The instant Blackheart ignored Evenson’s warning and stepped into the building, chaos erupted inside.
The sounds were relentless.
Crashes.
Explosions.
Stone shattering.
It was as though someone had locked ten cats and ten dogs inside a single room and told them only one side was allowed to leave.
Then the outer wall exploded.
A black figure came flying through the opening and slammed into the courtyard.
Blackheart.
He lay sprawled across the ground, looking as though his entire worldview had just been beaten out of him.
His already outdated clothes had been shredded in several places, and a massive gash split open his chest.
Instead of blood, wisps of black mist leaked from the wound.
...Does this guy run on compressed evil? Evenson wondered.
Blackheart wasn’t lying still because he was too badly injured to move.
He simply couldn’t process what had just happened.
He’d walked into the dark room convinced he’d found Evenson’s weakness.
Capture the woman.
Take a hostage.
Force Evenson’s surrender.
A flawless plan.
Instead, before he could even utter a smug greeting...
A glowing blue-violet greatsword had come screaming toward his neck.
Instinct alone had saved him.
Had he reacted even a fraction of a second slower, he’d have been cleaved cleanly in two.
Barely escaping the opening strike hadn’t helped.
His unseen opponent immediately closed the distance.
Shield Slam.
Revenge.
Hamstring.
The attacks flowed together with terrifying precision, each one chaining seamlessly into the next until Blackheart couldn’t recover.
The final Shield Slam launched him bodily through the wall.
Lady Sif strode through the hole after him.
Sword in one hand.
Shield in the other.
Her expression radiated fury.
She had originally intended to respect Evenson’s wishes by staying out of the battle unless he explicitly asked for help.
Then this idiot had barged into her room in the middle of the night.
Whatever he was...
He was about to regret it.
She paused for only a heartbeat.
Actually... who is this fool?
"The son of Mephisto," Evenson supplied helpfully. "Blackheart."
He folded his arms.
"I did warn you not to go inside."
Blackheart rolled to his feet, staring at Sif with undisguised shock.
"An Asgardian..."
At that moment, if anyone had tried telling him demons were the most devious creatures in existence...
He would’ve punched them.
Asgardians were worse.
Far worse.
Everything suddenly fit together.
The stolen contract.
The carefully planted clues.
Leading him to this location.
The Destroyer lying in ambush.
Water Demon dying in his place.
The Ghost Rider being occupied.
And now...
An elite Asgardian warrior waiting inside the building to finish the job.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This was an elaborate trap.
A trap inside another trap.
Seriously?
What did I ever do to make Odin hate me this much?
Weren’t Asgardians supposed to be straightforward warriors who solved every problem by drinking and hitting it with an axe?
Since when had they become master strategists?
"Die, demon!"
Now that she knew exactly what Blackheart was, Sif didn’t hesitate.
A demon from Hell.
One apparently plotting something on Midgard.
One who had also tried sneaking into her room.
That was all the justification she needed.
She charged.
To Blackheart’s credit, his earlier beating had owed more to surprise than incompetence.
Prepared for combat this time, he displayed astonishing agility.
He slipped between sword strikes with almost supernatural precision.
After several attacks missed, Sif frowned.
She hurled away her shield.
Both hands gripped the sword.
Her style changed instantly.
Defense gave way to overwhelming offense.
Sweeping strikes.
Crushing overhead blows.
Relentless pressure.
Her attacks became dramatically heavier.
Yet Blackheart continued slipping through impossibly narrow openings.
Watching from the sidelines, Evenson couldn’t help raising an eyebrow.
He’s stronger than Sif.
Not by an overwhelming margin.
But enough.
The reason he looked so disadvantaged wasn’t raw power.
It was experience.
Blackheart had little practice in close-quarters combat, while Sif had spent centuries mastering every style of armed warfare.
Unarmed against an elite swordswoman, he simply couldn’t exploit his superior strength.
Sif’s blade cut through empty air once again.
Without breaking her momentum, she spun.
Mid-turn, her greatsword split into twin blades.
Now she fought like a berserker.
The instant she completed the rotation, both swords erupted into a devastating whirlwind.
The expanded reach finally caught Blackheart.
One blade sliced across his jaw, leaving a long crimson line.
A few inches lower and it would’ve split his skull.
After that, however, only his clothes continued suffering.
Her blades rarely touched flesh again.
Evenson watched thoughtfully.
He’d expected more.
"Prince Blackheart..."
He sighed dramatically.
"Is this really all you’ve got?"
"I’m disappointed."
His estimate of Blackheart’s strength had been significantly higher.
That was precisely why he’d gone to the trouble of banishing the Destroyer instead of letting Thor destroy it.
He’d wanted insurance.
Looking at the battle now...
Perhaps he’d overprepared.
Then again, the comparison wasn’t exactly fair.
Thor had been raised as Odin’s chosen heir.
The finest tutors.
The greatest weapons.
The best armor.
Everything had been dedicated to preparing him to rule the Nine Realms.
Mephisto, on the other hand...
Never intended to retire.
As far as the Lord of Hell was concerned, Hell would remain his forever.
Blackheart wasn’t an heir.
He was merely a son.
There was a difference.
Why invest in your successor if you had no intention of stepping aside?
Training?
More likely the occasional beating whenever Blackheart grew too ambitious.
Power?
Keep it for yourself.
Parental affection?
When Blackheart ran away from Hell, Mephisto’s only instruction had been simple.
Bring him back.
Alive if possible.
Dead if necessary.
"Don’t underestimate me!"
Blackheart finally spotted an opening.
Because Sif now wielded two weapons, her attacks were broader and more aggressive.
That also meant larger gaps between combinations.
He lunged like a striking viper.
His hands clamped around Sif’s wrists.
A cruel smile spread across his face.
"You’ve only seen a fraction of my power."
The flesh beneath his grip instantly turned pale and shriveled.
Though Mephisto had never bothered training him, Blackheart remained the Prince of Hell.
Some gifts came naturally.
Life itself began draining from Sif.
"Even an Asgardian..."
"...can become nothing more than a dried corpse."
"What a shame."
"You have such a beautiful face."
"That won’t be happening."
Evenson’s voice drifted calmly across the battlefield.
"You seem to have forgotten."
"I’m still here."
The words had barely left his mouth when Blackheart’s smile vanished.
Something alien forced its way into his body.
Cold.
Corrosive.
Insidious.
A Warlock’s curse had found its mark.
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