Co and chill in discord: .gg/HVmdx7AJ
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Frigga had long earned the sincere admiration and respect of Asgard's gods and its people. Her influence wasn't just tied to her status as Odin's wife but stemd from her deeds. She had won hearts with her gentleness and unwavering grace, offering a stark contrast to Odin's commanding majesty.
If Odin was the stern and resolute king, Frigga was the nurturing mother. Her presence brought peace, as if her every word and gesture washed over others like a soothing spring, dissolving negativity.
Even newcors like Natasha and Wanda felt the effect of her calm deanor. Both, sensitive to emotions, found her sincerity reassuring. Frigga's warmth was genuine—far removed from any hint of hypocrisy.
Natasha, feeling Frigga's hand clasp hers, smiled softly. "Thor is our friend, and so is Asgard. This is what friends do."
Her candid words struck the right chord, especially with the Asgardians, who valued sincerity. As expected, Thor, Frigga, and the Warriors Three responded with approving smiles.
Frigga nodded gracefully. "Thor has told little about you, but I know this much: when he faced his darkest hours, it was your aid that brought him back. For that, Asgard will forever be in your debt."
Turning to Wanda, her eyes glead with recognition. "You are unique, my dear," she remarked enigmatically before returning her gaze to Thor.
"Let us prepare a banquet," Frigga announced. "After all, we need to celebrate the triumphs of war."
Thor bead. "Yes, Mother!"
He approached Natasha and her group. "Co," he said with a grin. "Let show you the wonders of Asgard."
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Hell, the fiery realm of despair, was a landscape humans dared not imagine. It was a land of unrelenting chaos, where fiery explosions and choking black smoke engulfed ruined cities. Corpses littered the ground, while ravenous demons and vengeful undead lurked in shadows, their greed-filled eyes ever watchful.
This realm, filled with endless conflict and carnage, was ruled by the demon king phisto—a being as cunning as he was cruel. His castle, an imposing structure at the heart of the infernal plane, stood in solitary dominance. No demon or undead dared tread within its vicinity.
Inside, phisto lounged on his throne, his crimson, monstrous form illuminated by the flickering flas of Hell. One clawed hand propped up his chin as he stared into the void of his cavernous hall, boredom etched on his face.
Suddenly, his crimson eyes snapped open, and his posture straightened. A ripple of unease coursed through him as an inexplicable terror gripped his core. His gaze darted toward the center of the hall, where golden particles began to materialize out of thin air.
The swirling particles coalesced into a humanoid form—a man clad in a silver-black trench coat, with a black shirt, trousers, and pristine white shoes. A necklace with a vivid azure gemstone rested against his chest. His chiseled features and piercing gaze exuded an aura of dominance and danger.
"Leon," phisto muttered, his voice low and wary.
"phisto," Leon replied coolly.
A smirk played on the demon king's lips as he descended the steps from his throne, his sharp devil's tail flicking restlessly. "You never cease to surprise , my friend."
Leon remained impassive. "Surprised I ca to see you?"
"No," phisto admitted, "but I am impressed by how far you've co." His blazing eyes narrowed as he studied Leon. "The young man who once destroyed my soul projection now dares to step into Hell itself, into my castle. That takes more than courage—it requires power and confidence."
Leon's unassuming deanor only amplified the undercurrent of terror phisto felt. Though the human's form seed ordinary, phisto couldn't shake the sense of an imnse, untouchable force lurking beneath the surface.
Ever cautious, phisto kept his tone asured. "So, as the new guardian of Earth, I assu you're not here for pleasantries, are you, Leon?"
"Not particularly," Leon said bluntly, his gaze unwavering.
phisto chuckled dryly. "Fair enough. Let guess—you're here about your little protégés?"
Leon's expression hardened. "You guessed correctly."
"So this is a warning, then," phisto said, his tone darkening.
Leon's voice was soft but firm. "That depends on how you interpret it. Consider it a reminder—or a warning. The choice is yours."
The weight of Leon's words hung heavy in the air. phisto's mind flickered to Wanda, the human girl wielding chaos magic—a power that intrigued and tempted him. Yet he knew the man standing before him would go to war to protect her, a war phisto had no confidence he could win.
The demon king's tail flicked anxiously as he weighed the risks. Finally, he forced a smile, his tone laced with caution. "I understand, Leon. You've made yourself clear."
Leon's piercing eyes lingered on phisto for a mont longer before he turned away. The tension in the room seed to dissipate slightly, but the ssage was unmistakable: crossing Leon's line would invite certain doom.
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