Chapter 716

"I once heard someone say that when a person realizes he can become part of something greater than himself, there’s nothing he won’t do to make it happen. Have any of you heard that before?"

Evenson paced back and forth across a dimly lit hall, delivering his speech with the enthusiasm of a man addressing a packed auditorium.

His appearance had changed considerably, too.

Gone was his old Corruptor Raiment. In its place, he wore a newly tailored ensemble that would have made any self-respecting Warlock weep with envy.

The black robes were embroidered with intricate magical patterns woven from threads of pure gold. His new shoulder guards were even more impressive. Rather than the stiff fabric of his previous outfit, they were crafted from a lightweight black metal polished to a mirror shine.

Three long, narrow ribs had been mounted along the back of each shoulder guard. At the tip of every bone sat a miniature skull, magically reduced in size. The skulls were ancient, their surfaces worn by the passage of countless years.

And these weren’t cheap imitations designed to look intimidating.

Every component of the outfit was the real deal. The materials carried genuine magical properties, enhancing his abilities rather than merely making him look the part.

Evenson had done the Asgardians a favor by helping save their queen. Surely, they could spare a little material to make him a new set of clothes.

Under that perfectly reasonable arrangement, Asgard had supplied everything: the fabric, the gold thread, and the metal. All of it was imbued with magic.

The bones, however, had required a little more persuasion.

Sif had practically handed them over with tears in her eyes.

The remains had belonged to formidable beings, and even after death, their bones retained traces of their former power. Sif must have fought hard to claim them in the first place.

Unfortunately for her, she’d made a terrible mistake by mocking Evenson’s use of cow bones and mentioning her collection of trophies.

He’d been coveting those treasures ever since.

Now, whenever he moved, emerald fel flames occasionally erupted from his shoulders. The fire burned fiercely without producing heat or harming him, but its eerie green glow cast unsettling shadows across his face.

The whole ensemble was magnificent.

Evenson was delighted.

And the finishing touches were waiting in front of him.

A barrel-sized vessel stood nearby, crafted entirely from solid gold and decorated with precious stones, just as he’d requested. Beside it sat a table holding two cups made from bone and trimmed with gold.

Those hadn’t turned out quite as he’d envisioned.

He’d originally requested ivory, only to discover that Asgard had a rather inconvenient shortage of elephants.

The royal craftsmen had offered an alternative.

Would dragon teeth do?

Evenson had reluctantly agreed. One had to make compromises.

With his authentic magical equipment, his impressive new accessories, and a design modeled after the Dark Council set he’d admired so much in the past, he was in an excellent mood.

Unfortunately, his audience wasn’t showing much appreciation for his opening remarks.

Thirty prisoners knelt on the floor before him, bound hand and foot in heavy chains. An Einherjar stood beside each one, ensuring that nobody tried anything foolish.

The prisoners came from all walks of life. Some were Dark Elves who had only recently been captured. Others were rebels taken from neighboring kingdoms. A few were Asgardian criminals who had exhausted every opportunity for redemption.

One thing united them.

Every single one had been sentenced to death.

They were precisely the sacrificial offerings Evenson had requested.

When he’d first made that request, Thor had looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"You’re planning to perform some kind of dark ritual?"

Evenson had rolled his eyes.

"Have we only just met? Name one spell I’ve ever cast that wasn’t dark magic."

Thor knew perfectly well that Evenson’s magic was thoroughly sinister. He’d witnessed enough of it firsthand to have no illusions about the matter.

But this time, his mother’s life was at stake, and the thought of entrusting her fate to such a dangerous ritual troubled him.

Evenson understood his concern and offered an explanation.

"What exactly is righteous magic? It’s magic that follows the natural order of things. But if we follow the natural order now, your mother’s poison remains incurable, and she dies."

He spread his hands.

"I’m trying to wrest her from the jaws of death itself. I’m defying fate and forcing life where death has already been decided. A ritual like that naturally requires a little dark magic."

Thor hesitated, still reluctant to accept it.

Odin, however, raised a hand to stop his son.

"Then we leave this matter to you. If you save my wife’s life, you will be rewarded handsomely."

With that generous promise, Odin ushered Thor out.

Thirty condemned prisoners? Hardly an unreasonable price.

Was it really such a terrible thing to sacrifice them for the queen’s life?

Odin had seen wars that made thirty deaths look like a rounding error.

He’d once led Asgard’s greatest warriors into battle himself, spear in hand, fighting from the Realm of Fire to the kingdom of the Frost Giants. He’d carved a bloody path across the Nine Realms without so much as blinking.

Thirty prisoners wouldn’t keep him awake at night.

Evenson, meanwhile, leaned against the table and regarded his audience with genuine curiosity.

"Seriously, none of you have heard that quote before?"

Then he remembered where he’d heard it.

Nick Fury.

Of course.

Some time ago, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had apparently decided that what the agency really needed was a motivational speech. He’d assembled a crowd of senior agents for a grand address, with Coulson among those in attendance.

Evenson had been specifically invited.

He was, after all, technically a consultant.

The fact that Tony Stark, another consultant, had been allowed to skip the event had struck him as deeply unfair.

Apparently, having billions of dollars and a famous name came with certain privileges.

Evenson had sat through the speech in a foul mood, but he’d eventually conceded that Fury’s performance had been surprisingly effective.

The man could put an audience to sleep with extraordinary efficiency.

That opening line had been the first thing Fury said.

Evenson had passed out before he could even put on the sunglasses he’d brought to help him stay awake.

Now he gave his prisoners a reassuring smile.

"Never mind. You’ll understand soon enough."

He raised both hands, his expression solemn.

"I will personally redeem you. I will cleanse you of your sins and elevate you beyond your miserable existence. You will become part of something truly great."

Behind him stood a luxurious bed.

Frigga lay upon it, unconscious and deathly pale.

Evenson had been using healing stones to suppress the poison’s effects, buying her precious time, but that was only a temporary measure. The black veins spreading across her skin had already reached both cheeks.

Time was running out.

Sif stood guard beside the bed, trying to appear calm. Anyone who watched her for more than a moment, however, would notice the way her fingers kept rubbing against the hilt of her sword.

She was nervous.

Understandably so.

"Ready?" she asked.

"More or less." Evenson drew a small knife. "Now it’s your turn."

He took Frigga’s right hand and made a shallow cut across her palm. With the tip of the blade, he traced a relatively simple magical rune into the skin.

Then he did the same to Sif’s left hand.

"There we are. After you."

Evenson gestured toward the bed.

Sif swallowed, then lay down beside the unconscious queen. She reached for Frigga’s injured hand, preparing to press their bleeding palms together.

At the last moment, she stopped.

Instead, she seized Evenson by the collar and dragged him close enough to inspect his face.

"Careful! I just got this outfit!"

Evenson pried her fingers loose and brushed off his robes.

"What’s the problem? Ask away. I’m listening."

Sif stared directly into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception.

"I..."

She hesitated, then forced herself to continue.

"I’m putting my life on the line here. This is an enormous gamble. Are you absolutely certain you can pull it off?"

The question was entirely reasonable.

Evenson had spent some time dropping hints until Sif finally understood what he was suggesting. If Frigga’s poison could be transferred to another person, someone might be able to share the queen’s burden and give her a chance to survive.

Sif had immediately volunteered.

Saving the queen would earn her the gratitude of the royal family, practically guaranteeing that Odin and Frigga would have no objections to her marrying into their family.

And Thor would owe her an enormous debt.

An enormous debt was difficult to repay.

A lifetime together, on the other hand, might do the trick.

It was an excellent plan.

There was just one minor complication.

Sif’s life would become directly linked to Frigga’s. If the queen lived, Sif could live. If Frigga died, Sif would die with her.

The entire scheme depended on Evenson successfully saving the queen.

If he botched the ritual, Sif’s romantic ambitions would end rather abruptly.

So, at the last possible moment, she wanted some reassurance.

Evenson fell silent.

He considered her question with an expression of grave concentration.

Then he rolled his eyes upward.

"No guarantees. You still want to do it or not?"

Sif stared at him.

For a moment, she could only think of Thor’s handsome face.

Then she gritted her teeth, pressed her bleeding palm against Frigga’s, and clasped the queen’s hand tightly.

Fine.

She’d take the gamble.

Evenson closed his eyes and began casting the spell.

Soul Link: Life Passage.

The two joined hands emitted a faint glow.

Sif’s eyes flew wide. She sucked in a sharp breath as pain seized her body, forcing her back into an arch.

A moment later, she collapsed unconscious beside Frigga.

The poison had spread to her.

Just like that, the queen’s burden had been divided between two people.

However cruel the process might be, diluting the poison would make it considerably easier to treat.

Evenson glanced at the two women, then turned toward the thirty prisoners.

His expression hardened.

"Bleed for Queen Frigga!"

He paused.

"Tattoo!"

The Einherjar immediately moved into action.

Each warrior approached his assigned prisoner carrying a small board studded with nails. They pressed the nails into the prisoner’s face, then hammered them repeatedly into the skin, occasionally dipping the crude instrument into black ink.

The process continued for a long time.

By the end, every prisoner’s face had been covered in black markings.

The face was densely packed with nerves, making the procedure agonizing. But the pain was only part of it. The forced mutilation was a calculated assault on their dignity, reducing them to something less than human in their own eyes.

Evenson watched without comment.

When the first stage was complete, he spoke again.

"Tongues!"

The Einherjar forced open the prisoners’ mouths and used iron pincers to drag their tongues out. Then, with a swift cut, they removed them.

To prevent the prisoners from choking on their own blood, the warriors shoved red-hot charcoal into their mouths to cauterize the wounds.

"Noses!"

This part was simpler.

They seized the prisoners by the nose and cut them off.

"Branding!"

The prisoners had already been stripped to the waist, making the next step easier.

A massive iron plate, heated until it glowed red, was pressed against their backs.

The warriors held it there before finally pulling it away.

Then came the iron brushes.

They scraped the burned flesh again and again, stripping away the damaged skin until white bone showed beneath it.

Only the prisoners’ exceptional physical strength had allowed them to endure this much. Lesser men would have died long before reaching this stage.

"Castration!"

There was no need to dwell on the details.

"Hobbling!"

The Einherjar first cut away the prisoners’ kneecaps. Then they brought down heavy axes, severing their feet.

Evenson watched the bloody scene, rubbing his chin as though evaluating a potion that hadn’t quite turned out as expected.

"Hmm. That should be about enough..."

"Yes! Yes, I believe that’s quite enough!"

One of the Einherjar hurriedly stepped forward to agree.

Evenson raised an eyebrow.

The warrior, a veteran who had survived countless battles, immediately retreated a few steps and lowered his head, unwilling to meet Evenson’s gaze.

Evenson blinked.

What’s that about?

Was his glare really so intimidating?

Had he somehow mastered the legendary art of killing people with nothing more than a look?

He had no idea that the Einherjar were already struggling to contain their terror.

They had carried out the orders, but the experience had shaken them to their cores.

Asgardians were straightforward people when it came to killing. A sword through the chest, an axe to the neck, or a volley of arrows was all perfectly understandable. Even torture had its familiar limits. Tie someone to a post, lash them with a whip, perhaps beat them until they confessed.

But this?

This endless sequence of calculated mutilations was something else entirely.

And throughout the entire ordeal, Evenson had watched with almost no change in expression.

He hadn’t flinched.

He hadn’t looked away.

He’d simply stood there, calmly directing the proceedings as though he were overseeing a routine workshop.

Who wouldn’t be afraid of a man like that?

"Still not quite there," Evenson muttered.

He glanced at the prisoners.

"Remove their eyes and ears, too."

The Einherjar obeyed, though their hands trembled as they carried out the order. They gouged out the prisoners’ eyes and severed their ears.

Evenson studied the results.

"Still not enough..."

He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"Perhaps we should try flaying them. Or pulling out their intestines..."

The Einherjar were practically shaking apart.

Their faces had gone deathly white. A few looked ready to abandon their posts and request immediate transfer to the front lines.

Anything would be preferable to another minute of this.

Then Evenson suddenly clapped his hands.

"I’ve got it!"

Every warrior flinched.

"Tell them loudly that their suffering is over. Tell them I’m going to kill them now."

Because their ears had been removed, the prisoners could barely hear. The Einherjar had to lean close to their bloody wounds and shout the message directly into them.

When the prisoners learned that death was finally coming, most could no longer react.

But a few mouths twitched faintly.

They were relieved.

At last, the nightmare would end.

"I lied."

Evenson’s voice cut through the hall.

"Cut off all ten of their fingers."

He paused, studying their expressions.

"Ah, yes. That’s the one. Let’s do it."

Before the Einherjar could move, Evenson suddenly raised both hands.

Green and violet vapor erupted from the prisoners’ mutilated bodies.

Their life force and souls were ripped free, streaming through the air and gathering in Evenson’s right hand. The swirling energies condensed into a dense, writhing mass.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Evenson incinerated the remaining bodies, reducing them to ash.

He examined the energy in his grasp with obvious satisfaction.

"Excellent. Truly excellent quality."

Every act of humiliation and torture had served a purpose.

Evenson had been trying to improve the quality of the souls he intended to harvest. Suffering had an effect on the soul, refining it in much the same way that heat transformed raw materials.

But he’d discovered a problem.

Once the prisoners had been tortured to their physical and psychological limits, their souls reached a certain threshold of quality.

Then the improvement stopped.

They had become numb.

Their spirits had entered a state of resignation so complete that they were practically dead already. Whatever vitality their souls once possessed had faded.

A fresh approach had been necessary.

Evenson’s final trick had given them something they desperately wanted: the promise of release.

For one brief moment, they had believed their suffering was over.

Then he’d snatched that hope away.

The sudden reversal had produced exactly the reaction he needed.

Only then had their souls reached the quality he desired.

Evenson sighed.

Getting a truly excellent soul wasn’t easy.

Fortunately, Odin had explicitly authorized the ritual. Under ordinary circumstances, there was no way Evenson could have conducted such an operation, at least not on this scale.

He’d have to make the most of the opportunity.

With that thought, he reached down to his waist and pulled something enormous from his inventory.

A heart.

Its sheer size made it obvious that it hadn’t belonged to a human. Twisting green markings covered its surface, unmistakable signs of demonic corruption.

A demon’s heart.

Evenson had secretly kept it while working on the transformation of HYDRA’s Heart Demons, preserving one specimen for his own purposes.

Now, he suspended the organ above the massive golden barrel.

The heart floated in the air as Evenson began chanting.

The green and violet energy gathered in his right hand transformed into a column of smoke, which slowly poured into the organ.

The effect was immediate.

The heart began to beat.

Once.

Twice.

Its main artery pulsed, expelling thick, luminous green blood into the vessel beneath it.

The viscous fluid flowed steadily, filling the golden barrel until not a drop more was needed.

When Evenson finished channeling the energy, the container was full.

He lowered his hands.

"That’ll do."

Then he turned to the remaining Einherjar.

"Go fetch King Odin and Prince Thor."

The warriors needed no further encouragement.

They practically sprinted out of the hall, relieved to have survived the ordeal.

It didn’t take long for Odin and Thor to arrive.

By then, the prisoners’ bodies had already been reduced to ash. Neither king nor prince had any idea what had transpired in their absence.

Evenson pulled his black hood over his head and bent forward slightly.

In each hand, he held one of the golden-trimmed dragon-tooth cups, filled to the brim with glowing green blood.

He approached Odin and Thor and offered them the cups.

"Give it to them to drink."

His voice was low and solemn beneath the hood.

"Let them drink. This is their fate."