As Gullveig wrestled with her dilemma, Su Ming spotted the new enemy—a crimson tide of demons flooding from the horizon.
His head throbbed.
Why were hell-lords involved? What did the World Tree’s fire have to do with them?
Hell-lords never acted without gain. This demon army’s presence was no coincidence.
Soone had struck a deal with their master.
But Marvel’s hell-lords were nurous—phisto, Cytorak, Dormammu, Lucifer, the Eye Demon, Set, Zom, and more.
In Marvel, extra-dinsional realms were often called hells, their rulers hell-lords.
Whose army was this?
Without knowing the foe, planning was tricky.
Take Zom—his eldritch fire was the Cloak of Levitation’s weakness, capable of burning its threads.
If it was the Eye Demon’s vanguard, Su Ming would face a Cthulhu-esque threat.
But these demons seed driven by insatiable hunger, unlike any known hell-lord’s traits.
Could it be the "mummified" leaders? Their ravenous state might be influencing the army.
In D&D, Su Ming might imagine a "Hunger Aura" skill, but did Marvel have such a concept? He wasn’t sure.
Dealing with demons and extra-dinsional invasions was the Ancient One’s job on Earth, Odin’s in Asgard.
But Odin was in a deep sleep, showing no signs of waking.
For now, the warriors would hold the line. The Golden Palace lacked walls but had robust defenses. Su Ming could use the chaos to negotiate with Gullveig.
Facing a common foe, the Vanir and Asgardians might talk.
Worst case, Su Ming, as Odin, could offer concessions.
But when the Vanir retreated, he hadn’t spotted Queen Gullveig. She’d likely used magic to hide.
Their retreat direction was clear, though. He could find her.
"Hold the line! Warriors of the Golden Palace, our hos are behind us—there’s no retreat!" he shouted, his command echoed by officers across the battlefield.
How long the line would hold, Su Ming couldn’t say. Asgardians had unbreakable will, but they couldn’t raise the dead to fight.
Odin had one trump card: Valhalla’s forty million einherjar, reserved for Ragnarök. Only he knew how to summon them.
As Su Ming galloped, the ground beneath him bulged. He sensed danger.
Sleipnir reacted, swerving aside.
The bulge erupted, spewing flas. A beast of living fire, encased in a beast-shaped iron cage, burst from the ground, trailing lava and heat.
Stranglehold rippled, uneasy.
If Su Ming fought these, his disguise would lt. The fake Odin’s "skin" would drip like ice cream in the heat.
"Trouble, but good timing," Su Ming muttered.
He wasn’t scared of these flightless beasts, but fighting now would expose him. He needed the Odin guise.
The creatures erged from the wall’s base, the Uru tal no obstacle. Explosions of firelight sent Asgardian warriors skyward.
Prayers and screams filled the air. Eyes turned to Su Ming, expecting their Allfather to act.
He saw their looks. As "Odin," on horseback, he couldn’t just stand by.
But the fire beasts were too hot—Stranglehold would lt.
Glancing at the demon army, he dodged more erging fla beasts.
"Hm, Uru shells? Like stripped-down Destroyers. Got it."
This confird Surtur was behind Gullveig. Uru was his specialty, and he was a master manipulator.
The demons and these beasts weren’t allied.
"Faster, toward the city’s edge," Su Ming urged, patting Sleipnir’s neck.
The fla beasts locked onto "Odin," their tal cages clanking as they chased, leaving burning footprints.
He noted the World Tree’s fire was out—Garth’s efficiency was unmatched. Brunhilde’s status was unclear.
The beasts’ speed and agility belied their size, matching Sleipnir’s pace.
Perfect. As they pursued, Su Ming led them straight into the demon lines.
His spear spun into a blur of light. The Godslayer’s edge severed demon flesh with a graze.
Point, sweep, thrust, slash—Su Ming’s mounted spear skills were unmatched. Sleipnir, battle-hardened, aided with kicks from its extra legs.
Surrounded by demons, Stranglehold could subtly assist from the shadows, making the charge smoother.
Su Ming led the dozen-plus fla beasts to the demon army’s "mummified" leaders.
Up close, he saw they were female, their tattered gray rags revealing Asgardian-style armor.
He recognized the Maids of Destruction—gaunt, corpse-like faces in Norse gear, like bodies frozen in snow.
Soone in Asgard knew how to summon them, likely trading with a hell-lord.
From the demons’ battle cries, Su Ming caught their lord’s na. The demonic tongue was rough, but it was clear: "phisto."
If it was phisto...
Su Ming relaxed slightly. phisto was formidable, but his strength was in cunning, not his army. He avoided direct fights.
Beware his sches and greed-fueled traps, and phisto’s tricks would fail against Su Ming.
phisto had many enemies. If things escalated, Su Ming could make it bigger, drawing them in.
Like striking a deal with phisto’s son, Blackheart.
That rebellious demon loved thwarting his father, a rare honest fiend. Any feasible plot could secure Blackheart’s alliance, with gold or magical items as paynt.
Identifying two enemies—Surtur and phisto—was good news.
Thinking, Su Ming led the beasts through the demon lines, cutting through like a bulldozer through wheat.
As expected, the thirteen Maids of Destruction soon clashed with the fla beasts.
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