Chapter 740

The First Sea Lord had never felt quite so thoroughly out of his depth.

He’d wanted a triumphant opening strike, something that would remind the world that the Royal Navy still mattered. Instead, he’d managed to turn the first engagement into an international incident of potentially catastrophic proportions.

Once upon a time, the Royal Navy had ruled the Seven Seas. Its name had been synonymous with maritime supremacy, and the British Empire had built much of its power on the strength of its fleet.

Those days were long gone.

The Royal Navy still existed, of course, but its former glory had faded considerably. Even Her Majesty the Queen had once remarked to him that the navy wasn’t what it used to be.

He’d taken the comment to heart.

This battle was an opportunity to change that perception. If the Royal Navy could distinguish itself against an extraterrestrial invasion, the entire world would remember that Britain still possessed a navy worth taking seriously.

And if the victory persuaded Parliament to increase naval funding, so much the better.

He hadn’t expected to restore the navy to its former glory overnight. He simply wanted to remind everyone that it was still there.

Unfortunately, the opening strike had gone spectacularly wrong.

That alone would have been embarrassing. The real problem was that an entire carrier-based fighter formation had vanished through spatial portals and apparently crossed into one of Asgard’s allied realms.

What was he supposed to do about that?

Armed soldiers crossing another nation’s borders constituted an act of aggression. Launching more than a dozen missiles into its territory only made matters worse.

If the Asgardians captured the pilots, they would be entirely within their rights to execute them on the spot.

Not that the pilots’ immediate fate was the greatest concern anymore. The diplomatic consequences were far more serious.

Yes, it had been an accident. The British military hadn’t deliberately attacked one of Asgard’s allied kingdoms.

But what if the Asgardians demanded an explanation? What if they insisted that Earth accept responsibility and provide compensation?

Ignoring them was hardly an option.

Asgard wasn’t the sort of power that could be placated with a carefully worded statement expressing concern, followed by a stern diplomatic protest and a promise to investigate.

According to Norse mythology, the gods weren’t exactly reluctant to settle disputes through violence.

And if Earth lost the resulting war...

The First Sea Lord’s mind immediately began producing a series of increasingly unpleasant historical parallels.

Britain might have to surrender Scotland, pay reparations, open five ports to Asgardian trade, and allow Asgardian engineers to build railways across the country.

He stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then he quietly switched off his connection.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could already picture the Queen having him bundled onto a ship and delivered to Asgard as a gesture of goodwill.

It was a surprisingly vivid image.

His withdrawal from the command network effectively removed the Royal Navy from the engagement, but that wasn’t a particularly serious loss in the current circumstances.

Modern warships relied heavily on guided weapons, and even those equipped with naval guns generally carried relatively small-caliber weapons compared with the battleships of the past. At this distance, it was questionable whether their guns could even reach the target, let alone inflict meaningful damage.

After spending enormous sums developing increasingly sophisticated weapons, the military had discovered that its most advanced systems were nearly useless in an environment where the laws of physics had stopped behaving themselves.

Several officers found themselves thinking wistfully of the old battleships.

If they had a single battleship here, they could simply turn its broadside toward the enemy and unleash a full salvo from its massive guns.

Now that would solve a problem.

One broadside, and everyone could stop worrying.

Meanwhile, the Dark Elf flagship rested beside the Thames.

A platform resembling an elevator slowly descended from the vessel, carrying Malekith toward the ground.

The Dark Elf king had changed once again.

His original complexion had been pale, but after absorbing the Aether into his body, his skin had darkened until he looked almost entirely black.

Malekith stepped off the platform and surveyed his surroundings.

Something was wrong.

The streets were deserted. No armies stood waiting for him. No great warrior had appeared to challenge his advance.

He had obtained the Aether. He had arrived at the very place where the boundaries between the Nine Realms would converge.

So where was Odin?

Once, Malekith’s greatest ambition had been to plunge the universe back into darkness. Nothing had mattered more to him than restoring the primordial night.

Now, however, his anticipated confrontation with Odin had become almost as important as his grand design.

He had reached the arena, prepared for the climactic battle of his life, and his destined opponent had failed to show up.

It was baffling.

Would Odin wait until the realms aligned completely, until Malekith began using the Aether to rewrite the universe, before finally making his appearance?

How dishonorable.

Malekith understood the risks involved in beginning the process. Once he started directing the Aether’s power, he would have to concentrate completely on the task. Most of the artifact’s power would be committed to reshaping reality, leaving him with considerably less power available for his own defense.

If Odin attacked at that precise moment, the timing would be almost perfect.

But then...

Malekith’s lips curled into a sinister smile.

That would be wonderful.

Think about it. The great villain was moments away from remaking the universe when the hero launched a desperate ambush. The hero fought valiantly, discovered some hidden reserve of power at the critical moment, saved the world, and defeated the ultimate evil.

A classic story.

The sort of climax that made the entire journey worthwhile.

Malekith grew so excited that his body trembled.

Of course. I was destined to play the central role in this cosmic drama.

It had to be the will of the gods.

But such a magnificent performance deserved an audience worthy of it.

He would not allow a crowd of insignificant worms to spoil the spectacle for some greater, unseen observer.

Malekith raised a hand.

Dark Elf soldiers poured from the flagship in organized squads, spreading into the surrounding streets.

"Clear the area," he ordered. "Anyone who hasn’t paid for a ticket can be killed on sight."

The soldiers moved out immediately.

Malekith had a universe to remake. He wasn’t going to let a bunch of uninvited spectators ruin the show.

"MALEKITH!"

Thor could no longer restrain himself.

The moment he spotted the Dark Elf king, he spun Mjolnir and launched himself forward, flying straight toward his enemy.

Evenson watched him disappear into the distance and shook his head.

"He really does enjoy making an entrance."

Sif gave a rueful smile.

"You’ve known him long enough to understand how he works. Once Thor makes up his mind, he acts immediately. It’s one of his more admirable qualities."

She paused.

"Although, now that I think about it, perhaps he makes decisions so quickly because there isn’t much distance between the thought and the action."

Evenson snorted.

Before either of them could say more, General Sheffield suddenly sprang to his feet.

"Why is Thor going over there?!"

He practically leaped from the command platform and hurried toward Evenson, his face twisted with alarm.

Evenson stared at him in amusement.

"What exactly is the problem? He’s the crown prince of Asgard. He’s going to help you fight the enemy and reduce your casualties. You should be thanking him."

"Of course I’m grateful!" Sheffield protested. "But..."

He hesitated, struggling to find the words.

"I’ve already given the order..."

He didn’t get the chance to finish.

Thor landed directly in front of Malekith with a thunderous impact.

"MALEKITH!"

The Dark Elf king stared at him in surprise.

"You!"

Thor’s presence confirmed something Malekith had suspected: if the Cursed Warrior was no longer here, then his faithful servant had presumably fallen.

It was a great sacrifice, but Malekith had no intention of wasting time mourning it.

Instead, he studied Thor with renewed interest.

Was the Asgardian prince the destined adversary who had been promised to him?

Was this the confrontation fate had arranged?

There was only one way to find out.

Malekith lowered his center of gravity and adopted a fighting stance.

Thor’s eyes narrowed. Lightning crackled across Mjolnir, bright sparks dancing around the hammer’s head.

The two stood facing each other, the air between them charged with imminent violence.

Neither had made the first move when a deep, disorienting whummm suddenly swept through the area.

Their heads spun.

A wave of searing heat struck them, followed by a tremendous shock wave that hurled both warriors off their feet.

Only afterward came the shriek of projectiles tearing through the air, followed by a succession of heavy, thunderous impacts.

General Sheffield’s unfinished sentence suddenly made perfect sense.

He had already ordered the artillery batteries to open fire with everything they had.

And the guns had just begun speaking.

...