Marvel: AS A PRINCE IN ASGARD

The murderous intent had already ignited, and Ragna did not hesitate.

He moved like a blur, suddenly appearing behind Black Bolt, swinging the Twilight Sword in a deadly arc aimed at severing the Inhuman King's head. But Black Bolt's reaction was instantaneous.

Even with Ragna attacking from a blind spot, the King of Attilan tracked him with uncanny precision, countering each strike. The Twilight Sword, a weapon forged in the cosmic forges of Twilight, clashed repeatedly with Black Bolt's quasi-mystical Staff of Attilan—the royal scepter infused with Terrigen energy. Each collision produced shockwaves, sending cosmic sparks scattering into the void.

They fought at such speeds that afterimages littered the battlefield, flickering like mirages across the lunar surface. Yet, after only a brief exchange, Ragna noticed something disturbing—the Twilight Sword in his hand was growing unstable.

Falling back momentarily, he inspected the blade. Then, without warning, the legendary weapon—the very one wielded by Surtur himself—crumbled into cosmic dust, scattering across the void.

Ragna narrowed his eyes. Black Bolt smirked.

The Inhuman King slightly parted his lips, and in that instant, a barely audible hum rippled through the battlefield.

An imperceptible wave of energy—more than mere sound—crashed into Ragna like an ocean of force.

"Sonic attack?" Ragna muttered, instantly sealing his divine senses. But he realized his mistake too late.

This wasn't just sound.

The moment the wave touched him, his divine body shuddered. His very molecules trembled, his celestial power momentarily disrupted.

"No, this isn't a sound wave at all."

Black Bolt's true power wasn't merely destructive vocals—it was pure, concentrated vibration.

Vibration—one of the most potent forces in the universe.

No matter how indestructible an object was, no matter how divine the flesh—if its internal structure could be made to resonate, it would shatter. Vibrations could bypass armor, seep into bones, and dismantle an opponent from the inside out.

Moreover, all things—whether stars, planets, or the tiniest atoms—constantly moved. Everything vibrated. And Black Bolt could feel it all.

A power of destruction. A power of perception.

A power that made him one of the most dangerous beings in the cosmos.

But against Ragna ? It was not enough.

Ragna moved, sidestepping another seismic blast. With a mere flick of his fingers, a miniature solar flare exploded into existence above his palm.

Then, the bombardment began.

The void of space lit up as golden infernos rained down, covering the far side of the moon in an unending cascade of fire. Each solar burst carried a fraction of a dying star's fury, setting the entire battlefield ablaze.

The moon's surface cracked. Entire craters turned molten.

Black Bolt had no choice but to unleash his full vibrational might, attempting to counter the onslaught. The sheer force of his power destabilized the energy falling upon him, disintegrating waves of solar destruction before they could reach him.

But he was fighting a losing battle.

The heat of the lunar wasteland climbed higher and higher. Ragna , basking in the solar energy, grew stronger. Black Bolt, in contrast, began to wither like a flame deprived of air.

The King of Attilan gasped, his mighty frame trembling. His royal armor, woven with Terrigen-infused alloys, was beginning to crack.

And worst of all—he couldn't run.

Ragna held the Space Stone. The moment Black Bolt attempted to flee, the Aesir would intercept him with a single blink across space.

Despair settled in.

Back in Attilan, the Inhumans and the Skrulls watched in growing horror.

Their mightiest champion—Black Bolt, the Silent King, the Terrigen-Blessed Monarch—was faltering.

If he fell, what chance did the rest of them have?

The panic spread like wildfire. Many Inhumans, in desperation, turned their gazes toward the Skrulls.

They had never been allies. The Skrulls had brought nothing but conflict.

Was it not their fault that Ragna had come?

Some Inhumans began murmuring. Others glared at the Skrulls with barely restrained fury.

Tarkes, the son of Skrull General Talos, stepped forward, ready to protest.

But Talos raised a hand, silencing him.

The Skrull leader's expression darkened.

Slowly, he lifted his arm—and five towering figures stepped forward.

The robes fell away, revealing them in full.

Five Abominations.

Mutant-Skrull hybrids, genetically enhanced with abilities stolen from the X-Gene, spliced with the Terrigen-altered DNA of the Inhumans, and further enhanced with samples taken from Banner's Gamma-infused cells.

Behind them, dozens of others emerged—genetically-altered Green Goblins, Lizard-men, Mutants bearing multiple abilities, and cybernetically-enhanced Skrull warriors.

Talos exhaled. Without Black Bolt, Attilan would fall.

Medusa, the Inhuman Queen, recognized the danger immediately.

She had no love for the Skrulls, but she was no fool. If the Inhumans allowed their King to fall, then their entire civilization would follow.

For the first time, her hostility softened.

She turned to Talos.

"Black Bolt needs support," she said.

Her voice carried the weight of a monarch.

"This battle is one of survival for both our people. If we do not fight together, we will perish separately."

Talos nodded solemnly.

"It is our responsibility as well," he admitted.

But his expression remained troubled.

"The battlefield is already consumed by an inferno," he said, glancing at the raging solar storms. "Most of our forces won't survive if we send them in. And even if we do, I fear it won't be enough. We need… more."

Silence.

Both Medusa and Talos knew what he meant.

There was another option.

Another force that could turn the tide.

But to invoke that power was to court destruction itself.

On the battlefield, the clash raged on.

Black Bolt's entire body glowed crimson, the once-pristine royal sigil on his chest now marred by heat and cosmic scars. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one vibrating with barely contained energy.

If this continued, he wouldn't be burned alive.

He would disintegrate himself.

Medusa met Talos' gaze.

They exchanged a bitter, knowing look.

They had made their decision.

For the survival of their people—for even the chance of saving Black Bolt—

They would release him.

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