Marvel: My Sign-in System

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Frigga had long earned the sincere admiration and respect of Asgard's gods and its people. Her influence wasn't just tied to her status as Odin's wife but stemmed from her deeds. She had won hearts with her gentleness and unwavering grace, offering a stark contrast to Odin's commanding majesty.

If Odin was the stern and resolute king, Frigga was the nurturing mother. Her presence brought peace, as if her every word and gesture washed over others like a soothing spring, dissolving negativity.

Even newcomers like Natasha and Wanda felt the effect of her calm demeanor. Both, sensitive to emotions, found her sincerity reassuring. Frigga's warmth was genuine—far removed from any hint of hypocrisy.

Natasha, feeling Frigga's hand clasp hers, smiled softly. "Thor is our friend, and so is Asgard. This is what friends do."

Her candid words struck the right chord, especially with the Asgardians, who valued sincerity. As expected, Thor, Frigga, and the Warriors Three responded with approving smiles.

Frigga nodded gracefully. "Thor has told me little about you, but I know this much: when he faced his darkest hours, it was your aid that brought him back. For that, Asgard will forever be in your debt."

Turning to Wanda, her eyes gleamed with recognition. "You are unique, my dear," she remarked enigmatically before returning her gaze to Thor.

"Let us prepare a banquet," Frigga announced. "After all, we need to celebrate the triumphs of war."

Thor beamed. "Yes, Mother!"

He approached Natasha and her group. "Come," he said with a grin. "Let me show you the wonders of Asgard."

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Hell, the fiery realm of despair, was a landscape humans dared not imagine. It was a land of unrelenting chaos, where fiery explosions and choking black smoke engulfed ruined cities. Corpses littered the ground, while ravenous demons and vengeful undead lurked in shadows, their greed-filled eyes ever watchful.

This realm, filled with endless conflict and carnage, was ruled by the demon king Mephisto—a being as cunning as he was cruel. His castle, an imposing structure at the heart of the infernal plane, stood in solitary dominance. No demon or undead dared tread within its vicinity.

Inside, Mephisto lounged on his throne, his crimson, monstrous form illuminated by the flickering flames of Hell. One clawed hand propped up his chin as he stared into the void of his cavernous hall, boredom etched on his face.

Suddenly, his crimson eyes snapped open, and his posture straightened. A ripple of unease coursed through him as an inexplicable terror gripped his core. His gaze darted toward the center of the hall, where golden particles began to materialize out of thin air.

The swirling particles coalesced into a humanoid form—a man clad in a silver-black trench coat, with a black shirt, trousers, and pristine white shoes. A necklace with a vivid azure gemstone rested against his chest. His chiseled features and piercing gaze exuded an aura of dominance and danger.

"Leon," Mephisto muttered, his voice low and wary.

"Mephisto," Leon replied coolly.

A smirk played on the demon king's lips as he descended the steps from his throne, his sharp devil's tail flicking restlessly. "You never cease to surprise me, my friend."

Leon remained impassive. "Surprised I came to see you?"

"No," Mephisto admitted, "but I am impressed by how far you've come." His blazing eyes narrowed as he studied Leon. "The young man who once destroyed my soul projection now dares to step into Hell itself, into my castle. That takes more than courage—it requires power and confidence."

Leon's unassuming demeanor only amplified the undercurrent of terror Mephisto felt. Though the human's form seemed ordinary, Mephisto couldn't shake the sense of an immense, untouchable force lurking beneath the surface.

Ever cautious, Mephisto kept his tone measured. "So, as the new guardian of Earth, I assume you're not here for pleasantries, are you, Leon?"

"Not particularly," Leon said bluntly, his gaze unwavering.

Mephisto chuckled dryly. "Fair enough. Let me guess—you're here about your little protégés?"

Leon's expression hardened. "You guessed correctly."

"So this is a warning, then," Mephisto said, his tone darkening.

Leon's voice was soft but firm. "That depends on how you interpret it. Consider it a reminder—or a warning. The choice is yours."

The weight of Leon's words hung heavy in the air. Mephisto's mind flickered to Wanda, the human girl wielding chaos magic—a power that intrigued and tempted him. Yet he knew the man standing before him would go to war to protect her, a war Mephisto had no confidence he could win.

The demon king's tail flicked anxiously as he weighed the risks. Finally, he forced a smile, his tone laced with caution. "I understand, Leon. You've made yourself clear."

Leon's piercing eyes lingered on Mephisto for a moment longer before he turned away. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate slightly, but the message was unmistakable: crossing Leon's line would invite certain doom.

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