The Weight of Immortality - CH - 95

The night air was calm above Black hearth. The stars shimmered faintly over New York, casting silver light over the streets. Inside the apartment above the restaurant, Harry stood by his alchemy table, organizing a tray of delicate crystal vials. He sensed the moment the wards let someone pass.

The door opened.

Tony Stark stepped inside.

His suit was absent, but his expression was colder than steel.

He looked around as if expecting a fight.

Harry turned slowly. “You came back.”

Tony crossed the room with restrained tension. “I don’t know why. Maybe for closure. Or maybe I just want to hear you say it again—that the man who murdered my parents is sleeping in your guest room.”

Harry’s voice remained calm. “He’s not that man anymore, Tony.”

Tony laughed bitterly. “Tell that to my nightmares.”

From the shadows, Hela emerged.

Barefoot. Calm. Regal. Dangerous.

“I don’t think talking is going to help you understand,” she said. “So let’s try something else.”

Tony turned to her, raising a brow. “What? You gonna monologue me into therapy?”

She raised a hand and spoke one word, sharp and absolute:

“Imperio.”

Tony’s eyes widened—then turned glassy.

His posture stiffened.

Magic twisted invisibly around his mind like a vice, his will bent by Hela’s ancient sorcery.

He turned slowly toward Harry.

And lunged.

Tony tackled Harry toward the far wall, his fist igniting with a kinetic energy blast.

Harry shifted just in time, vanishing in a shimmer of violet light, reappearing beside the kitchen arch.

Tony, eyes blank, struck again—firing a pulse of repulsor energy that split the table in half.

Harry dodged each strike with swift, precise sidesteps—his wand raised but unused.

“Hela,” he said calmly, even as Tony swung at him again, “end it.”

Another whisper from her lips: “Release.”

The spell shattered.

Tony froze mid-stride, staggering as though waking from a nightmare.

He blinked, breath hitching. “What… what the hell—?”

Hela stepped forward, folding her arms.

“Now, let me ask you something, Anthony,” she said coldly. “You just tried to kill Harry. Again. While not in control of yourself.”

Tony was still catching his breath. “You—you forced me—”

“Exactly,” she said. “I forced you. You had no choice.”

She pointed at Harry, who stood calmly beside the broken table. “Should he blame you for what just happened? Should he hate you for almost hurting him?”

Tony opened his mouth—then closed it.

“No,” he said quietly. “He should blame you. You were the one who controlled me.”

Hela tilted her head, expression cold and elegant. “And now—you understand Bucky Barnes.”

Tony went completely still.

No one spoke.

Even the crackle of magical wards outside the windows seemed to hush.

Tony looked down at his hands. “You... made your point.”

Harry approached him slowly. “Tony. I told you the truth because I trust you. But I never expected you to let go of the pain in a day.”

Tony looked at Harry. “You always knew how to spin things. But this…”

He looked at Hela, eyes cautious now. “This was... extreme.”

“She is extreme,” Harry said, half a sigh.

Hela smirked. “And effective.”

Tony walked toward the door, hand on the frame. He looked back.

“I still don’t forgive him,” he said. “But... maybe now I don’t hate him as much.”

Harry nodded once. “That’s enough for now.”

Tony stepped out.

The door closed quietly behind him.

Harry turned to Hela. “You could’ve just used words.”

She arched a brow. “And risk him not listening?”

Harry rubbed his temples. “One day, you’ll tell me how your mind works.”

She grinned. “And ruin the mystery?”



Far beyond Earth, aboard a black-armored warship drifting through the void, Thanos’ children gathered around a star map pulsing with alien runes. A soft hum vibrated through the floor as their ship crossed another galactic boundary.

Proxima Midnight stepped forward, her spear in hand, eyes focused on the holographic projection of Earth.

“They’ve gone dark,” she said. “Harry Black and the woman called Hela. All scans from the Earth-bound networks have failed. They’ve cloaked themselves.”

Ebony Maw floated closer, hands folded behind his back. “He is not of this realm. Neither is she. He bends the laws of nature, and she… rules over death itself. Tracking them is like chasing whispers.”

Corvus Glaive snarled under his breath. “Then what do we do?”

Maw looked to a glowing orb within the projection.

“We follow the trail of raw magic. There are few places on Earth where that level of power can be hidden. They must be near one of them.”

Proxima tapped the display. “Our agents on Earth picked up energy fluctuations near New York, Wakanda, and Tibet—but one signature was strange. Not just magical… ancient. Elemental. Powerful enough to warp the fabric of space for a few seconds.”

Maw smiled faintly. “That… would be them.”

Later that cycle, a sleek obsidian drop-ship pierced Earth’s atmosphere unseen, bypassing all satellite detection. It moved with absolute precision—silent, quick, and guided by ancient coordinates.

Proxima Midnight, Ebony Maw, and Cull Obsidian descended into Earth’s shadows, with one singular mission:

Find Harry Black and Hela. And report directly to the Mad Titan.

Maw’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction as they stepped into the night.

“This world hides its secrets well,” he said softly. “Let’s see if its sorcerers are as good at protecting them.”


Proxima Midnight stood near the navigation array, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the swirling golden projection of New York City. Her lips curled in disdain.

Behind her, Ebony Maw glided silently toward her shoulder, his voice calm as ever.

“Our father was clear. We locate them, we report. Not engage.”

Proxima’s grip tightened on her spear. “He underestimates us.”

Corvus Glaive, sharpening his deadly weapon against his gauntlet, growled, “He always does.”

Cull Obsidian grunted approvingly in the corner.

Ebony Maw turned his head slightly. “Harry Black and the woman Hela are not typical Earth dwellers. They have escaped other realms. They challenged forces that shaped the cosmos long before we were forged. Attacking them without his blessing would be…”

He paused, searching for the right word.

“Unwise.”

Proxima turned sharply toward him. “Then let our victory be our apology. When we stand over their broken bodies, he’ll see who his strongest children truly are.”

Below, nestled in the hidden heart of Manhattan, Harry Black and Hela of Asgard returned home.

It had been a long day. The repairs to the apartment, post-Stark-and-Barnes' near-brawl, had been finished in a matter of minutes—but Harry had still left the scorch mark on the ceiling as a reminder.

Now, in the dim glow of magical orbs hovering over the fireplace, the two sat quietly—Harry reading an old grimoire, Hela calmly brushing her hair, a glass of dark wine in hand.

“Do you feel that?” Hela asked, eyes still fixed on her wine.

Harry didn’t look up. “I do.”

A pulse. A whisper through the wards. Something probing—delicate, deliberate, and very alien.

“They’re near,” Harry said. “And they’re not just scouting.”

Hela raised a brow. Enimies are coming for us?”

Harry murmured. “They think they can win.”

Hela stood slowly, her green robes reforming into dark battle armor around her. “Oh, how adorable.”

Harry finally closed the book, setting it gently on the side table. He flicked his wand and the balcony doors opened with a whisper. The wind carried in the scent of smoke—not from the city.

From above.

“Then we remind them why we were never on Thanos' list of targets until now.”

The Stalker’s Edge uncloaked high above Manhattan, invisible to all except those attuned to celestial energies.

“Energy readings peaking,” Maw noted coldly. “They know.”

“They should,” Proxima said with a smirk. “We're knocking on the devil’s door.”

Corvus Glaive leapt from the deck, followed by Proxima and Cull. Maw remained behind, overseeing the descent.

Below them, the rooftop of Black hearth shimmered with golden wards. But the invaders didn’t hesitate.

Three warlords of Thanos descended like a hammer from the sky—headed straight toward Harry Black and Hela of Asgard.

Proxima Midnight, Corvus Glaive, and Cull Obsidian smashed into the rooftop of Blackheart, the shockwave of their impact sending cracks rippling down the sides of nearby buildings and shattering windows in a six-block radius.

The wards around Black hearth pulsed violently as they absorbed the shock, but even the ancient enchantments groaned under the sheer force of the intruders.

Inside the apartment, the lights flickered.

Harry Black stepped onto the balcony, wand already in hand. His coat swirled around him with the weight of the storm rising above the city.

Hela emerged behind him, clad in her full battle armor. Her crown of horns shimmered to life, and in her hand materialized the black shimmer of her Necrosword, pulsing with an ancient rage.

Below them, the streets had erupted into chaos. Civilians screamed and scattered. Cars skidded, collided, and flipped.

Harry looked down at the devastation, his expression sharp.

"No mercy."

Hela nodded. "We show them who we are."

Cull Obsidian roared and charged first, leaping across the rooftop with his hammer raised.

Harry raised a hand and uttered, "Praemio Vindictum!"

The air before him cracked open, and from the seam burst a barrage of golden javelins made of pure kinetic light. They hammered into Cull mid-charge, driving him backward through a rooftop HVAC unit, then the wall behind it. The explosion rocked the rooftop and sent flames spilling into the sky.

Corvus Glaive was already moving, a blur of shadow and death, his glaive slashing downward toward Hela.

But Hela was faster.

She twisted, catching the blade mid-air with her necrosword. The two weapons met with a shriek of metal and magic. Sparks exploded around them. Then Hela drove her forehead into Corvus's face, shattering his nose and sending him stumbling back. Before he could recover, she kicked him off the rooftop entirely. He crashed through a billboard across the street, falling into the side of a construction crane.

Proxima Midnight landed in front of Harry, twirling her three-pronged spear.

"Thanos warned us about you."

Harry didn’t blink. "He didn't warn you enough."

She struck first, the spear moving faster than sound. Harry conjured a floating mirror of glass-like arcane shields. The spear bounced once, then twice, and on the third strike, shattered a barrier and grazed his arm.

Blood flicked to the stone.

Harry lifted his wand, and the runes around them detonated.

The rooftop turned into a vortex of spells. Walls of flame erupted from the ground, laced with sigils of binding. Chains of lightning arced through the air like serpents, lashing toward Proxima.

She jumped, flipping, dodging—until one of the tendrils coiled around her leg and slammed her into the rooftop.

Cull Obsidian burst back through the stairwell behind them, hurling the wreckage of a water tank. It struck the rooftop like a meteor, sending Harry and Hela flying opposite directions.

On the street below, panic was full-scale. Civilians ran screaming. Car alarms blared. A city bus overturned in the shockwave of Cull’s attack. Flaming debris poured down like rain.

Hela stood on the edge of the rooftop, necrosword extended, and summoned a storm of blades from shadow. They flew into the air and rained down on Cull and Corvus both, slashing through armor, pinning them to broken brick walls, even cracking Cull’s shoulder pauldron in two.

Harry hovered into the air, cloak spread wide like wings, chanting in a tongue long lost to the stars.

"Exsolvo Astralis. Vindico Incendia. Arx Lux!"

The sky opened.

A beam of light from above, infused with raw celestial fire, erupted from the heavens and struck Cull Obsidian, vaporizing the ground beneath his feet. The blast created a crater in the rooftop. Debris fell like shrapnel for blocks. Nearby buildings groaned under the impact, glass raining from skyscrapers, traffic lights swinging wildly.

But Cull stood, burned and scorched—angrier.

From the ground, Corvus Glaive hurled his weapon, and it stabbed Harry through the side.

Harry dropped to a knee, blood pouring down his ribs. But his eyes were blazing.

"You think pain will stop me? I've carried lifetimes of it."

He ripped the glaive free, threw it into the air, and turned it into a flock of ravens, each charged with eldritch fire, tearing into Corvus with a scream of vengeance.

Proxima returned to her feet just as Hela descended upon her, blades whirling, blades forming from the air. Every step Hela took cracked the concrete.

"You're strong," Proxima hissed, bleeding. "But we're children of the Titan. We don't die easy."

Hela grinned. "Neither do gods."

She plunged the necrosword through Proxima's side, twisting it as the rooftop shattered beneath them.

Sirens filled the air. Helicopters circled. News cameras zoomed from afar, catching glimpses of the battle.

Half the block had collapsed. Cars were overturned. Fires burned on the street. Magical wards still flickered on nearby buildings, barely shielding civilians from total destruction.

And at the epicenter of it all, Harry and Hela stood, bloodied but unbowed, surrounded by their enemies—now dead, their bodies broken and lifeless.

Harry knelt beside Ebony Maw, whose breath had failed him in his final moments. As Maw's mind flickered out, Harry pressed his wand gently to the corpse’s temple.

"Legilimens."

He sifted through the dying echoes of thought. Panic. Arrogance. And then—coordinates. An asteroid field cloaked in a gravity veil. A place where Thanos hid his flagship, his armories, and the final pieces of his war machine.

Harry opened his eyes slowly.

"I know where he is," he said.

Hela wiped blood from her cheek, eyes gleaming. "Then it's time we visit the Titan."

The war had just found its next battlefield.