising his lance. He hadn't been this happy since ascending the throne. He pointed Gungnir at Salomon, the wind enveloping him, his voice growing louder and louder, like the howling of the storm. As a matter of etiquette, duelists would announce their names.

"I am known as the Warrior, Grim, the Raider, and the Third God. I am the One-Eyed God, also known as the Supreme God, the Seeker of Truth. I am Grimnir, the Cloaked God, the Almighty Father, the God of the Scepter. I have countless names, just as the wind has countless names, and death has countless ways. My ravens are called Huin and Muin, that is, thought and memory; my wolves are called Freich and Kili; and my beloved steed is called the Gallows!"

I am—Odin!!!

Thor and Loki stood by in horror, never having witnessed their father wield such terrifying power. "Mother!" The more observant Loki noticed Frigga could barely stand and rushed to help her up, her face pale. Loki knew what had happened; Frigga had used her own life to prolong Odin's life, albeit for only a few years, enough to consume the rest of her life force. Thor frantically tried to stop her, but Frigga held him back.

Salomon mounted his horse; at this moment, he was the only one on this deserted island with the power to fight Odin.

He didn't have that many titles, or rather, he disdained to mention the titles he had acquired over eight thousand years. Whether it was Lord of Storms, King of Eridu, King of Mountains and Lands, Master of Buffalo and Wheat Fields, Dragon Slayer of Euphrates, Conqueror of Eurasia, Sorcerer Supreme of Kamar-Taj, Lord of Mankind, or any seemingly glittering title, to him they were merely tools, not achievements.

He cared about only one identity. "I am human," he said, raising the holy sword. "I believe the future belongs to humanity."

Seemingly cold, illusory flames burned on the armor and hair. Odin's single eye and Salomon's eyes grew brighter and brighter, a symbol of the overflowing power of the soul. Salomon urged Pegasus to charge, and Sleipnir gladly accepted the challenge. The two mythical steeds closed in rapidly, barely having time to accelerate. Blades and spear tips clashed intensely, instantly unleashing heat comparable to that of stars. The expanding air exploded repeatedly like infrasound waves crashing against the ground. The hooves of the two warhorses bore the weight, shattering the rocks that had supported the island for millennia.

As the dim sky gradually brightened with starlight, Arcturus shone the brightest, its gentle, sun-like golden light pushing aside the leaden storm. Pegasus snorted and charged towards the lightning-fast Sleipnir, carrying its master. A bright meteor shower ripped through the twilight sky, piercing the veil woven by dark clouds. Fate shifted with the movement of the meteors; the spear that should have pierced a throat veered off course by a few centimeters, the sword that should have severed the fingers holding the spear suddenly paused, and the magic that released heat several times greater than the Tunguska explosion vanished as if time had reversed.

Swords clashed with spears, magic annihilated magic, and the boundary between the physical universe and the sea of ​​souls was easily torn apart. Yet, no predators from the sea of ​​souls attempted to approach, for the raging outer-dimensional waves would easily rip them apart, inflicting true death upon the inanimate. Under such power, the material universe was like clay, malleable at will, with every microscopic particle able to arrange, combine, and even decompose and recombine according to its own will.

When Hela stepped out of the portal, she wasn't greeted by fresh air, but by howling winds and thunder. The rock beneath her feet crumbled, sand melting into lava, which cooled in the gale and was then torn to shreds by lightning. Each flash of lightning illuminating the night sky darkened the entire heavens and earth. The surging sea below the cliffs froze, only to be shattered by the giant waves, a never-ending cycle, until massive icebergs rose from the sea, and hurricanes whipped up tiny rings of ice, turning the entire island snow-white.

The goddess of death in Asgard is not something that can be seen with the naked eye.

For gifted individuals, this duel involves more than just rampant magic and drastically altered environments.

She saw a huge longhouse rising from the coast, with two braziers burning brightly in front of it, built of giant gray logs. Many longships were moored beside a simple dock on the pebble beach. A warrior who looked like Odin but was younger stood on the steps, holding a spear and staring intently at the distant horizon with one eye.

She saw a star fall into the sea, piercing through the ice.

The next moment, the frozen sea began to boil, steam bursting violently through layers of glaciers, the rising steam like plumes of smoke from burning corpses. Young Odin called to the armored dead to board the longship, rowing towards the distant frozen battlefield—Hela was astonished to discover that death was not her sole power—the captain raised his spear, summoning the winds and death to follow. The captain glanced, almost imperceptibly, at Hela standing on the shore. A long-dormant emotion within her was rekindled, and Hela took two steps forward in a daze, only then realizing that she seemed to yearn to join the longship on its expedition.

The icy air receded rapidly, and Hela felt the chilling wind that had enveloped her body become warm and damp. The air was filled with the smell of water, and the intense, blinding sunlight relentlessly shone on the shimmering earth. She found that her knees were submerged in seawater, her ankles were deeply embedded in soft mud, and rough pottery, crudely prepared planks, and the swollen corpses of people and livestock floated on the murky water.

On rooftops and steps not yet submerged by the flood, flies swarmed towards the corpses like a black shroud, the familiar stench of rotting flesh filling the air, nauseating. Before Hela could figure out where she was, a tall man with long black hair, dressed in a moon-white linen robe, brushed past her. He stood on the murky, surging water, his body swaying slightly like a canoe, splattering mud and blood onto his robe. He was so close that Hela could smell his sweat and see the rage flashing in his obsidian eyes.

Hela recognized him; he smelled familiar.

She followed his gaze into the distance. The surging river had completely washed away the mud-brick city walls. Beneath the scorching river surface, a huge, indistinct black shadow swam inland from the deep blue seabed, like a bloodthirsty beast lurking in the water, devouring the rotting corpses that had sunk to the bottom—at first glance, the shadow was even larger than the city itself. A closer look, however, would give her a headache, as if some information had been memorized and suddenly erased—Hela heard a familiar call. She looked up and, through the distorted, sweltering air, saw several slender figures vaguely emerging on the distant horizon, rapidly approaching the estuary. The sails bore the totems for which she had fought countless times.

Hela, having received a complete and rigorous education, knew exactly what she was seeing. This duel, from the very beginning, entered the realm of the Sea of ​​Souls, a battle that transcended time and space. Her father chose his most youthful and robust period, traversing time and space to find his opponent at his weakest—his opponent, in turn, chose the most suitable location for the duel—a place devoid of cold winds and thunder, only sunlight and water. Here, a war between man and monster was about to unfold, and the resolve born of war filled him with power.

She blinked, returning to the world enveloped by blizzards and thunder.

She saw her mother, filled with hatred, reluctance, and attachment, leaning against a large tree. The tree roots rose from the soil, carving out a circular clearing, and runes engraved on the bark blocked out the violent forces from the outside world. She saw her two younger brothers clinging to her, watching everything that was happening before them in horror.

Frigga also saw Hela. She smiled at her daughter, her pale face full of gentleness.

Thor and Loki noticed the unfamiliar dark-haired woman. Thor swung his warhammer, summoning a bolt of lightning that was negligible compared to the raging thunder in the sky. Hella reached out, a black, glassy sword slicing through the lightning and hurtling towards Frigga with a malevolent curse. Thor hurled his hammer, forcefully knocking the black sword away. He grabbed Mjolnir, who had bounced back, and tried to break free of the rune's protective range to confront this legendary Asgardian foe.

Before he could do that, Loki stopped him.

"She doesn't intend to kill you now, dear brother, can't you see that?" Loki's face still wore his usual condescending expression. "She wants to speak with our mother."

------------

The torrential rain pounded against the windowpanes. Casillas stared anxiously at the glass, fearing the fragile glass would shatter. The sky outside was dark; the sudden power outage had plunged the entire city into darkness, the only light coming from the flashes of lightning on the horizon. He felt the wooden floorboards tremble slightly beneath his feet from the muffled thunder, and gripped Sheila's hand tightly—in his second vision, two beams of light clashed below the horizon—and not only him, but all intelligent life in the Nine Realms with second vision could sense the surge of psionic energy erupting across the planet.

Even for mortals living on Earth, they could vaguely feel a pain as if a red-hot iron were being branded into their brains. This was only because the three great shrines of Kamar-Taj and over a hundred smaller monasteries had collectively supported the planet's defense system; otherwise, this wave from another dimension would have scorched their eyes and brains. For mortals, the more direct manifestation of this disaster was the low-pressure cyclone over the Faroe Islands that rapidly expanded within minutes, its edges even beginning to touch the east coast of North America.

People living in the French-speaking part of Canada were caught completely off guard by the sudden storm. They watched helplessly as temperatures plummeted, roads began to freeze, water pipes froze and burst, and gushing water condensed into ice in the air. More than one meteorologist believed they were about to face an apocalypse similar to the movie "The Day After Tomorrow," and of course, there were also the fanatical doomsday prophets who proclaimed that the final judgment had arrived.

Kaecilius clenched his ribs, forcing himself to breathe, lest he forget to breathe out of fear. He had never seen the Sorcerer Supreme unleash his full power, but he believed the scene would be no smaller than this. He was starting to doubt Salomon's claim that he would "control the situation"; this scene looked more like the prelude to a cataclysmic disaster.