INSIDE THE MOTHERSHIP, IN A QUIET OBSERVATION CHAMBER OVERLOOKING OLYMPUS, ERIK WAS BORED.
He had been watching the slaughter on the ground for the last couple of hours. At first, it had held his attention. Now, it was just repetition.
Blood. Screams. Collapse.
Enemies who could withstand more than three strikes from Hela could be counted on one hand. Most didn't even get that far. One blade, one motion, one breath—and they were gone. The capital of Olympus was being erased piece by piece, and there was no resistance worth noting anymore.
On the massive holographic display, Hela moved through the ruined city like a living calamity. There was no restraint left in her movements. No hesitation. No mercy. The more she killed, the more fluid she became, as if destruction itself was fueling her.
And she was enjoying it.
Truly enjoying it.
Serving her husband-to-be like this felt right to her. There was no conflict in her heart, no doubt. Power, obedience, violence—everything she loved existed in this moment. She couldn't have asked for more.
Soon, there was nothing left.
No gods. No soldiers. No screams.
Olympus was silent.
Meanwhile, the master of this unleashed storm hadn't even noticed when his eyes closed. Erik had slipped into a short, careless nap, slouched into a bean bag chair, one arm hanging loosely to the side.
SWISH.
The metal door of the chamber slid open.
The sharp clack of boots against the floor pulled Erik from his brief dream. He grunted, sitting up and rubbing his face, blinking away sleep.
"Hey… Hela," he said, covering his mouth with his fist as he yawned. "You're done?"
"Yes, dear," Hela purred as she stepped inside. "I brought what you wanted."
She raised both arms as if she were carrying grocery bags. In each hand were the mutilated heads—trophies he had asked for. Blood dripped from the four severed heads dangling from each of her hands— Zeus, Hercules, Ares, and Poseidon. Their eyes wide in permanent shock, crimson-plumed helmet still crookedly attached.
Erik glanced at them, nodded once, completely unfazed. "Yeah. Good job, Hela. Thanks."
She smiled at that—but her eyes didn't stay on his face. They drifted lower, and her grin turned playful, sharp with intent.
"Darling," she said lightly, voice dripping with mock surprise, "I didn't know heads excited you this much. You look like you're raring to go~"
She had noticed the boner the moment she entered.
Erik leaned back deeper into the bean bag, stretching lazily, utterly relaxed. A sly grin tugged at his lips as he met her teasing eyes.
"I won't deny it," he admitted without shame. "Heads do get me going, but not the ones you're holding."
His smile widened just a little.
Erik's gaze traveled slow and deliberate over Hela's body, drinking her in like a man who had earned the right to look.
Erik's smile lingered, but behind it, his thoughts were not as simple as his teasing words.
From the day Hela had declared she would become his wife, he had been thinking about it. Not just in passing. Not just as strategy. He had actually been thinking.
Erik saw himself as a romantic. Not the flowers-and-poetry kind. But the real kind. The kind that wanted something deep. A real bond. Something emotional. Something that tied souls together, not just bodies.
That's how it had been with Wanda. With Cindy. With Helen. Well, things got messy with Cindy when a certain goddess interfered and complicated everything—but it had still been real.
And that incident had shown him something important about himself.
He wasn't casual.
He wasn't built for one-night stands or meaningless encounters.
He got attached.
Fast.
And he was more possessive than he liked to admit.
When it came to Hela… it was complicated.
He was attracted to her. That part was undeniable.
At first, he hadn't liked the idea that she pursued him because of Death's command. It had felt forced. Artificial. Like he was just fulfilling some divine assignment.
But that had changed.
Now he could see it clearly, Hela's feelings weren't just duty anymore. They were real. Twisted, intense, slightly unhinged… but real.
She looked at him like he was something worth kneeling for.
And he liked that more than he probably should.
He wasn't opposed to the idea of being with her. Not really. She was attractive. Fierce. And her devotion? It was crazy—but it was intoxicating in its own way.
There was something undeniably appealing about a goddess of death who would burn worlds just to hear him say "good job."
And well…
It had been more than thirty hours since he had last been with anyone.
He had left Wanda and Cindy in the mountains. Helen was at the Mars base, buried in research. The mothership had been filled with war, strategy, and observation screens.
In short—
He was pent up.
Erik exhaled slowly through his nose, his eyes drifting back to Hela. She stood there calmly, still holding the severed heads like they were casual trophies, watching him with that sharp, knowing smile.
She could sense it. That fierce, lustful gaze of his told her everything. She let him gaze at her body, blood-flecked and confident.
She had perfect curves, smooth, long, and thick thighs, the kind that could crush a man's skull or lock him in place while she took what she wanted. Wide deadly curves of her hips and an ass filled with bitable flesh—a warrior figure that was made for war and making babies.
She was lethal grace, death made fertile.
The tent in his pants twitched, and with an intense fire in his eyes, Erik spoke, "Come here, Hela. Crawl." As he spread his legs.
Hela's breath caught—just a flicker, gone in an instant—but her eyes lit up bright and hungry. Excitement flashed across her face like lightning over a battlefield. The Goddess of Death, who had just erased an entire pantheon without breaking a sweat, felt her pulse quicken at four simple words.
She let the severed heads fall from her hands. They hit the floor with wet, heavy thuds.
Her palms pressed to the cold metal floor. Slowly, deliberately, she began to crawl toward him—hips swaying, back arched just enough to offer everything, horns dissolving back to her smooth, silky hair. Each movement was smooth, predatory, but the submission in it was unmistakable.
She held his gaze the whole way, lips parted, a faint smile playing there that said she was exactly where she belonged.
When she reached him, she stopped between his spread legs, kneeling upright, hands sliding up his thighs. Her fingers brushed the hard line of his cock through his pants, teasing, reverent.
"I'll please you like you never imagined, my king..." she murmured, voice husky with heat.
Erik's hand came down, fingers threading roughly into her dark hair, tilting her head back so she had to look straight up at him.
"Go ahead…"His thumb brushed her lower lip.
Her smile was all sharp edges. She nuzzled into his touch, then turned her head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his palm.
Erik's other hand fisted in her hair as if claiming her for himself.
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