Even the warriors of Midgard were there, those figures from Earth wearing equipment of various shapes and styles: a figure draped in a red cloak hovered in the night sky, a black figure held a Vibranium spear, and another figure clad in scale armor wielded a trident.
The lineage of the Sorcerer Supreme, the primitive Wakanda warriors, the Atlantis warriors——
Although these reinforcements from Midgard’s Earth were few in number, each emitted a unique energy fluctuation, clearly making them top powerhouses in their respective fields.
Asat Pramad watched the figures continuously pouring out of the Bifrost Bridge.
The die spun a circle, and the cracked symbol loomed faintly in the purple light.
“Oh?
Odin has actually called upon all the forces the Nine Realms can mobilize.”
The Nine Realms Allied Forces quickly formed ranks in front of the Bifrost Bridge.
The Frost Giant, Fire Giants, Dwarf Warriors, Vanir, and Midgard powerhouses completed their assembly in a very short time, and then advanced toward the Golden Palace under the leadership of their respective commanders.
Asat Pramad could see that their expressions varied: the Frost Giant held cautious vigilance in their eyes, the Fire Giants’ gazes were mixed with bloodthirsty excitement, the dwarves tightly gripped their weapons with solemn faces, the Vanir wore stern and focused expressions, and those warriors from Midgard——
Asat Pramad’s gaze lingered on those Midgard visitors for a moment longer.
The figure draped in a red cloak hovered mid-air, the cloak behind billowing in the wind.
Her hands held several ring-shaped magical artifacts surrounded by golden halos, which constantly changed shapes in her hands—transforming from rings into round shields, and then from round shields into long whips.
“Is this someone from the lineage of the Sorcerer Supreme of this era?” Asat Pramad murmured this identity in his heart.
The current timeline was still quite early, and the Sorcerer Supreme before him was not someone Asat Pramad recognized in his memory, but rather one of the earlier Sorcerer Supreme.
His gaze turned to another person, the Black warrior holding a Vibranium spear.
He was tall and burly, with muscle lines as clear as sculpture.
The spear in his hand was like an extension of his own arm, and every swing carried a mighty, wind-swept momentum.
“This should be a warrior from the earliest generation of Wakanda.” Asat Pramad’s die spun slightly, “An ancestor of the Black Panther?”
Finally, his gaze fell upon the figure clad in scale armor and wielding a trident.
That figure’s aura carried strong marine characteristics—moist and profound, with a deep blue light flowing over the trident in hand.
“A warrior of Atlantis.” Asat Pramad recognized that identity, “An ancient kingdom in the oceans of Midgard.”
“Not bad, not bad.
Odin has also made very thorough preparations.” Asat Pramad’s figure slowly dissipated from the top of the tower, as if melting into the night wind.
When his figure re-condensed, he was already standing on a flying eaves at the highest point of the Golden Palace.
Beneath his feet was the entire palace ignited by the flames of war, ahead was the advancing Nine Realms Allied Forces, and behind was the Death Legion and the army of Void Rangers commanded by Hela.
The battle situation was in a state of deadlock.
The joining of the Nine Realms Allied Forces caused a fundamental reversal in the battle situation.
The Frost Giant’s ice barrier blocked the advancement route of the Death Legion, and the Fire Giants’ lava impact melted large areas of the ground.
The Dwarf Warriors used their exquisite weapons and sturdy shields to forge an iron barrier at the front lines, while the Vanir mages released area-of-effect support magic in the rear.
The most crucial variable came from those powerhouses of Midgard.
The Sorcerer Supreme’s portals and mirror magic repeatedly divided the Void Rangers into different spatial fragments; those pitch-black figures lost their direction in the cracks of reality, unable to form an effective group charge.
The spear-wielding Wakanda warrior fought ten men alone.
Every time his Vibranium spear swung, it knocked back multiple Void Rangers by several meters.
Although it could not cause fatal damage to the Void Rangers, it successfully delayed their advancement speed.
The Atlantis trident warrior summoned a vast expanse of ocean currents, which condensed into a water screen high in the air, blocking the Void Rangers’ path ahead.
Although the water screen was not lethal, it was enough to disrupt the stability of the Void Rangers’ positive and negative particles.
“Brilliant.” Asat Pramad gently applauded.
“When all the forces of the Nine Realms are gathered together, they truly cannot be underestimated.”
Standing high above, he watched the chaotic and fierce battlefield below.
The firelight illuminated his white tailcoat, and the night wind brushed across the surface of his die, the symbols engraved upon it seeming to slowly flow in the faint light.
He was like an audience member watching a play in a theater box.
Although the slaughter and shouting on the stage were fierce, they seemed to be separated by an invisible barrier, maintaining a certain safe distance from him.
Meanwhile, in the center of that battlefield, at the very forefront where the Death Legion collided with the Nine Realms Allied Forces, a dark green figure was walking forward in large strides.
Hela held a long sword, her dark green divine power surging around her like a storm.
Her cloak was pulled into a long strip of light by the airflow behind her, and with every step she took, the ground cracked open into a radial fissure.
Her gaze locked onto a certain direction ahead—the direction of the Golden Palace’s main entrance.
And on the steps in front of the main entrance stood that aged figure holding a golden spear.
Odin.
The King of Gods stood there, the Eternal Spear Gungnir held in his hand, with golden divine power flowing across the spear shaft.
His gaze pierced through the smoke and fire of the battlefield, colliding with Hela’s sight in the void.
Father and daughter looked at each other across the entire battlefield, the surrounding slaughter seeming distant and blurred at this moment.
“Hela.” Odin spoke.
His voice was not loud, but the golden divine power carried his voice across the entire battlefield, “Stop now, it’s still not too late.”
Hela stopped her footsteps.
She looked at her father on the steps—the King of Gods who had once led her to gallop across the Nine Realms, the guide who taught her to use the sword, taught her conquest, and taught her to trample her enemies underfoot.
“It is too late.” Hela said, her voice calm and icy, “Father, from the moment I decided to no longer obey your orders, it was already too late.”
She raised her sword, the tip pointing directly at Odin.
“You are old, Father.
You have forgotten what Asgard relied on to reach today—it relied on swords, blood, and ceaseless conquest.
If you have forgotten these, then let me help you remember.”
A trace of complex emotion flashed in Odin’s single eye, but he did not speak, only slowly raising the Eternal Spear as the golden divine power condensed into a dazzling point of light at the spear tip.
On the battlefield between father and daughter, the air seemed to condense into substance.
Everyone’s movements unconsciously slowed down at this moment, as if time itself was waiting for the arrival of this ultimate collision.
Asat Pramad stood on the flying eaves of the Golden Palace, overlooking this scene.
His die stopped spinning, and that cracked symbol clearly emerged in the purple light.
“The good show is finally about to be staged.” He said softly, his voice almost imperceptible in the night wind.
Then he slightly tilted his body, as if appreciating a fine painting, casting his gaze toward the center of that battlefield about to erupt.