Chapter 118: Mother of Darkness

Accompanied by an ancient chant, a secret door swung open before Malekith. This vault, sealed in dust for over a million years, was finally welcoming back its master once again.

"Let us go. The hour of vengeance is at hand, and this time, I shall make those Asgardians taste the bitterness of utter extinction." A flash of crimson crossed Malekith’s eyes. Those accompanying him now were his most loyal subordinates, as well as his chosen candidates for the Cursed Warriors.

The so-called Cursed Warriors were originally a method of cultivation explored by the Dark Elves during their research into the Aether stone. However, because the Dark Elves' journey of exploration was abruptly cut short by Asgard, this technique unique to them was left in a mere embryonic stage—a crude and violent process of infusing the power of the Aether directly into a living mortal. Those fortunate might harness power far surpassing ordinary beings, but the vast majority would simply be reduced to ashes.

To the Dark Elves, the Reality Stone was much like the Mind Stone to the Protoss race; it possessed inherently supreme potential and innate talent. Thus, employing such a method was no different than killing the goose that laid the golden eggs.

Moreover, the Cursed Warriors catalyzed through this crude method could only reach at most the tenth tier of the mortal realm (the tenth tier of psionic power). From a long-term perspective, cultivating Cursed Warriors in this manner was far more detrimental than beneficial.

Yet for Malekith as he was now, he neither possessed the luxury of time for gradual development, nor would the Dark Elves, their minds long since corrupted by the Evil God, bother to study the orthodox path of cultivation.

After all, once the Dark Elves were given free rein to research, there was a chance their race might slip beyond the Evil God's control. Therefore, the Evil God enthusiastically supported their self-destructive actions.

Naturally, Malekith remained unaware of this latter point. He knew only that Asgard was to blame for everything. Had it not been for Asgard, the Dark Elves' grand plan might already have succeeded—plunging the entire universe into ultimate darkness.

Malekith led his subordinates into the secret chamber, the heavy door sealing shut immediately behind them. The chamber was not particularly spacious, consisting merely of a raised platform in the center surrounded by bookshelves.

Malekith ascended the platform. This had once been his secret base, later repurposed to store excessively vital records. "Let us pray to the Great Dark Mother, that her power may manifest within you. Praise be to you, O Great Dark God, praise be to you, O Merciful Mother of All Things, praise be to you, the Black Goat of the Woods that bore a thousand young—Shub-Niggurath!"

As Malekith’s prayer echoed, an ancient mechanism upon the platform clicked into motion. A simple metal box rose slowly from the floor. Malekith opened it to reveal several test tubes filled with blood-red particles.

"Step forward, my warriors. You shall be granted the mightiest power in this world." Malekith summoned a Dark Elf, injecting the blood-red particles into the warrior's body. Amidst the miserable shrieks of the Dark Elf, his physique began to distort, swelling like a balloon before bursting apart a moment later.

"It seems your faith was not devout enough. May your repentance find solace in the Lord's kingdom." Malekith gazed expressionlessly at the warrior reduced to floating ash. This outcome had long been anticipated; after all, forcefully elevating an ordinary mortal straight from the zeroth tier to the tenth was a terrifyingly destructive force—especially considering that Thor himself was currently only at the ninth tier.

Coldly, Malekith summoned the next warrior. Only ten such warriors remained to him now, and he held precisely ten doses of the serum left, so he had no fear of running short. It was merely a pity that the failed doses could not be reclaimed.

As the final warrior received the injection, this cruel journey of ascension finally drew to its close. In the end, only three successfully passed the trial to become Cursed Warriors, though their strength fell somewhat short of Malekith's anticipated limit.

This was likely due to the extreme age of the stored serum. Although the Dark Elves possessed stasis-chamber technology akin to that of others, it fell short of the absolute time-stopping marvels achieved by the Protoss Empire, making minor degradations in the serum entirely normal.

"Splendid. You three are the most devout believers. With your assistance, we shall undoubtedly achieve our goal and exact vengeance upon Asgard." Malekith looked down at the three kneeling figures, a trace of satisfaction in his eyes. Combined with the Cursed Warriors who had awakened alongside him, Malekith now commanded two ninth-tier and two eighth-tier Cursed Warriors—combat prowess more than sufficient to flatten an Asgard devoid of Odin.

Yet at the thought of Odin, a flicker of caution crossed Malekith's mind. Although Odin was currently incapacitated due to the Odinsleep and unable to wield his full power, a twelfth-tier entity was still beyond Malekith's individual capability to confront. Someone would have to divert Odin.

Fortunately, with the aid of the Divine Emissary, he had successfully located a candidate capable of holding Odin in check. That candidate had long since become a devotee of the Mother Goddess, ensuring that Malekith's revenge would surely be realized.

Yet that entity was also an Asgardian, and moreover dared to style herself the Goddess of Death—an outright sacrilege against the Mother of All Things. Malekith thought to himself with quiet disdain: *Hela, the Goddess of Death, heh, how utterly ridiculous. What a pity my power is not yet sufficient to rival hers, else I would teach her that the majesty of a goddess brooks no blasphemy.*

In Malekith's view, Hela's self-proclamation as the Goddess of Death was an arrogant attempt to place herself on equal footing with the Mother of All Things, a staggering display of boundless ignorance.

...

"The Goddess of Death?!"

Athanis bolted upright from his seat, displaying a loss of composure for the very first time since his arrival in Asgard. "Your Majesty the Queen mother, this is no jest? You mean to say that Hela styles herself the Goddess of Death?!"

Having concluded matters with the warriors and returned once more to the library, Frigga was well aware of Athanis's mindset. Even so, she quickly offered words of reassurance. "Envoy, please be at ease. Hela has no connection to the true Goddess of Death, yet it is indeed true that she calls herself by that title."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I lost my composure." Athanis instantly recognized his lapse in etiquette, apologizing to Frigga before sitting back down to quietly sip a cup of water and steady his nerves.

The Goddess of Death was one of the primordial creator deities, forever shrouded in profound mystery. Even her favored race, the Watchers, had never once heeded an oracle from the Goddess of Death. Yet for Hela to brazenly claim the title of the Goddess of Death struck Athanis as deeply wrong.

"Your Majesty, is it possible that Hela is ignorant of the true Goddess of Death?" Athanis furrowed his brow. To his knowledge, Asgard's historical records regarding the creator deities were reasonably comprehensive, and as Odin's eldest daughter, Hela could hardly have been unaware of this.

Frigga offered a wry, helpless smile and shook her head. "How could she not know? But toward the end of the war, Hela seemed like an entirely different person. No matter how my husband attempted to dissuade her, she remained utterly stubborn in her resolve."