CHAPTER 217: ANCIENT ICE CASKET

In the crumbling courtyard of a forgotten castle, Professor Erik Selvig hunched over his phase modulation device, connecting thick, coiled pipes from the machine to a massive, coffin-like object at the center of the stone plaza.

A biting cold radiated outward in waves—just standing near it made your breath crystallize in the air. The temperature dropped so dramatically that Selvig, despite being bundled in heavy winter gear, was still visibly shivering.

That ominous object? None other than the Casket of Ancient Winters—the sacred relic of the Frost Giants.

A rectangular, rune-etched container glowing faint blue with ancient energy, adorned with intricate carvings and sturdy handles meant for those not of human strength. In the right hands, the casket could unleash a torrent of ice and snow so immense it could plunge entire continents into a new ice age.

Back in 965 AD, the Frost Giants of Jotunheim attempted to invade other realms. They waged war against Asgard’s armies on Earth, freezing entire lands using this very artifact. Though human records only kept such chaos in the form of myth and legend, the devastation was very real. Odin himself led the charge against them, losing his right eye in a sneak attack by King Laufey. Though the Asgardians suffered great losses, they emerged victorious. The casket was taken as a war trophy and locked away.

Now, that same god-killing relic was back—right here on Earth—and it didn’t look like it had come with good intentions.

A dome-shaped shield enclosed both the casket and the phase device, to prevent the deadly cold from leaking out too much. Even with the barrier in place, Selvig’s fingers were stiff as he operated the control terminal. After checking one final setting, he straightened and declared, "All systems are go. The energy calibration will align in exactly three minutes. When the time comes, all I have to do is press this button—and the process will be complete."

Amora, the Enchantress, smiled seductively.

Her spell had worked flawlessly—Professor Selvig, once a man of science and reason, now served her loyally, like a devoted disciple entranced by a goddess. Under her enchantment, he had changed entirely. His logic, his fear, his hesitation—gone. He obeyed her will, heart and soul.

They were holed up inside a decaying castle long abandoned by time. The outer walls were crumbling, moss covering the stone like battle scars of history. The fractured floors whispered of lost glory.

From atop a broken parapet, The Executioner dropped down and gave Amora a hand signal.

Amora narrowed her eyes. "They’ve followed us again, haven’t they?"

Irritated, she sneered, "Well then... good. Maybe this time I can finish them off for good."

A massive Eagle-class jet

descended onto the castle’s open grounds, its engines purring like a beast preparing to strike. The rear hatch dropped, and Wanda Maximoff leapt out, leading the elite members of the Sharp Blade Squad.

Thanks to Ultron’s code, Wanda had tracked the unique remnants of chaos magic clinging to Amora. That breadcrumb trail had led them straight here—to this castle, to this moment.

And there she was—Amora herself, standing in the icy center of the courtyard, her devoted Executioner at her side like a loyal war dog.

Amora looked Wanda up and down and let out a playful giggle. "You really do love chasing me, don’t you? Honestly, it’s getting adorable. But I’m not in the mood to play with you."

"Oh, come on. I’ve missed you," Wanda replied, grinning. "You show up in my dreams every night. It’s getting exhausting."

Amora’s eyes scanned the squad members behind Wanda, her smile widening.

"Interesting," she said. "Your all-knowing leader didn’t come this time. You’re all alone."

Her voice dipped low, almost mockingly. "That’s... unfortunate."

"From my perspective, we’re not alone," Wanda countered, raising her hand like a gun and aiming it at Amora. "We have eight on our side. You? Just two. So let me be the first to say it—General, this looks a lot like your loss."

Amora burst into laughter. "Oh honey, if you think numbers win battles, you’ve clearly never studied sorcery."

With a snap of her fingers, the earth behind her seemed to ripple like a disturbed pond. Out of the darkness burst a massive beast—snarling, eyes glowing red, claws tearing through the ground.

Dozens more followed. Hulking, snarling, unnatural. It was as if the very bowels of Hel had opened, and out marched an army.

"Now," Amora laughed, her voice echoing off the cold stone walls, "I have the numbers advantage."

Meanwhile, in a desolate expanse outside New York, Thor paced back and forth like a nervous father in a hospital waiting room.

Tony Stark, inside his armored suit, stood silently nearby—on high alert. But his actual body was kneeling next to a huge, humming machine, typing furiously as diagnostics flooded a holographic screen.

"Is it ready yet?"

"No."

"How much longer?"

"A little more."

"Are you sure it’ll work?"

"Thor!" Stark finally snapped, setting his tools down. "This isn’t like smashing heads with your magic hammer! It’s not brute force—it’s science. If you want results, then sit your godly ass down and let me work."

To Stark’s astonishment, Thor didn’t argue. He simply sighed, sat on a nearby boulder, and began fiddling with Mjolnir like a curious child. He examined every rune, every crack—his usual bravado replaced with rare silence.

Minutes passed.

The machine beeped.

They had chosen this remote location for a reason—after running thousands of satellite scans and gravitational calculations, Stark determined that this was the thinnest point between Earth and Asgard. A dimensional seam so fine, so precise, that if anything could break through... it would be here.

Tony double-checked the math. One final recalibration.

"Alright," he muttered. "Coordinates locked. System charged. Time to see if a billionaire in a metal suit can outdo Bifrost."

If everything went right, Thor would be standing on Asgardian soil within the hour.

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T/N:

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