New SuperLady In Marvel

The clash of war resounded across all of Asgard.

Lightning raged.

Frost devoured.

The sky wept blood and ice.

The battlefield had turned into a hellscape.

In mere minutes, countless Asgardian warriors had fallen, their proud banners trampled into the mud.

The corpses of the dead — human and giant alike — littered the sacred grounds.

But no one stopped to mourn.

Not now.

Both sides fought with wild, blinding rage, driven only by survival and hatred.

"Damn it... the situation's getting worse," Loki muttered, blasting a Frost Giant backward with a strike from the Eternal Spear.

His long, black hair whipped wildly in the chaos, his green eyes sharp but increasingly grim.

Loki could feel it.

The noose tightening.

They were losing.

It was his own fault.

He had opened Bifrost, allowing the Giants of Jotunheim to pour through.

He had overridden Asgard's defense systems in his bid to seize the throne.

Now, even though he regretted it, it was too late.

The heart of Asgard had already been breached.

Their greatest weapons — Thor and Loki themselves — were exhausted and wounded from their earlier battle.

They were in no shape to fend off an army.

Loki clenched his jaw tightly.

"If we fail, Frigga... Mother..."

He couldn't even finish the thought.

He would not allow Laufey's army to desecrate his mother.

He would rather burn Asgard down himself.

Thor stumbled, coughing blood, after being slammed into the ground by Laufey's frost trident.

The impact shattered the stone beneath him.

Yet even wounded, Thor refused to stay down.

He gripped Mjolnir tighter, pushing himself to his feet.

But then—

An overwhelming sense of danger prickled across his skin.

Thor's instincts, honed by endless battles, screamed at him.

He looked up sharply—

And saw it.

Laufey.

The King of Jotunheim.

Holding aloft the Casket of Ancient Winters.

The artifact unleashed a chilling, malevolent blue light.

A cold so absolute it could freeze time itself.

The ground cracked, splintered, and froze at Laufey's feet.

The very air shimmered with deadly frost.

And Laufey —

Laufey wasn't aiming at Thor.

He wasn't even aiming at the warriors.

He was aiming...

At the palace.

At Odin.

At Frigga.

At the heart of Asgard itself.

Thor's face twisted in horror.

"No!"

Loki, realizing the same, spun around.

His blood ran cold.

"NO!"

But Laufey had already unleashed it.

BOOM—!

A catastrophic torrent of polar frost exploded from the Casket.

It roared toward Asgard's palace like a tidal wave of death.

The river of ice tore through the battlefield, freezing everything it touched.

It would consume the palace — consume Odin — consume Frigga —

And nothing could stop it.

Time seemed to slow.

The warriors of Asgard shouted in despair.

The Frost Giants roared in triumph.

Thor and Loki strained desperately to rise, but the sheer force of the unleashed magic pinned them to the ground like insects under a storm.

"Father!"

"Mother!"

Thor and Loki cried out together, rage and helplessness choking their voices.

It was too late.

The icy wave was unstoppable.

The golden spires of Asgard would fall, and their civilization with it.

Until—

the heavens cracked open.

A black figure plummeted from the sky, trailing a tail of molten gold.

The air around it howled and shrieked under the pressure.

Like a falling star, it slammed into the earth between the frost wave and the palace.

The shockwave from the impact blasted Giants and Asgardians alike off their feet.

The ground split and churned.

The river exploded into towering plumes of mist.

Then came the golden light.

It burst outward with devastating force.

A brilliant, scorching energy collided violently with the freezing power of the Casket.

BOOM!

The two opposite forces — heat and frost — collided in a cataclysmic explosion.

The earth heaved.

The rivers of Asgard exploded into the air.

The sky itself split with sound and fury.

The mighty palace shook on its foundations.

Thor and Loki, battered by the storm of power, could only shield their faces and cling to the earth.

Their cloaks snapped like banners caught in a hurricane.

They couldn't see.

Couldn't breathe.

They could only pray.

The warriors across the battlefield staggered and fell, covering their heads with shields and arms.

The Frost Giants roared in confusion and fear.

The Bifrost gates themselves shimmered violently.

It seemed like the end of the world.

And then, slowly —

The winds calmed.

The roar faded.

The burning gold and icy blue mists began to clear.

Thor and Loki struggled to their feet.

Their hearts hammered with fear and hope.

They turned trembling eyes toward the palace.

And there —

standing atop the scorched and frozen earth —

was a solitary figure.

Short white belts tied around shorts.

Black high boots covering long legs.

Thin black underclothes layered beneath gleaming black leather armor.

Golden-blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, whipping in the soft winds.

At the top of the great stairs of Asgard.

Like a lone sentinel.

The young woman turned slightly.

Her sharp green eyes, like polished emeralds, caught the light.

In them was strength.

In them was defiance.

In them was victory.

She was like a battle goddess descended to the mortal world.

Elegant.

Wild.

Unstoppable.

The devastation around her only made her brilliance even more overwhelming.

The frozen thorns of ice cracked and melted near her presence.

The shattered ground burned with embers.

And yet she stood untouched — unshaken — as if she commanded the very elements themselves.

Thor's heart thudded heavily.

Loki, for once, was speechless.

The four warriors of Sif saw her too.

Awe broke across their bloodied faces.

Without thinking, they cried out together:

"The Son of Midgard!"

The warriors around them picked up the cry.

"The Son of Midgard!"

"The Goddess of Judgment!"

It echoed across the battlefield.

A new hope.

A new legend.

Bella stood there quietly, not basking in the cheers.

Her gaze swept the battlefield —

at the broken Frost Giants,

at the battered Asgardians,

at Thor and Loki.

She exhaled slowly.

And then, very softly, her fingers curled into fists.

This wasn't over.

Not yet.

Not until the throne of Asgard was safe.

Not until the traitors were defeated.

Not until the gods themselves understood —

That the Son of Midgard had come.

And she would judge them all.55