Her slender fingers fumbled along the doorframe for a moment, and the lights in the room flickered on.
Asgard was a place where technology and magic coexisted, powered by the energy of the World Tree. It wasn't as entertainment-heavy as Sakaar, but the roots of the World Tree acted like cables, sprawling beneath every corner of Asgard. The Asgardians' technology was almost entirely developed from it.
The bright light reflected off her armor as she sighed softly, unfastening her cape and preparing to shed her clothes for a bath.
"Ahem!"
A cough from inside the room snapped her to attention. She cursed her lack of vigilance—her time on Sakaar, drowning in drink, had dulled her warrior instincts far too much.
Back in Asgard, she'd let her guard down, never expecting someone to infiltrate her quarters.
Brunhilde's eyes narrowed as she spotted Mist standing in the living room, a strange man seated beside her, staring at her impassively.
Garth smirked, winking playfully to signal there was someone else here—a man, no less. Even if she wanted to strip, doing it so casually at the door was bold.
"How did you get out?" Brunhilde asked, frowning slightly in confusion. But she sheathed her sword and hung her cape on the rack.
Her room was sparsely furnished—just one chair, though the floor was covered with beast pelts as carpets.
The most common sight was the assortment of wine bottles, shattered pottery, and goblets. It seemed she'd barely returned to Asgard before throwing herself into a drunken stupor.
In Asgard, goblets were disposable. When the mood struck, you smashed a few on the ground for the satisfying crash.
"Another round!" you'd bellow, proving your boldness and warrior spirit.
But Brunhilde's expression was far from joyful. She'd likely been drowning her sorrows, smashing cups in a fit of despair.
Su Ming studied her. As a Valkyrie, she wasn't particularly bulky or tall—not like Wonder Woman. Perhaps flying cavalry needed lighter frames, or maybe Asgardian evolution differed from the Amazons'.
Her appearance was strikingly comic-accurate, not the mixed-race version from the MCU. The films had leaned into political correctness, which Su Ming understood.
Wakanda could be all-Black, but Asgard had no dark-skinned people.
Brunhilde was the quintessential Nordic beauty: long golden hair braided into two thick, glossy plaits that hung past her chest to her waist. Her gaze was sharp, her blue eyes clear as spring water, her nose delicate as white jade, and her lips as warm as mead.
Yet, her features combined into a unique aura of valor and resolve. One look, and you knew she was a warrior.
Su Ming thought that in a suit and glasses, she'd outshine even Garth as a commanding presence. Garth, softened by her time on Earth, lacked that edge.
Sakaar clearly hadn't been kind. Was she still rounding up gladiators for the Grandmaster?
Garth approached, and the two clapped each other's shoulders and backs, exchanging old titles.
Their expressions seemed strained, unaccustomed to Asgard's formalities, which Su Ming found amusing.
Moments later, Garth pulled Brunhilde over, introducing Su Ming: "As I told you, my boss came to rescue me. He's here."
Brunhilde sized him up, unable to read him. He looked like an ordinary human, but his presence in Asgard meant he was anything but.
"I am Valkyrie, Brunhilde, who charges into battle. What is your name, warrior from Midgard?" she asked solemnly, using Old Norse.
Su Ming's single eye glinted as a powerful aura surged forth.
A golden spear materialized in his hand. He slammed it into the floor, leaning back casually against the chair, gripping the haft as he answered calmly: "I am Odin."
Brunhilde's eyes widened, her mouth agape, speechless: "."
Her scalp tingled. The eyepatch, the spear, the regal aura—it was unmistakable.
Why was Mist, branded a traitor by the All-Mothers, still Odin's confidante? What power struggles lurked behind this? Who was Odin plotting against?
Conspiracy theories raced through her mind. Sakaar's chaotic society had taught her plenty.
The Allfather's mind was an impenetrable abyss. Fear prickled her skin with goosebumps.
She moved to kneel, but Garth stopped her.
Garth shot her boss an exasperated look. So, the Godslayer had tricked the princes by posing as Odin?
Mimicking a dormant Odin was a clever blind spot—even Heimdall wouldn't dare scrutinize the Allfather's face too closely. Her boss was as cunning as ever.
"Stop messing around, boss. Brunhilde's my friend," Garth said.
"Just a jest. Odin's too fond of people kneeling," Su Ming said with a smile, retracting his aura. The spear morphed back into a curved blade, which he tucked away.
He pulled out a few bottles of Earth liquor, gesturing for Brunhilde to sit and talk.
"???" Brunhilde was baffled, struggling to keep up with the twists.
But as Mist pulled her to sit on the carpet and they shared a few drinks, her mind cleared.
This wasn't Odin but Mist's new master—a prankster with audacious nerve.
Impersonating Odin was a grave crime.
For Mist's sake, though, she wouldn't report him.
"Why haven't you fled? If Odin awakens, you're in deep trouble," she said.
"Running's never the answer. When Odin wakes, I've got terms to discuss," Su Ming replied, downing a drink and wiping his beard with a cryptic smile.
Brunhilde twirled her goblet. She knew Mist had no intention of serving Asgard anymore.
Mist's gaze toward her boss held more reverence than she'd ever shown Odin.
Her visit seemed nostalgic, a farewell to old friends, lacking her former zeal to protect this place.
"Then why come to me? I have a small ship, but it's stuck on Sakaar," Brunhilde said, grabbing a bottle and chugging, clearly aiming to get drunk.
"I'm Slade, or Deathstroke. We're here because Garth wants to know what's happened in Asgard—why the Valkyries were recalled, even at the cost of neglecting Hela's secrets," Su Ming said.
"Garth?" Brunhilde asked.
"My Earth name," Garth clarified.
"Earth?"
"Midgard, the Middle Realm," Garth explained.
Brunhilde gave a bitter smile, setting the bottle down and staring at its amber contents.
"I know. But you've fully become an Earthling—your speech, your mannerisms. Me? I can't escape being a Valkyrie. Even when I disguised myself as a Black woman on Sakaar, the shadows of my past still haunt me."
Garth's expression darkened, recalling their charge against Hela on winged steeds, shouting Asgard's glory.
Hela's impassive wave had annihilated them.
Brunhilde survived because her lover and second-in-command, Sigdrifa, shielded her from Hela's attack.
Watching her beloved die in her arms left Brunhilde scarred. Worse, the souls of the fallen Valkyries were claimed by Hela.
Yes, Brunhilde loved women—men were fine, but women were her preference.
It was her private matter, beyond even Odin's jurisdiction. The Allfather even admired such bonds between women.
The conversation turned into Brunhilde's tearful outpouring, reminiscing with Garth about the past.
Garth could only console her. Pressing for intel now would be too callous, especially as her own memories stirred sorrow.
Su Ming sat quietly, waiting for them to settle.
Outside, the World Tree blazed brightly.
As long as the flames burned, he remained undetected—a perfect beacon visible across the realm.
He had time. Thor wouldn't return from Surtur's domain soon, and it would take longer for them to realize "Odin" was a fake.
"Omens? You're saying the All-Mothers recalled everyone just for vague omens?" Su Ming raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with Brunhilde across the carpet, mulling over her intel.
The night breeze carried a faint smoky scent through the window. He ran his hand over the fur rugs, savoring Asgard's Nordic charm.
In the prophecies, Fimbulwinter was the prelude to destruction: three endless winters—Wind, Sword, and Wolf.
The Wind Winter had passed. Balder, the God of Light, was slain by a mistletoe spear, plunging the Nine Realms, including Earth, into a long chill.
That was the Little Ice Age, 14th to 17th centuries, nearly 300 years. Half of Northern Europe starved, and the other realms fared little better.
The Frost Giants attacked Asgard then, with heavy losses on both sides.
Next should be the Sword Winter.
It foretold a massive war in winter, a chaotic clash across the Nine Realms, with countless gods fated to fall.
Then came the Wolf Winter, where Odin would die by Fenrir's jaws.
After these winters, the prophecy predicted the World Tree's burning, the rise of the dead, Asgard's fall, and the world's end.
Did the All-Mothers mistake Earth's recent world war for the start of the Sword Winter?
Su Ming hadn't seen Earth's death toll significantly impact the other realms. Without faith in the Norse gods, those souls wouldn't fall to Hela.
Brunhilde's intel wasn't useless, but he needed to think it over carefully.