The battlefield was silent, broken only by the crackle of cooling ruins and the fading hiss of Asgardian wards as they unraveled into nothing.
Lily's gaze, however, wasn't on the shattered construct that had finally stilled. Her eyes were fixed on Luthar. On the weapon he had conjured with such ease. On the way he had ripped the core free as though it were nothing.
Her hand tightened around the chain-sword In that moment, looking at his blade, she could not stop herself from feeling like she was holding a toy compared to a true weapon of war.
"Why…?" she whispered under her breath.
Natasha, who had only just come up beside her, caught the sound. "What?"
"Why does he keep giving me this?" Lily lifted the chain-sword slightly. The blade rattled faintly, unimpressive next to the memory of Luthar's glowing weapon. "Wouldn't it be better if I had something stronger? A real weapon, so I wouldn't always lose?" Her voice cracked with frustration.
The Black Widow tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied the younger girl. To a spy like her, the fracture was obvious: a young warrior doubting her mentor, frustrated at being held back. It was the kind of wound Natasha knew how to dig into, the kind that could splinter trust if pressed the right way. Under normal circumstances, she would have exploited it. But she didn't know Lily well enough, so she chose to test the waters carefully.
"You think he's holding you back," Natasha said at last.
"He is." Lily's reply was sharp, immediate. "If he trusted me, he'd give me a weapon like his. Something that mattered in a fight."
Natasha's lips curved into the faintest smile, unreadable. "Or maybe he doesn't trust you enough to give you one."
"That doesn't even make sense," Lily snapped, confusion written across her face.
Before Natasha could answer, Luthar's voice cut through the air like a blade sliding from a sheath. He stepped closer, a sphere of unstable light dimming in his hands as he sealed it away.
"You misunderstand," he said evenly. "The difference between your sword and mine is not power. It is consequence."
With a touch of his gauntlet, his weapon shrank down into miniature, yet the faint pulsing edge still whispered of danger restrained.
"This blade does not forgive," he continued, raising it slightly for her to see. "A single mistake and it cuts through armor, through shield, through flesh. If someone takes it from you, you are already dead. If you falter for a heartbeat, it will punish you without mercy."
He gestured toward her chain-sword. "Yours may not match this one, but it gives you space. Your armor can counter it, your shield can stop it. It is dangerous, but survivable. It leaves you room to learn, to fail, and to rise again. That margin vanishes with this."
The miniature blade dimmed fully as he tucked it away, his tone softening, though his eyes stayed firm. "You are not a Space Marine. You are not a Battle Sister forged in endless wars. This blade offers no forgiveness. And if it were stolen and replicated, the disaster it would cause is beyond what we could contain."
His words carried a weight that settled heavy in her chest. Still, his final words gave her a thread of hope.
"If you want one, you must earn it. Train harder. Survive. Until then—your sword is not a toy. It is your lifeline."
Lily lowered her gaze, thoughts racing with the image of herself training day and night until she could wield a blade like his without hesitation.
Before she could sink further into that storm of thoughts, a ripple split the air. From the shimmer stepped Freya, silver hair glinting in the dying glow of the battlefield. Her eyes were calm, but piercing, the kind that stripped away pretenses with a single look.
"Stop overthinking," Freya said softly, her voice almost musical but heavy with command. "There is a simpler path than endless training."
Lily blinked at her. "Simpler? What do you mean?"
"Rather than pushing yourself blindly," Freya said, her gaze steady, "you should update your status and change your familia."
The words made Lily frown. "Change… my familia?"
"Yes." Freya's lips curved slightly. "You could join me… or Hephaestus. With an updated status, your growth would sharpen. Then, when your reflexes are honed, when you've proven yourself, you can ask for that weapon."
For a moment, Lily's heart lifted—then sank again. She remembered her poor talent, her lack of natural gifts compared to others.
"That won't work," she muttered. "I don't have enough talent."
Freya's eyes softened, but her voice was firm. "You do. A little less than some adventurers, perhaps, but enough. Enough to walk this path."
Natasha had been listening quietly, but now her thoughts churned in disbelief. Was this woman also a god? She had assumed the muscular man earlier was Thor, and now yet another deity had appeared before her. If she counted them all, she had seen nearly six gods today. Six. The absurd thought crossed her mind: maybe she should apply to a church, become a nun. After all, what else did you call meeting six gods in a single day except a divine revelation?
Her spiraling musings were broken by Luthar's voice, steady and grounding.
"That's not a good idea," he said flatly. "To rely on external blessings will only make you dependent." He paused, catching Lily's disappointed expression. His tone shifted, less rigid, almost conciliatory. "But… if you truly feel you need it, then go. Return to Orario. Change your familia. Train. When you are stronger, come back."
The words hung in the air only a moment before they were shattered by the heavy echo of footsteps.
Thor stepped into view, two women at his side. His broad shoulders were slumped, his face shadowed by doubt. His eyes fell on Mjolnir, lying abandoned among the rubble. Once his right, now a silent rebuke. His hand twitched, but he did not reach for it. Instead, he looked at his weary companions.
I was a fool, Thor thought bitterly. I almost forgot my father's teaching. It was never about glory. It was about protecting. About shielding others, not killing for pride.
The clarity steadied him. And as his heart cleared, Mjolnir stirred.
The hammer leapt from the ground, flying into his hand with a force that shook the battlefield. Lightning surged across his body, armor reforging itself in a cascade of stormlight. His eyes burned with the fire of the tempest, his frame steady, his spirit renewed. For the first time in days, Thor smiled.
"My friends," he said, voice booming with confidence restored. "It is time. We return home."
He called Heimdall, and for a moment the storm rumbled in answerless silence. Fear clawed at his chest. But then the sky split. The Bifrost descended in radiant light, engulfing Thor and his companions. In an instant, they were gone.
Only the echo of thunder remained.
Lily exhaled, muttering under her breath, "So… I guess that means we can't blackmail his father for materials anymore."
Luthar did not look away from the fading light of the Bifrost. His voice was cold, decisive. "If we can't get our compensation," he said evenly, "then we take everything."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Good luck with your stealing. I still have a mission report to file." She turned as if to leave, but his reply stopped her in her tracks.
"Not your stealing," he corrected smoothly. "Our stealing. Unless, of course, your sister means nothing to you."
The casual weight in his tone rooted her where she stood.
Without breaking stride, he crouched beside the massive form of the fallen Destroyer. With practiced ease, he activated Pym Particles, shrinking the enchanted armor until it fit neatly into his palm. He pocketed it like a mechanic stowing away spare parts.
"Since everything is over," he said simply, "let's go to Russia."
Daisy and Jane exchanged a wide-eyed look. First talk of robbing gods, now a casual declaration about moving to Russia. And all while pocketing the remains of the Destroyer as though it were scrap.
Insane. That was the only word for it.
Neither of them dared say it aloud. Without a word, they quietly turned and walked in the opposite direction. If Heimdall was still watching, they wanted no part in what came next.
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