Chapter 714

Asgardians were terrifyingly fit.

Sif sprinted through the palace at a speed that left Evenson’s Burning Rush looking pathetic by comparison. Even with his spell activated, he couldn’t keep up. Instead, he dangled from her hand like a particularly unfortunate fish being dragged to market.

He finally understood what people meant when they joked about being so hungry they could eat the wind. Apparently, it actually worked.

With his mouth hanging open throughout the journey, wind had been pouring down his throat at an astonishing rate. By the end, his stomach felt uncomfortably full, even if the contents were a little chilly.

Maybe he should buy a fan when he got back.

If Habus ever complained about being hungry again, he could simply blow a few gallons of air down the poor fellow’s throat. Think of all the money he’d save on dog food.

Evenson’s face had already turned an alarming shade of blue when Sif suddenly slowed.

Finally. We’ve arrived. My suffering is over.

He hadn’t even managed to get both feet on the ground before her grip tightened again.

Something was wrong.

Frigga had been captured by the enemy.

Sif’s expression changed instantly. In a desperate attempt to rescue the queen, she recalled Thor and Loki’s legendary combination attack and shouted, "Help!"

Then she swung Evenson around and hurled him forward with all her strength.

Only after releasing him did she remember something rather important.

Evenson couldn’t actually perform that combination attack.

Still...

The sensation of throwing him had been surprisingly satisfying.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!"

Sif might have been one of Asgard’s most renowned warriors, but her throwing technique deserved a special mention of its own.

Evenson shot through the air at tremendous speed, spinning rapidly as centrifugal force helped stabilize his trajectory. He hurtled straight toward the Cursed Warrior like a living projectile.

As he flew, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS! WHY AM I YOUR WEAPON?!"

The Cursed Warrior spotted the dark, spinning object hurtling toward him and immediately raised his guard.

What was that thing?

Some secret weapon developed by Asgard?

The most terrifying projectile he’d ever encountered?

As the object spun, it generated a swirling vortex of darkness. Something deeply unnatural seemed to lurk within that vortex, something his instincts recoiled from without being able to comprehend it.

The Cursed Warrior roared.

He shoved Frigga aside, raised the sword he’d taken from her, and brought it down toward the incoming projectile.

"SHADOWFURY, YOU GLORIFIED SON OF A—!"

Whether through instinct or sheer desperation, Evenson reacted at the very last moment.

He unleashed every scrap of Shadow energy he could muster, casting Shadowfury directly between himself and the descending blade.

Darkness exploded.

The Cursed Warrior’s mind reeled as the spell struck him with tremendous force. His body staggered backward, and several patches of skin burst open beneath the corrosive Shadow energy. Thick blood sprayed across the room.

Yet that was all the damage he suffered.

His regeneration kicked in almost immediately, sealing the wounds before the blood had finished splattering against the floor.

The explosion’s recoil, however, sent Evenson flying in the opposite direction.

He crashed to the ground several yards away, sat there with a deathly pale face, and struggled to catch his breath.

A moment later, Sif approached him with an awkward expression.

She patted his shoulder.

"Are... you all right?"

Evenson shot to his feet.

"DO I LOOK ALL RIGHT?!"

He jabbed a finger toward her forehead, nearly poking her between the eyes.

"What is wrong with you?! I almost became somebody’s unfortunate projectile! You used me as a weapon!"

Before Sif could formulate a response, a furious roar cut across the room.

"Enough!"

Malekith, King of the Dark Elves, had no intention of wasting any more time.

He glared at Evenson.

"Who are you?"

"I..."

Evenson straightened his robes and prepared to introduce himself with the dignity befitting a mysterious master of the arcane.

Then he reconsidered.

His reputation wasn’t particularly impressive even on Earth. A Dark Elf king who had spent ages hiding in the depths of space was hardly likely to recognize his name.

Why bother embarrassing himself?

Malekith, however, looked genuinely incredulous.

"You’re telling me I wouldn’t know who you are? I’m Malekith, King of the Dark Elves! With abilities like yours, you cannot possibly be an unknown nobody. Give me your name, and I’ll know it. Unless..."

His eyes narrowed.

"...you’re afraid to tell me."

Evenson clasped one hand behind his back and inclined his head slightly.

The gesture was technically respectful.

The expression on his face was anything but.

"Your Majesty, what an honor to meet you. Truly, I must be blessed by fate."

He paused, his voice dripping with exaggerated courtesy.

"But tell me, Your Majesty. Are we acquainted?"

Evenson was genuinely curious about Malekith’s confidence, but that wasn’t his only reason for asking.

He and Sif had rushed here to establish a plausible explanation for their absence from the throne room. The longer he could keep Malekith talking, the better.

Besides, he had no intention of fighting the Cursed Warrior again.

His Shadowfury had struck the creature almost point-blank, yet it had done little more than make him stumble backward. The damage had healed in seconds.

That was enough information for Evenson.

The creature was far too durable to fight casually, and the confined quarters were a terrible environment for a Warlock. Unless he could kill it instantly or disable it before it retaliated, he would have to rely on his nonexistent melee skills.

And he certainly wasn’t about to discover whether he possessed the close-combat prowess of Gul’dan’s much more handsome fictional counterpart.

No, thank you.

Stalling was the sensible option.

The Aether was hidden with Frigga. Unless Odin had suddenly forgotten how to think, he would soon realize where the Dark Elves were actually headed.

Once Odin arrived with a proper army, Evenson could leave the dangerous work to the professionals.

There was no reason to risk his neck in a fight he couldn’t win.

Malekith gave a cold laugh.

He had begun to suspect something when Evenson first attacked the Cursed Warrior. Now, the man’s arrogant demeanor only strengthened that suspicion.

"You’ve concealed yourself well," Malekith said. "Your earlier display of... restraint might fool many people."

He had carefully chosen his words. He’d very nearly called Evenson a fool, but the man had done enough to suggest that the truth might be more complicated.

"Unfortunately, you haven’t fooled me. Your last attack revealed your true nature."

Evenson scratched his head.

"That attack? What exactly did you learn from it?"

His Shadowfury hadn’t been particularly impressive. Apart from blasting him away from the Cursed Warrior, it hadn’t accomplished much.

How had Malekith managed to glean anything useful from it?

"Darkness."

Malekith’s expression filled with conviction, almost bordering on fanaticism.

"The power you wielded... I felt the pure essence of darkness within it. You and I are kindred spirits. We both belong to the darkness!"

Evenson’s eyebrow twitched.

I have many flaws, but I draw the line at people calling me dark.

Malekith mistook his expression for the displeasure of someone whose identity had just been exposed.

"And such pure dark power cannot belong to an ordinary person. How could someone like you be unknown to me?"

You ignorant amateur.

Evenson nearly laughed.

Pure darkness? His Shadow magic was hardly some pristine, primordial force. As Sal’ras had once explained, even the Shadow she wielded was secondhand. Evenson’s own power had passed through so many layers of intermediaries that the Titans’ Pantheon might still have been intact when it first entered the chain of custody.

And Shadow wasn’t even his strongest school of magic.

If anything, it was one of the things he was least qualified to lecture anyone about.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I’m afraid you’ve reached the wrong conclusion."

Evenson shrugged.

"You couldn’t possibly know me. I’m not particularly old. I’ve been alive for barely twenty years. I doubt you’d consider that a meaningful span of time."

Malekith’s expression changed dramatically.

Twenty years?

Only twenty?

For a long-lived being like himself, twenty years was practically an afternoon.

If Evenson had spent millions of years mastering his abilities, such power would have been understandable. But if he had acquired such refined control over darkness in a mere two decades, then his talent was extraordinary.

Worse, someone powerful must have personally guided his development.

Malekith stared at him in disbelief.

Evenson noticed the change and immediately seized the opportunity.

"Ah. Does Your Majesty believe youth makes me an easy target?"

He lifted his chin and looked down at the Dark Elf king with theatrical disdain.

"Then allow me to offer you a word of advice: never underestimate a young man simply because he hasn’t yet had time to make his fortune."

It was a sentiment as old as ambition itself, and Evenson delivered it with the solemnity of a man addressing a kingdom on the brink of war.

Malekith shook his head repeatedly.

"No. No, of course not."

He hesitated, then asked carefully, "May I inquire who stands behind you?"

Who stands behind me?

Evenson glanced over his shoulder.

Sif.

One of Asgard’s most famous warriors. A veteran of countless battles. A celebrated drinker who had apparently won several consecutive championships in the highly questionable sport of racing longships after consuming an irresponsible quantity of alcohol.

But Malekith clearly meant something else.

Evenson smiled mysteriously.

"I have indeed encountered several extraordinarily powerful beings."

He paused for effect.

"The All-Seeing One. The Mother of Dark Fertility. The Crawling Chaos..."

His expression became more solemn.

"And there is another. But that name must not be spoken."

He lifted his gaze toward the heavens.

The sky stretched endlessly overhead. Night had fallen, and countless stars glittered across the darkness.

An age of prosperity had passed. The end times were approaching.

The prison would break. The sleeping god would awaken.

It would return in overwhelming power, and blood would flood the earth.

When it arrived, terror would spread across creation. A new age would begin in its name.

The heavens would darken. The earth would tremble.

It would rise from the depths, emerge from the ground, descend from the sky, and exist everywhere at once.

The ignorant would kneel. The living would submit. Even the gods would tremble before the master of all things.

This was the end of the world.

Evenson had recited the names with casual ease, but the effect on Malekith was immediate.

The Dark Elf king went through several increasingly dramatic stages of shock.

First disbelief.

Then astonishment.

Then a look of dawning horror.

Ancient legends had spoken of such beings. Great entities that could not be described, much less looked upon directly. They stood at the summit of darkness, or perhaps beyond darkness itself, existing outside the limits of ordinary concepts.

And this young man had casually mentioned them.

Not merely one, either.

He had invoked the Three Great Gods, beings of such overwhelming power that even the most ancient civilizations had struggled to comprehend them.

And then there was the final name, the one that could not be spoken.

Could Evenson’s power have come from these beings?

It would explain everything.

Only entities of that magnitude could grant such extraordinary power to someone so young.

Evenson watched Malekith’s reaction and felt a quiet surge of satisfaction.

Got him.

This was why choosing the right source of authority mattered.

Dark Elf magic might also draw upon darkness, but whatever its origins, it clearly operated on a different level from the forces Evenson was invoking.

His own knowledge of Shadow magic had come through the Burning Legion’s official curriculum, refined by generations of practitioners and passed along through more than a few questionable middlemen.

Naturally, that gave it a certain pedigree.

The interface mattered.

You could spend your entire life selling shovels and still not call yourself a steel merchant.

Evenson was just beginning to enjoy his success when Malekith suddenly stiffened.

"Wait."

The king’s expression turned suspicious.

"If you truly have connections to those... great beings, why are you opposing me? Shouldn’t we share the same goals?"

Evenson relaxed his shoulders as though the Dark Elves’ ambitions were of no consequence to him.

"You’re trying to obtain the Aether, rewrite reality, and drag the universe back into an age of darkness."

He shrugged.

"I don’t know whom you serve, or which deity you hope to please with your little project."

His voice grew more serious.

"But to those great beings, such distinctions are meaningless."

Malekith listened intently.

"To them, the universe is merely a phenomenon. Something that exists, but carries no particular significance. Whether it’s filled with darkness or illuminated by light makes little difference to them."

Evenson paused.

"However, one of those beings is different. The Black Pharaoh. The Bloated Woman."

He spoke the titles with an air of weary familiarity.

"That entity doesn’t seem particularly interested in allowing either darkness or light to dominate completely. The universe is a fascinating toy to it, and the tragedies born from the eternal struggle between light and darkness appear to be its favorite entertainment."

Evenson spread his hands.

"Even our ideas of good and evil, our desire to embrace darkness or defend the light, might be nothing more than carefully cultivated instincts. We’re all performers on a stage, dancing for the amusement of a single audience member."

He leaned toward Malekith and gave him a meaningful wink.

"Do you understand what I’m saying?"

Malekith fell silent.

Then his expression slowly changed.

Of course he understood.

The Crawling Chaos, Nyarlathotep, one of the Three Great Gods, enjoyed watching the struggle between light and darkness. The conflict itself was part of the entertainment.

And Malekith intended to extinguish the light across the entire universe.

He wasn’t merely winning the game.

He was tearing down the stage, burning the script, and depriving the audience of the very spectacle it wanted to watch.

"I understand," Malekith murmured.

He nodded, apparently overwhelmed by the revelation.

Evenson felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders.

Wonderful. He understands.

Now all that remained was for Malekith to surrender, accept responsibility for his crimes, and cooperate with the authorities.

At this rate, Evenson would be promoted to Master Warlock before long.

He’d only intended to talk nonsense long enough for Odin to arrive.

Instead, he’d apparently convinced the Dark Elf king to abandon his entire campaign.

Perhaps his talent for persuasion had finally reached a new level.

Then Malekith’s expression changed.

His eyes burned with renewed fanaticism.

"Then I must obtain the Aether!"

Evenson’s smile froze.

Malekith crossed his arms over his chest, his voice rising with fervor.

"Praise and blasphemy are equally valid forms of worship!"

He looked as though he’d finally discovered the meaning of his entire existence.

"Now I understand! Ten thousand years ago, we possessed the Aether, a treasure beyond compare, yet we still suffered defeat. We survived that catastrophic war, endured the ages in exile, and now I’ve led my people into battle once more."

His voice grew louder.

"It was all planned!"

The Dark Elf king’s eyes shone with feverish conviction.

"Our pursuit of darkness, your defense of the light, everything we’ve ever believed in... all of it was carefully arranged!"

He spread his arms.

"We are nothing more than clowns standing upon a stage, performing for a single audience member!"

Then he clenched his fists.

"And that is precisely why I must complete this performance!"

His voice thundered through the chamber.

"I will turn this conflict between light and darkness into a magnificent spectacle, a masterpiece worthy of bringing joy to that great being!"

Malekith crossed his hands over his chest and closed his eyes. His expression took on the solemnity of a priest offering a sacred prayer.

"If we devote ourselves fully to pleasing that existence, then surely my people will receive its joyous blessing."

He raised his head.

"The curtain has risen!"

His voice rang out with manic enthusiasm.

"Let the thunderous applause begin!"

Evenson stared at him.

One corner of his mouth twitched.

He’s insane.

Completely, irredeemably insane.

And, for the record, Evenson wanted it firmly established that this madness was not his fault.

He’d merely mentioned a few names.

Whatever happened next was entirely Malekith’s responsibility.