"Are you sure this is actually going to work?"
On Sakaar, Hela lounged on the rooftop of a house Grandmaster had assigned her, sipping the planet's signature wine. The breeze caressed her face, soft and warm, as she tilted her head at a forty-five-degree angle to gaze at the stars scattered across the sky. The night was stunning.
Too bad Lothar couldn't read the room.
He'd barged in without so much as a knock, flying straight up to the roof to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with her, flipping through a photobook—of all things, a risqué one featuring Ego.
"Disgusting."
Hela shot him a sidelong glance and then poured herself another drink. She didn't want to see this mood-killer of a man tonight.
"?"
Lothar frowned and landed directly in front of her, about to speak when she cut him off.
"Ego will come. He's probably fuming and on his way right now."
As she spoke, Hela subtly increased the distance between them.
He was too close... close enough for her to smell the artificial scent of nutrient serum clinging to him.
"Unless he truly doesn't care about his reputation. But considering how he never shuts up about behaving 'as a god should,' do you really think he won't care?"
From Hela's perspective, releasing such a scandalous photobook featuring Ego, especially while Lothar held the original footage, wasn't even a moral dilemma.
Having Woz pull the backup files from the databanks and print stills from Ego's video was practically effortless.
Some might call it low. Hela? She didn't lose a wink of sleep over it.
War was a filthy game, and everyone who played it was a filthy player.
Raised beside Odin and baptized by the blood of countless wars ever since her Death Divinity awakened, Hela saw nothing wrong with playing dirty.
If you valued your reputation, she'd destroy it. If you needed to flush out a hiding Ego, then this tactic was hands down the most effective.
Had she possessed a similar video of Laufey? She'd go even further, far enough to make his brain hemorrhage on the spot.
"My mother once told me, public opinion and ideology are some of the sharpest weapons in existence."
"Especially when you hold irrefutable evidence."
"If Ego doesn't want to go down in history as the first god who stands for 'freedom' in the worst way possible, he'll show up on Sakaar to stop Volume Two from getting released."
She cast Lothar a glance, smug with intellectual superiority.
So what if he could fight? When it came to strategy, he was still beneath her.
"So that day when you pulled out the mini-camcorder, you were trying to catch me in an embarrassing moment while my divine powers were awakening?"
Hela's hand trembled, spilling half her drink.
Lothar snorted, plopped down beside her, and used the photobook as a cushion—planting his butt squarely on Ego's printed face.
"Yeah, that was the idea. But unfortunately, you didn't give me the chance."
Busted, Hela admitted it without hesitation. Her expression even showed a trace of regret.
"You spellcasters are all the same. Shady as hell." Lothar scoffed, reminded of Ebony Maw, another scheming sorcerer close to his adoptive father, Thanos.
"I was taught from an early age: it's not shady. It's necessary for victory in war."
"You Black Quadrant folks have seen enough wars. Don't tell me you still don't get it?"
Hela returned the disdain in kind.
"Our wars don't drag on endlessly like yours do."
Lothar casually reached in front of her and snatched a bottle of liquor, popped the cap with one finger, and drank.
Smacked his lips. "Kinda sweet."
"Then get lost if you're not going to drink it properly!"
Hela, beyond fed up, kicked at him.
This man had the nerve to storm into her place, interrogate her like it was his own backyard, then act like nothing happened and help himself to her booze.
So what if he could fight?
Push her hard enough and she'd swap Ego's face in the video, broadcast the damn thing across the galaxy!
Lothar didn't even flinch. He casually swatted her weak, flailing kick aside like it was a mosquito.
Hela stumbled, nearly tumbling off the roof.
"You're too weak. Not even close to being my match," Lothar said, his contempt drilling right into Hela's already fragile pride.
"I admit I can't beat you right now. But if you've got the guts, suppress your power to match mine. Fight me fair and square!"
"Let's see who teaches who a lesson!"
At this point, Hela had abandoned all decorum. There was no peace of mind without a good fight. If she didn't throw down now, she'd die of frustration.
"Even at equal strength, you still wouldn't stand a chance." Lothar finished the drink, stood up, and turned to leave.
He was only here to confirm whether her plan was working. Five days had passed and Ego hadn't shown up.
"You scared?"
Lothar paused mid-step. His loose, black battle uniform fluttered in the breeze.
"You've already lost to me twice."
Once on the Bloody Plains. Another on Svartalfheim.
"You sure you want a third?"
Under the moonlight, Lothar's tail swayed lazily. He held one hand behind his back, extended the other palm-up, and flashed an arrogant, defiant smirk.
"Shut it! This time, I'm not losing!"
Hair tied back, ready for battle, Hela summoned twin longswords, leapt from the eaves, and charged.
Only to be kicked straight into the neighboring wall.
"Pathetic."
Retracting his leg, Lothar's golden hair flowed in the night breeze. His emerald eyes radiated disdain.
"Again!"
A jet-black blade shot from the now-demolished house, but Lothar moved like a phantom, his left hand clamped around Hela's throat, slamming her down hard.
Boom!
The ground cracked beneath her. The surrounding homes crumbled into ruin as the two of them, inexplicably more energized by the second, continued their brawl.
Jennifer and Zora, two of their kind chatting inside, heard the chaos, exchanged a look, and rushed outside.
What greeted them?
Two figures locked in a vicious clash.
Lothar and Hela.
More accurately: Lothar utterly dominating Hela.
"Your left hand's weak. Your parries are sloppy. Your stance lacks balance…"
"Even with equal power, you're nowhere near my level."
"I told you back on Jotunheim, didn't I?"
Under the moonlight, the man pinned the woman beneath his boot. He leaned down, bracing his right elbow on his thigh, raised two fingers in front of her face, and sneered:
"To beat me, you'll need another twenty thousand years."
Breath ragged, Hela pounded the ground in fury. But there was nothing she could say. She had no strength left to argue.
New Goal Added: One day, when she's ascended and unrivaled, she'll make damn sure Lothar is the one under her foot!
Clutching her chest, Hela seethed, teeth grinding.
Not far off, The Other stood munching on fruit, staff in hand, while Woz, chugging Sakaarian oil like fine wine, chatted beside him.
They weren't even surprised anymore.
These two brawled every single time they met.
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