Everyone jerked their heads up.

A figure descended slowly from the sky.

Hermione.

Her gaze was cool and indifferent. She raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

A tiny orange-red spark danced on her fingertip.

The next instant, the flame shot free and swelled wildly in the wind.

BOOM!

The Fiendfyre erupted into a ferocious dragon, plunging into the undead army with heat that could incinerate anything it touched. Every undead warrior the flames reached had no chance to struggle, they dissolved into ash instantly.

What had been an impenetrable ring of enemies was burned wide open. The terrifying heat drove the remaining undead stumbling backward.

"Prophesied Witch!" Wanda waved with barely contained excitement.

Agatha and Tom Riddle let out audible breaths of relief and dipped their heads in salute.

"Prophesied Witch!"

"Hermione!"

"Lady Hermione!"

Smiles broke across every face.

Watching their reactions, Hela put it together.

She narrowed her eyes and looked Hermione up and down. "So she's the reason you've held out this long?"

Where everyone else showed relief, Odin's face was shadowed with worry.

"Lady Hermione, please be careful."

His voice was thin. "Hela has corrupted most of Asgard's origin power. Her strength already far surpasses mine."

He paused, his tone heavy. "If the situation turns hopeless, take Frigga, Thor, and Loki and leave first."

Odin wasn't saying this without reason.

When they had sparred in the arena, Hermione had won, but only through clever manipulation of the rules. Her raw power was still inferior to his. In a genuine fight to the death, she was most likely no match for Hela.

Even if Hermione had made preparations back on Earth, Hela's current strength was already approaching his own at his prime.

Going head-to-head meant certain death.

All Odin hoped now was that Hermione's seemingly endless arsenal of magic could buy time, hold Hela for even a few moments so he could catch his breath, drag things out long enough for Hermione to escape with what remained of Asgard's embers.

"Escape?"

Hermione turned around and met Odin's eyes directly.

"That word isn't in my vocabulary."

"Besides, even if we left now, Earth would still be one of Hela's targets."

Her tone stayed even. "You can run for a while. You can't run forever. Killing her here is the only real answer."

She seemed to think of something, and added:

"One question — if I kill your daughter, you're not going to give me trouble for it, are you?"

Odin blinked. Then he smiled, tired and wry.

Even now, this girl could still crack a joke.

He genuinely had to admire that kind of optimism.

"If you can actually do it, go right ahead."

Speechless as he was, he answered honestly:

"Hela has lost herself. If she isn't stopped, she will destroy Asgard. She will destroy the Nine Realms."

"Everyone dies."

Hermione nodded and turned to face Hela.

"Good. That's all I needed to hear."

Hermione's complete disregard sent a surge of fury through Hela. The killing intent in her eyes turned murderous.

Colossal Necroswords materialized out of thin air, several of them, each stretching over ten meters, the divine power of death coiling around every blade like black smoke, filling the air with a low, resonant hum.

"A mere Midgardian sorcerer dares to speak so brazenly before the God-King!"

The black swords fired before her voice had fully faded.

At that moment, Hela remembered exactly who the witch in front of her was.

Since breaking free of her seal, she hadn't been entirely cut off from outside intelligence. One detail had stuck with her: this witch had supposedly wiped out the Frost Giants of Jotunheim a few years back.

Hela's lip curled.

She'd since gotten the truth from Asgardian traitors. The girl had simply borrowed the Bifrost's destructive beam. Frost Giants were nothing, she could wipe them out just as easily. A kill accomplished with someone else's weapon had no real merit behind it.

The black swords tore through the air. Hermione didn't move.

She didn't dodge. She didn't flinch.

A deep, rich purple light blazed to life across her body.

Level eight strength enhancement. Super Shield Charm. Repulsion field stacked on top.

Armament Haki, fully unleashed.

The invisible defense reached a degree that shouldn't have been possible.

The colossal blades arrived in an instant and crashed into her.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Like steel meeting an invisible iron wall, sparks erupted in every direction.

Every single blade stopped dead fractions of a centimeter from her skin. Not one moved another millimeter. The roiling death-power coating the blades churned and thrashed against the barrier and got absolutely nowhere.

Then the recoil hit.

All of the Necroswords shattered at once. Their fragments dissolved into black smoke and vanished.

The cold smile on Hela's face went rigid.

That was impossible.

She knew exactly what the Necroswords were capable of. They were her exclusive divine artifact — as singular as Mjolnir, as absolute as Gungnir, and the physical manifestation of Helheim's death energy. They could shatter Odin's royal battle armor.

A mortal body had just taken the full impact without a scratch?

Odin couldn't find words.

He knew Hermione's capabilities better than almost anyone. He remembered clearly: not long ago in the sparring arena, she had needed every trick at her disposal just to barely deflect his Gungnir. She'd had to push herself to the absolute limit.

She had been back on Earth for a handful of hours.

And now she was taking a clean hit from Hela's divine weapon without effort.

Was Midgard actually that extraordinary? A planet crawling with fragile mortals, what on earth existed there that could accelerate someone's strength this drastically?

A terrifying Sorcerer Supreme centuries ago was one thing. Now there was a witch with no apparent ceiling.

"My turn."

Hermione raised her right hand. Two spheres of orange-red flame ignited in midair.

They tore free from her grasp and became a pair of snarling Fiendfyre dragons, surging toward Hela. The blistering heat warped the air around them.

Hela snapped out of it with a cold snort.

She closed both hands. Two slender Necroswords formed in her grip.

She blurred forward to meet the dragons head-on.

Steel flashed in a cross.

The intersecting black sword-arcs sheared both Fiendfyre dragons apart in an instant. The death energy swallowed the magic sustaining them whole. Without that power to hold them together, the flames collapsed mid-air and scattered.

"That's it?"

Hela's tone dripped contempt. "Solid defense. But your attacks are nothing to speak of."

"You were talking such a big game — I thought you might actually be worth something."

Hermione didn't bother with a response. She simply turned her head toward Odin.

"Your Majesty, lend me your weapon."

Odin paused for only a second. Then his hand came up without hesitation.

Gungnir left his grip in a flash of gold and streaked through the air toward Hermione.

She reached out and closed her hand around the shaft.

The moment her fingers touched it, the magic grimoire analyzed it automatically.

[Curio]

[Divine Artifact: Spear of Eternity · Gungnir]

[Exclusive weapon of Asgard's All-Father Odin. Possesses extreme penetrative force and space-locking capability. Can be augmented and split using Aesir divine power, and imbued with lightning.]

➤ Next: Melee Witch

Chapter 390 - Melee Witch

Hermione weighed the spear in her hand.

She had no divine power. She couldn't pull off Odin's bag of tricks, couldn't channel lightning into the shaft.

But that was fine.

Under an eighth-tier Ancient Magic [Strength] boost, she only needed to do one thing.

Throw it really, really hard.

She tightened her grip, leaned back, right arm coiling with tension as every drop of magic in her body flooded into that one arm.

Purple light rippled along the shaft. Gungnir rang out, clear and sharp.

"Go!"

She hurled it.

BOOM!

A sonic crack split the air.

Gungnir became a streak of gold, tearing through space, straight for Hela's face. Black fissures spiderwebbed open in its wake.

It was too fast to track, let alone dodge.

Hela barely had time to yank the Necrosword up on instinct.

BOOM!

A thunderous impact.

No stalemate. No grinding war of attrition.

Just absolute, crushing force.

Hela grunted as the shockwave blew straight through the blade and into her body. She flew backward, punching through one building, then another, churning up a wall of dust and debris before finally skidding to a halt several kilometers away.

She rose from the rubble. Lifted her head.

Stared at Hermione.

The shock on her face was impossible to disguise.

This was what a mage's strength was supposed to look like?

No divine power. Pure physical force. And it had sent her flying that far.

She didn't look like a mage. She looked like a battle-mage wearing a mage's skin.

"What kind of monster are you?"

Hermione didn't answer. She raised her hand.

Gungnir reversed course on its own and dropped back into her grip.

Hela's expression went cold.

She had underestimated this Midgard witch.

"Good." Her voice dropped low. "Very good."

As if the blow had flipped a switch, the death-force inside Hela surged, and the netherfire around her churned into a frenzy.

"Then let me show you the true power of the Goddess of Death!"

She exploded forward, a black streak, trailing long afterimages as she closed the distance.

Hermione moved to meet her.

They collided in midair.

BOOM!

The shockwave rolled outward in every direction.

What followed was a blur, high-speed offense and defense neither eye could fully track. Orange-red Fiendfyre and green netherfire crashed and tangled together. Magic and divine power hammered against each other in relentless exchange. The clang of Gungnir against the Necrosword rang out without pause, each impact detonating a visible ring of force.

Below them, the earth split apart. The remaining structures crumbled to dust in the shockwaves' wake. Space itself couldn't hold under this level of punishment, fine cracks webbed across it like broken glass.

This was a fight no normal person could enter.

Under Loki's lead, the Witch Cult and the Asgardians fell back fast, pulling to a safe distance.

"Holy—"

Wanda stared up, wide-eyed, practically vibrating with envy. "Is this what it looks like when real powerhouses fight?"

Loki watched with bright eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched. He thought back to the day Hermione had mocked him for being a melee mage, which was exactly why he'd spent years grinding magic with his mother, suffering through endless practice just to shake off that humiliation. He'd finally gotten somewhere with it.

And then there was today.

The God of Mischief really wanted to swear.

Thor stood with Mjolnir in hand, his single eye fixed on the sky, jaw tight.

The lightning he'd always been so proud of looked almost quaint next to this.

---

In the middle of it all, Hermione drove Hela back with a single thrust and bought herself a second.

She had caught something odd during the exchange.

The soldiers, undead warriors and Asgardians alike, who had died in the crossfire: any soul that drifted toward Hela was pulled in. Not shattered into raw soul energy and absorbed, but refined by the netherfire wreathing her body, then drawn down into the nether soil below.

The earth churned. Fresh undead warriors clawed their way up and rejoined the battle.

They weren't a threat to Hermione. That wasn't the issue.

The issue was the mechanism.

Why was everyone stealing souls from her?

Hela having strong dominion over Helheim's souls, fine, she could accept that. But harvesting souls from outside the realm entirely, souls that had nothing to do with her domain?

And it didn't even look intentional. It looked less like Hela was reaching out and more like the souls were being pulled by gravity, some invisible law dragging them back toward her.

By what right?

Celestials harvesting souls, that she could accept. They predated the universe itself, predated the Infinity Stones, the oldest and strongest things in existence.

But Hela?

Hela was a Goddess of Death within the Nine Realms. That was it. Her authority should be contained within Helheim.

She wasn't a Celestial. She wasn't one of the five true cosmic entities. She had no business contesting the Dark Harvest over minion kills.

Something was wrong here.

She filed it away. No time to dig into it now.

BOOM!

Another head-on exchange. Hermione held her position in midair, Gungnir leveled, purple light coiling around her.

Hela's expression had gone unreadable.

She couldn't get through.

She'd already drawn on Helheim's power, stacked it with the bulk of Asgard's origin energy she'd plundered, more raw force than Odin commanded today. By any measure, she was stronger.

And yet.

The Necrosword couldn't scratch Hermione. Not a mark. The girl's defense was grotesque, and every counterattack hit like a freight train.

Worst of all, after more than a hundred rounds, her opponent wasn't even breathing hard.

2 of them hammering away at each other like a pair of blacksmiths, zero damage to show for it, both mana bars apparently bottomless.

This could go on forever.

Hela broke away.

She let a smile settle onto her face, smooth, practiced, utterly false.

"Your Excellency Cabbage Witch." She inclined her head slightly. "I confess I underestimated you. Power like that deserves better than whatever leash you've put yourself on."

Hela tilted her head, affecting the look of one warrior recognizing another.

"Someone with your strength has no business serving beneath anyone."

"So. I have a proposal. You and I split Asgard down the middle — each ruling our half. And I give you my word: Midgard stays untouched. The rest of the Nine Realms will be enough for me." A pause. "What do you say?"

Hermione's face went flat.

Cabbage Witch.

Cabbage Witch, again.

Thor and the others exchanged glances.

They knew. Everyone knew. That name was the one guaranteed way to make Hermione's eye twitch. Everyone who'd ever used it had either gotten put down or beaten half to death.

Hermione's mouth twitched. She pressed down the urge to drive Gungnir through Hela several thousand times and kept her face perfectly still.

Inside, she was already laughing.

She knew exactly what Hela was doing.

Buy time. Keep talking. Let the origin energy keep flowing in quietly on the side. Once Hela had absorbed enough to fully reclaim Asgard, she'd have surpassed even Odin at his peak. Home-field advantage on top of that. Then she'd smile, flip the table, and come after Hermione from a position of actual dominance.

Transparent.

Even so, Hermione drew a slow breath, let her expression thaw, and put on the look of someone genuinely considering the offer.

"Well. It's not like we can't talk."

The reaction below was immediate. Every Asgardian face shifted.

They hadn't expected this. They'd assumed Hermione would never actually sit down with Hela.

"Hermione, don't!" Thor bellowed.

Odin said nothing, but his eye tightened.

If Hermione compromised, it was over. Asgard was finished. And yet she'd thrown everything she had at Hela with Gungnir and couldn't close it out. Maybe this was the only play left. Assuming Hela would actually honor any agreement.

Worry. Dread. The crowd churned with both.

Only Loki frowned, and said nothing.

He'd run too many cons alongside Hermione to be fooled. She wasn't someone who compromised, not on principle, and certainly not right after being called her most hated nickname. She would've already been moving toward violence, not away from it.

And that smile.

He'd seen it enough times to know exactly what it meant.

Every time Hermione was about to run a proper con, right before she walked away with everything including the mark's dignity, she wore that exact smile.

Hela's eyes lit up.

Good. She'd bought herself the window she needed.

The earlier exchange had told her what she needed to know: Hermione was near her ceiling. If the girl had held anything back, she'd have used it already. There was no reason to drag this out otherwise.

Which meant once Hela finished absorbing Odin's Allfather power and locked down Asgard's origin completely, Hermione was done. No question.

Hermione's voice was all business.

"That said — splitting a realm takes proper terms. Borders, resource allocation, the vault. Who gets Asgard's vault?"

Hela's smile brightened. Her tone turned almost gracious.

"Your Excellency Cabbage Witch raises a valid point."

"Cooperation requires clear terms. I suggest we use the Golden Palace as the boundary — the eastern half to me, the western half to you. Does that work?"

Hermione appeared to consider it. She nodded.

"Sounds reasonable. Now, the vault. It's famous across the Nine Realms. Divine weapons, rare artifacts, there's no shortage of either. How does that get divided?"

Hela waved a generous hand.

"Your Excellency may have first pick. Whatever remains goes to me."

And so the 2 of them stood there in front of both armies and talked absolute nonsense.

They covered the distribution of Asgard's resources. Moved on to territorial influence across the Nine Realms. Drifted from the customs of Midgard and Asgard to the broader balance of power across the cosmos.

"Once I reclaim the Nine Realms, the next move is the wider universe!"

Hela had grown genuinely animated.

Thousands of years of isolation, and here was someone actually worth talking to. She couldn't keep it bottled up.

"The Kree Empire. The Skrull Empire. Xandar. These so-called cosmic powers are insects."

Hermione nodded, expression grave and attentive.

They kept going, what to eat for lunch, life philosophy, the usual.

Hela smiled to herself.

Too young. Still too young. A few polite uses of that title and the girl thought she'd actually rattled her. When the time came, she'd make sure Hermione learned exactly what netherfire felt like from the inside.

...Actually.

Why was she called the Cabbage Witch, anyway?

➤ Next: Passing the Blame