The Burning Legion had spent countless ages reducing worlds to ash.
One belief lay at the heart of its endless crusade.
Nothing was truly indestructible.
If something couldn’t be destroyed...
It simply meant you lacked the strength.
Or you hadn’t found the right method.
Warlocks, born as servants of the Legion, inherited the same philosophy.
Immortal Titans had fallen.
Old Gods had perished alongside the worlds they infested.
Ancient demigods, beings who should have endured as long as the stars themselves, had been cut down like wheat before the Legion’s advance.
If they could die...
Then every creature boasting of immortality could die as well.
The only question was how.
A lich’s phylactery was notoriously troublesome.
Even a Paladin, famed for destroying the undead, couldn’t truly kill a lich while its soul remained hidden elsewhere.
A master Warlock, however...
That was another story.
By tracing the spiritual connection between a lich’s body and its phylactery, a sufficiently skilled Warlock could direct curses straight into the vessel itself.
Or simply rip the soul out.
Once that happened, the lich’s so-called immortality became little more than a joke.
The same principle applied to the Ghost Rider.
Strike through the body and attack the contract holding his soul...
And even the Spirit of Vengeance could be destroyed.
That was beyond Evenson’s current capabilities.
If he became truly desperate, he could simply draw Ulthalesh, the Deadwind Harvester and solve the problem with a single swing.
But short of using an Artifact Weapon...
The task remained difficult.
Blackheart’s immortality, however, seemed different.
Watching him explode and reconstruct himself had given Evenson an idea.
In fact...
He was beginning to wonder whether Blackheart had ever truly been born.
Or whether he’d simply been...
Constructed.
The Prince of Hell reminded him of another creature entirely.
Not the Abomination.
Not the green brute whose soul Evenson had once stuffed into a car engine.
He meant the Abominations of the Scourge.
Towering flesh constructs stitched together from corpses.
Incredibly strong.
Astonishingly durable.
Mindlessly simple.
And above all...
Soulless.
Like Blackheart, they were difficult to destroy.
Holy Light could purify them.
Fire could reduce them to ash.
Or their stitched bodies could be completely dismantled, breaking the necromantic magic holding them together.
Blackheart’s body felt eerily similar.
Only...
The magic sustaining him was far more refined.
More elegant.
More troublesome.
Fortunately...
Not impossible.
Evenson suddenly crouched and began pulling a collection of odd materials from his pockets.
Instead of casting another spell, he started assembling something with remarkable speed.
Behind him, Sif continued trading blows with Blackheart.
Several seconds passed.
Still nothing.
She frowned.
"I’m a little busy back here!"
"What exactly are you doing?"
"I’m making a weapon," Evenson answered without looking up.
"A weapon?"
Sif narrowly parried another strike.
"You waited until now to make one?"
Back in Asgard, a soldier who entered battle before preparing his equipment would’ve been court-martialed.
"A weapon capable of killing him."
Evenson’s voice carried quiet confidence.
Blackheart almost laughed.
A weapon that can kill me?
Does your family know you tell jokes like that?
He was immortal.
Even assuming such a weapon existed...
Why would it be in the hands of an ordinary human?
Yet...
Watching Evenson’s absolute concentration stirred an uncomfortable feeling.
What if...
Blackheart wasn’t particularly wise.
But he was deeply suspicious by nature.
The thought lodged itself in his mind.
Better safe than sorry.
Without hesitation, he abandoned Sif entirely and fixed his attention on Evenson.
Thus, Evenson achieved a remarkable feat.
He pulled aggro without dealing a single point of damage.
Unfortunately for Blackheart...
Sif wasn’t about to let him reach the backline.
Every attempt to rush past her ended with another blade in his path.
Finally, he made a ruthless decision.
He deliberately exposed an opening.
Sif’s sword flashed.
His left arm was severed cleanly.
Before it even struck the ground, however, the detached limb exploded into thick black smoke.
A single arm meant nothing.
It would grow back.
The smoke concealed Sif’s vision for only an instant.
That was enough.
Blackheart burst through the screen and lunged directly at Evenson.
His remaining hand reached for Evenson’s throat.
Evenson didn’t move.
Didn’t even look up.
Still absorbed in his work.
"Sorcerer!"
Sif’s warning rang across the courtyard.
"Look out!"
"Die!"
Blackheart crossed the final three steps.
Victory was within reach.
Only then...
Only after his fingers closed around Evenson’s neck...
Did Evenson slowly raise his head.
He smiled.
Brightly.
"Surprise."
Blackheart’s heart skipped a beat.
The last time he’d heard that word...
The Destroyer had introduced itself with a full-powered annihilation beam.
His instincts screamed.
Something was wrong.
The neck beneath his fingers wasn’t flesh.
It felt like stone.
No...
Harder than stone.
Its surface had turned jet black, gleaming like polished obsidian.
Since when does a pale human become this color?
Demon Skin.
Fel Armor.
Even if Blackheart had possessed ten times his current strength, crushing Evenson’s throat would’ve been impossible.
But that wasn’t the real surprise.
Evenson’s right hand moved.
Something crimson-purple flashed upward.
It sliced effortlessly through Blackheart’s arm.
The blade passed through flesh as though it barely existed.
Evenson calmly pried the severed hand from around his neck.
Blackheart staggered backward in horror.
His right hand...
Was gone.
He landed several yards away and stared at the object in Evenson’s grasp.
A dagger.
Fashioned from a deep crimson crystal.
Crude.
Uneven.
Wrapped with nothing more than strips of cloth around the handle.
There was no artistry to it.
Only terrifying sharpness.
Blackheart forced out a laugh.
"So..."
"I lost an arm to a sharp knife."
"What a waste."
His confidence returned.
"I don’t believe something like that can kill me."
"Really?"
Evenson’s smile widened.
"Can your arm grow back?"
"Of course."
Even as he spoke, a new left arm had already regenerated.
Evenson shook his head.
"I wasn’t talking about that one."
He nodded toward the arm lying on the ground.
Blackheart frowned.
Then his expression froze.
Nothing happened.
The severed right arm...
Didn’t regenerate.
For the first time in thousands of years...
A missing piece of his body remained missing.
His composure shattered.
"What..."
His voice became unsteady.
"What is that thing?"
If it could prevent his regeneration...
Could it truly kill him?
Evenson almost answered instinctively.
"The Soul..."
He caught himself.
A better line occurred to him.
He smiled mysteriously.
"This..."
"...is the Philosopher’s Stone."
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