Loki’s Successor System

Hel stood amidst a room, with his hands covered in crimson blood, striking a menacing stance while his power misted out from his body like steam escaping a pot of boiling water. He lingered a smirk on his face, standing, encompassed by an army of powerful foes. The men in black suits beset him.

He was not far away from Rendell, but a certain figure was betwixt him and the former, blocking him from getting ahold of his target. Conor was his name. Now, Hel had punched two holes in Conor—which explains why his hands were girded in blood—but somehow he hadn't died. Conor didn't look nearly as belligerent as the other men encircling Hel.

"It was stupid of you to come alone. Where'd your men go?" asked Conor, holding his bleeding stomach.

Conor was in his twenties. Although he didn't wear an army uniform, he was indeed a soldier. A soldier who had but one purpose just like all the other figures in the black suits: Protect the Great Rendell. Conor didn't fear death; he knew he was going to die just as he knew they were going to fail. Despite having known he was going to fight a battle he was destined to lose, he nonetheless called army troops. Meta soldiers like his best friend, Dean, were in the building and would soon arrive to fight for Rendell.

"I needn't an army to take down a group of weak, pesky rodents," Hel, eyes darkening, replied as his horns grew.

Conor grimaced. "Overconfident much?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"So you know you're arrogant, huh? Interesting," said Conor, nodding. "So are we gonna fight or what?"

Hel grinned widely as he powered up. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

***

Karsia laid supine upon the floor, looking up at a white ceiling. A migraine ran its course as he loitered unmoving, causing him to wince. He placed a hand to the back of his head and felt subtle warmth meshed with a searing pain as he pressed upon the area. He moved his hand and slowly brought it to his face such that he could see his palm.

His palm was swathed in blood, and he was certain it wasn't like this before. Supposedly, one of Hel's men had knocked him unconscious. As old as he was, the blow that was meant to merely knock him out was a trifle lethal on his part. He slowly ascended to his behind, bending his back and using his hands as an aid.

He groaned as he raised to his feet, hunching his back. Old age was really taking its toll on him or was it the blow he's received? Standing, Karsia started to hear mild explosions coming from the room in which the Great Rendell was incarcerated for centuries.

Curiosity made him peek into the room. He wasn't supposed to do this, and he knew that. The Great Rendell's presence alone would be adequate to kill him within minutes alone like an incurable virus. He knew this as well. Peeking into the room, all he could see was dark figures covered in blood, and an army fighting over hundreds of figures sharing Hel's physique.

Karsia was dumbfounded. His eyes widened when he saw the Great Rendell's dome broken into facets. He turned to one of the Hel clones, only to see it eviscerating one of the soldiers with its bare hands.

Seeing the Great Rendell there alone, he started to plot something. Then he began to feel a warmth in one of his nostrils. Slowly, blood trickled down from this nostril and touched his upper lip. He wiped the blood, swearing it on his face. Then he swallowed his fear, looking into the room.

Under a minute later, Karsia was walking into the room. "Superheroes ... is this how stupid they feel when they do something suicidal like this?" he muttered to himself, ducking into the room.

He was discreet, not walking too slow nor too fast, his steps were almost silent. He headed toward a huge machine with a dual monitor setup next to it.

The domes were used to Incarcerate the Great Rendell—everyone knew this. But only a few, like Karsia, knew that there were actually 4 different domes that are activated on different occasions. The Purple would be activated when a doctor, like the woman who Hel had killed, comes to take tests and studies on Rendell.

The purple dome was always particularly the weakest among the rest. It allowed the doctors to scan the body and see Rendell more clearly in that it was the most translucent dome. The blue dome was used for general protection and was quite strong. The yellow was used for healing Rendell if his body was damaged and required healing. It was only autonomously activated when fatal health issues were detected with the current vessel.

Then there was the red dome. This dome was the strongest amongst them all and could only be activated if all the power in the building is used to activate an immensely powerful forcefield that could even stop nuclear bombs. This was the dome Karsia wanted to activate.

Karsia was no more than six meters away from the machine. Anxious, he quickened his steps. Then suddenly, a figure was sent flying in his direction. The figure missed him and went sliding on the floor on his back. A screeching sounded. Karsia paused in that he thought it was one of Hel's clones attacking him. He turned around to see one of the soldiers who had come to protect Rendell.

He knew this soldier. His name was Justin, his teenage neighbor. Justin was gagging on his own blood and groaning. His body was covered in blood, and his eyes were widened. "Mr. Karsia .... w-what are you .. doing here? M-Mr. Karsia, please ... please get out of here!" he cried.

Karsia placed a finger upon his lips. "Shhhh..." he tried to quell Justin.

But to no avail.

"No, Mr. Karsia ... you don't understand ... you need to get out of here! You have a family to go home to, you gotta get out. Mr. Karsia hurry, you have to—" suddenly, a beam of concentrated dark energy hit Justin's head, and caused it to explode.

Karsia gasped. It was a disgusting sight, especially after knowing Justin for so long. One of the Clones had spotted Karsiar. It was supposedly the perpetrator of Justin's death. It was nearing him, belligerent—ready to attack him. He quickly turned to the machine and rushed toward it. He slid on his feet and quickly started using the machine. He pressed a few buttons and started generating the dome. He knew he should've prioritized activating the dome, and shouldn't have stopped when he saw Justin. He clenched his teeth at the thought.

He heard a female AI voice say, "Initializing, 1%"

He looked over his shoulder and saw that the clone was menacingly approaching him, slowly.

"Damn it! Hurry up!" he snapped.

"Initializing, 5%"

"Initializing, 11%"

He looked over his shoulder again. The figure was gaining on him despite how slow it was walking. "C'mon, faster god damn it!"

"Initializing, 26%"

"Initializing, 36%"

"Initializing, 53%"

Impatient, Karsia gritted his teeth. The clone was getting close.

***

Dean had watched his comrades die, one by one. They had trained for so long, yet their perseverance hadn't done one fuck for them but shoot them up the ranks. The demons were stronger than Dean thought—in fact, he didn't know he was going to fight a demon. They were losing this war—

"No—the demons are just winning it." Dean mused. A clone jabbed him to his face. He quickly touched it on its chest, freezing it radically.

Pressing a finger upon his earpiece, he spoke into the coms. "This is Lieutenant Dean. Requesting backup. Threat level S."

he heard a female voice in his ear. "Do you have a count on the enemies?"

Dean furrowed his brows, looking at one of the Hel clones. "Affirmative. One ... one man," he uttered softly.

"Is the race threat level S? Demon? God?"

"Affirmative," Dean said, thrusting a cold fist into an assailant's face. The said assailant had collapsed, sprawling out—headless—as its frozen head slid on the floor.

"Sending troops to your location now." replied the female voice.

Dean turned off the coms. He fished a hand in his pocket and pulled out an iron, box-like canteen of alcohol. A best friend gave it to him. A friend who was dead now.

He slit his eyes. "What better place to drink other than your own graveyard? It's a perfect place to celebrate thirty years of life."

He heard his comrades' cries exploding into his ears.

"Commander!"

"Commander, are you there!"

He chose to neglect them. He revolved the cover on the canteen, opening it. Then, he brought the canteen to his parted mouth and slurped down all of it in one go, alcohol running down the sides of his mouth, and falling onto his clothes. He heaved loudly as he edged the canteen away from his mouth.

"This battle is already lost. We failed to protect Rendell." he started walking away from the battlefield, hearing the cry of his comrades in his deliberate withdrawal.