Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 41

Chapter 41: A New Plan

Her voice connected through the study, ringing with an unyielding fanaticism and absolute confidence—it was the pure, brutal logic of a born conqueror.

If an enemy exists, you defeat it. If an obstacle stands in your way, you destroy it. To Hela, this was the fundamental truth of power. All other considerations—’management,’ ‘digestion,’ ‘preparation’—were nothing more than signs of weakness, pathetic hesitations that the strong should never entertain.

As Hela’s declaration settled in the air, the final ember of patience in Odin’s eye finally sputtered and died, leaving behind only the cold ashes of profound disappointment.

He knew this daughter of his all too well. Hela’s talent and bravery were beyond question; she was forged to be Asgard’s sharpest sword and its most resilient shield. Yet, she was fundamentally lacking. She lacked the temperate judgment to assess a situation as a ruler must, the cosmic perspective demanded of an heir to the throne, and the core wisdom to understand *why* power should be wielded in the first place. She saw only the glittering edge of the blade but forgot that every sword needs a scabbard. She craved only the intoxicating thrill of conquest, completely blind to the immense responsibilities that came in its wake.

A Hela like this could be an invincible general, a legend on the battlefield. But she could never be a worthy heir to the throne of Asgard.

The divine power cloaking Odin began to thrum, a subtle but dangerous tremor that signaled the imminent eruption of his royal fury.

But Mavuika was a step ahead of him.

The very instant Odin’s aura shifted, she had already moved. It was a single, fluid step, appearing utterly casual, yet it precisely positioned her in the space between her father and her sister, a silent, living barrier.

Mavuika didn’t look back. She merely inclined her head slightly, her voice a soft yet unyielding murmur meant only for the All-Father’s ears. “Let me handle this, Father.”

Odin froze, his intended step never landing.

He looked at the back of his eldest daughter. Mavuika stood there, her posture as straight and unyielding as a mountain pine. A quiet, golden-red fire flowed around her, a gentle aura that was neither ostentatious nor weak, but as steadfast as a lighthouse in a storm. For a long moment, Odin was silent. The brewing thunder in his eye slowly receded, and the sharp sting of disappointment gave way to a deeper, more profound emotion: trust.

He gave a single, imperceptible nod. Mavuika seemed to sense it without looking, offering a slight tilt of her head in acknowledgment before turning her full attention back to Hela, who still stood before them, seething with anger and defiance.

Odin retreated in silence, the heavy door of the study swinging shut behind him with a soft thud, leaving the two sisters alone in the vast chamber.

Hela hadn’t even spared their father a parting glance. Her gaze was locked onto Mavuika, sharp and predatory as a leopard sizing up its prey, yet also as desperate as a lost traveler fixing their eyes on the last remaining lighthouse in a tempest.

“Your reasoning isn’t entirely wrong, Hela,” Mavuika said, her voice breaking the heavy silence only after the door was fully closed.

The unexpected validation made Hela’s tense expression falter, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

Mavuika continued, “To resolve the troubles brewing on Midgard, a confrontation with those beings they call ‘Gods’ is inevitable. Father and I are both fully aware of this.”

She took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. This time, Hela held her ground.

“But, Hela…” Mavuika’s tone shifted, hardening into the focused, analytical cadence of a commander planning a campaign. “You, who have led Asgard’s legions to countless victories, know better than anyone that war is not some frivolous game. This is especially true when we face an unknown enemy, one that may possess power far beyond our current comprehension.” She met Hela’s gaze, her own eyes like molten gold, enunciating each word with chilling clarity. “Asgard does not fight battles it is not prepared to win.”

Hela gritted her teeth, her voice dripping with scorn. “And when, exactly, will we be ‘ready,’ sister? In ten years? A hundred? A thousand? Are we to wait until these ‘Gods’ come knocking on Asgard’s gates? Wait until those seeds on Midgard bloom and their roots drain the very life from that world?”

The sarcasm in her voice was a thin veil over a deeper, gnawing anxiety—anxiety over time slipping away, over opportunities lost, over the fear that her promised ‘ultimate conquest’ would never arrive.

Mavuika simply shook her head. She didn’t answer Hela’s frantic questions directly, instead changing the subject with startling abruptness. “Do you remember the war against the Dark Elves? When I cloaked every Asgardian warrior in my flame, allowing them to charge into the jaws of death without fear, to rise again even after being struck down.”

Hela blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in topic. “Of course, I remember,” she replied, almost by reflex. A note of grudging admiration crept into her voice, one she couldn’t suppress.

“It was a miraculous power,” Hela admitted. “To be reborn from flame… it’s an advantage in warfare so profound it feels like cheating.”

“I call it the ‘Resurrection Poem’,” Mavuika explained, nodding. A small sphere of warm, golden-red fire materialized in her palm, intricate, shimmering runes swirling within its heart. “But in truth… it is not yet complete.”

Hela raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And?” Her curiosity was unmistakably piqued.

As a warrior who had witnessed the Resurrection Poem’s power firsthand on the battlefield, Hela understood its terrifying strategic value better than anyone. It was the equivalent of granting an army infinite reinforcements, unbreakable morale, and near-zero casualties. The implications were staggering. *If that power could be mass-produced…*

“As it is now, the Resurrection Poem is sustained entirely by my own power,” Mavuika said, extinguishing the flame with a close of her hand. Her expression grew grave. “If I overexert myself, or if the battlefield is too vast and my soldiers are too far from me, the protection weakens. It can even be severed completely. The area of effect is also severely limited.”

She gestured toward the grand window overlooking the city. “At full exertion, I can just barely extend its protection across Asgard proper. That is sufficient for containing internal conflicts or defending our interests within the Nine Realms. But if…”

Mavuika’s gaze turned distant, her eyes looking past the golden spires and into the deep, star-strewn void, as if she could perceive the silent, titanic shadows lurking there. “…if we are to face the beings our father spoke of, if our theater of war expands across entire galaxies, or if the very survival of the Nine Realms is at stake… then the Resurrection Poem as it exists now is woefully inadequate.”

A jolt went through Hela. She finally understood the true implication of her sister’s words.

“Which is why I need your help, Hela,” Mavuika stated, turning back to face her. Her golden eyes held a profound seriousness, a silent plea that connected deeper than any command.

Hela was utterly stunned into silence. She had braced herself for more persuasion, for a stern reprimand, or even a show of force to put her in her place. She had imagined every possible outcome except this one. Never, in all her life, had she considered that her invincible older sister would ask *her* for help.

“Me?” Hela pointed a disbelieving finger at her own chest. “How could I possibly help you? My Death Divine Power and your living flame… they are antithetical forces.”

“No, not conflicting at all,” Mavuika corrected, a strange, knowing glint in her eyes. “On the contrary… the full potential of the Resurrection Poem only began to awaken after it came into contact with *you*.”

This was the truth Mavuika had been piecing together. The poem, a fundamental rule she had brought with her from Teyvat, had only truly activated after its first exposure to Hela’s Death Divine Power. It was a revelation: for her old powers to reach their zenith in this new universe, they couldn’t just exist within it; they had to deeply integrate with its fundamental laws.

It was the same for the Source Fire that burned within her soul. Here, in this reality, it could only express its most basic aspects: burning and purification. Its true, higher functions—the ability to mold life, to carry memories, to condense the very essence of faith—were all dormant, shackled by the laws of this universe. Mavuika theorized that only by allowing her Source Fire to completely fuse with the cosmic order of the Nine Realms, with the cycle of life and death and the sacred energy flowing through the Irminsul, could she unlock its true potential.

And if she succeeded… she could even introduce the concept of Phlogiston to Asgard, elevating the power of the entire Golden Realm to an entirely new dimension.