The tip of the Twilight Sword flared with searing fire, blazing like a miniature sun. A column of flame burst forth, surging straight at Rowan.

Rowan had been on guard from the start. With a flick of his mind, he brought the Heaven-Piercing Shuttle before him as a shield.

A deafening boom shook the air.

The raging inferno struck the shuttle, scattering sparks in every direction until Rowan was engulfed in a blazing sphere of light. The heat was so intense that the very air warped and twisted.

Yet Rowan felt no pain.

The dual protection of the Black God Set and his vibranium battle suit absorbed the heat completely.

He studied the flames with a flash of delight in his eyes.

“This temperature… at least five thousand degrees. Nearly the surface heat of the sun itself. As expected of Surtur there’s real power here.”

Such fire was beyond what a mere planetary-level warrior could control. In his prime, Surtur would have ranked among the strongest even at the stellar level.

Across from him, Surtur roared in disbelief. He had poured what remained of his dwindling essence into the Twilight Sword, and yet the strange shuttle-shaped shield did not melt. It didn’t even glow.

A chill of dread crept into his molten heart.

That shield had to be a divine weapon. Nothing else could withstand the source fire of the Twilight Sword.

“What in the Nine Realms is this Midgardian?” he thought, shaken.

Rowan pressed forward, mind power surging, forcing Surtur back step by step. Sparks hissed and crackled as they danced off the shuttle’s protective glow.

At last, the fire giant faltered. The flames of the Twilight Sword sputtered and died out. His breath came ragged, shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

With a metallic thud, he dropped the blade.

The Twilight Sword struck the ground, its ringing echo heavy as fate itself.

Rowan paused mid-attack, watching as Surtur slowly raised his withered arms in surrender.

“Midgardian,” he rasped, “I yield. Take it.”

Rowan descended lightly, calling the shuttle back beneath his feet. He regarded the fire giant with a faint frown.

“And?” His voice was sharp, unyielding.

Surtur exhaled through his molten nose, then crouched. His clawed hand dug deep into the volcanic stone. Cracks spider-webbed outward, glowing red as molten light bled from below.

The fiery essence gathered like streams of lava, weaving together into intricate glowing patterns that converged in his palm.

Minutes crawled by. At last, the radiance dimmed, leaving behind a jagged crimson gem that pulsed with molten orange light.

Surtur straightened, but his form was hunched, weakened whether from losing his sword’s support or from the toll of forging the stone, Rowan could not tell. Wordlessly, the fire giant tossed the gem forward.

Rowan caught it in his palm. Even through his suit, the heat seared against him until the vibranium absorbed it. The gem’s surface was hotter than steel fresh from the forge.

With a thought, Rowan summoned the Twilight Sword into his other hand.

“How do I use this?” he asked.

Surtur collapsed back onto his throne, leaning heavily against its molten armrest. His voice was low, rasping, almost resigned.

“If your blood carries the element of fire, cut yourself. The Flame Stone will fuse into you. Once absorbed, you will command the Twilight Sword as if it were your own.”

Rowan frowned.

“And if I don’t have fire in my bloodline?”

“You do.” Surtur’s ember-eyes flicked toward him.

“Oh?” Rowan’s brow arched, amusement flickering.

So his affinity was fire? Did the fire giant truly have the power to sense it?

“I can smell it,” Surtur said flatly. “The flame within you. It’s faint, but it is there.”

Rowan looked down at the blazing gem in his palm. “So my law is fire, then?”

He had speculated before about what affinity he might awaken once he broke through to the planetary level. The eight lower laws metal, wood, water, fire, earth, wind, lightning, and light each had their strengths. He had favored lightning, because lightning was as dazzling as it was deadly.

Still, fire was hardly a poor result.

Its higher law was space, and Rowan already held the Space Stone. Fire could be a stepping stone toward something far greater.

He allowed himself a faint smile. This detour into Muspelheim had not been in vain. Not only had he extorted treasures from Surtur, he had uncovered a piece of his own destiny.

“If I truly am fire-aligned,” he mused, eyes narrowing on the gem, “then perhaps this Flame Stone could push me through the bottleneck. Perhaps it could carry me to the planetary realm.”

The thought filled him with quiet anticipation.

Satisfied with the Flame Stone and Twilight Sword, Rowan no longer cared to torment Surtur. After wringing out a few more answers, he turned and left the subterranean throne room.

When he emerged at the surface, his serpent companion was still coiled over the fire dragon’s carcass, devouring it with relish. Rowan vaulted onto its back.

“Let’s go.”

The serpent hissed, unfurled its wings, and took to the skies.

For a moment, Rowan felt as though he had passed through a film of water. Then the oppressive red of Muspelheim’s lava plains dissolved, replaced by the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

Blue sky stretched above, endless waves below. The shift was dizzying.

“The Convergence has already begun,” Rowan muttered, narrowing his eyes. “That means Malekith, the dark elf, should be in Greenwich by now.”

He had no link to Asgard and couldn’t know the exact stage of events, but the signs were clear. The Nine Realms were aligning. The final battle was near.

“Malekith with the Aether… his power is overwhelming. In the film, Thor only won because Malekith obsessed over plunging the universe into darkness instead of fighting with full focus. If he fought seriously from the start…”

Rowan considered his options carefully.

The safest path was to observe. Either let Thor and his mortal allies handle Malekith, or wait until the dark elf spread his power thin across all Nine Realms, then strike with precision.

If he intervened too early, Malekith might sense the threat, abandon his cosmic plan, and turn his full strength on the battlefield. That would be disastrous. A Malekith wielding the Aether at his full might was no weaker than a high-tier planetary warrior. Neither Rowan nor Thor could stand against that.

“Best to watch from the sidelines,” Rowan decided. “And if it all goes wrong, I can always retreat into the Swallowed Star world.”

The double-world ring on his finger glinted. Escape was always an option.

With his plan settled, he guided the serpent toward London.

By the time he reached Greenwich, chaos reigned.

A massive black warship, dagger-shaped and menacing, loomed above the plaza. All around, civilians fled in panic.

Thor clashed with Malekith, their battle tearing through unstable rifts. They tumbled across worlds, each strike dragging them through portals into strange landscapes before hurling them back into London.

Creatures from the Nine Realms spilled through the breaches. Monsters stumbled onto Earth, confused and enraged.

Rowan arrived just as the skies split wide. Eight enormous mirrors hung above Greenwich, each one a window into another realm.

Through one, he glimpsed the volcanic plains of Muspelheim, still belching smoke and fire.

Then a surge of darkness rippled through the air.

From afar, Rowan saw it: crimson particles rising like a swarm of locusts, spreading across the sky in a tide of light and shadow.

They shimmered strangely, both liquid and solid at once, and each mote radiated energy of terrifying purity.

Rowan’s eyes lit with sharp brilliance. He knew that power intimately. It was kin to the Tesseract and the Mind Stone.

“The Reality Stone,” he breathed.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep