Marvel: AS A PRINCE IN ASGARD

"How is this possible?"

"Did God abandon the world?"

"Lord, your pious lamb needs your deliverance!"

"Is this the trumpet of the end? Impossible… impossible… impossible…"

"How could Gabriel join forces with the Devil? Has he fallen too?"

"God, please open your eyes and look at the world!"

Across the world, devout believers wept as the live broadcast showed Gabriel standing beside Mammon, the Son of Satan, preparing to open the Black Abyss, the gate that led directly to the depths of Hell. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur, the energy from the infernal dimension leaking into the mortal plane.

Paparazzi, ever hungry for the next big story, continued their objective reporting.

"As seen in the footage, the angel identified as Gabriel appears to be colluding with a powerful demonic entity."

"But is he truly the archangel Gabriel?"

"Or is there a deeper plan behind his actions?"

"What will happen to Los Angeles once the gates of Hell fully open?"

"What's the real secret behind all this?"

"Is this a distortion of human nature or the fall of Heaven itself?"

"The Daily Bugle, Los Angeles Times, and CNN will remain on the scene, bringing you firsthand coverage!"

America's mainstream media continued to broadcast without hesitation. Whether for fame or an invisible force guiding their actions, every camera remained locked on the Black Abyss, capturing the horror unfolding before them.

Then—

HOOOORRRAAAAARRRHHH!

A monstrous demonic head emerged from the gate first.

Jagged horns crowned its skull, its eyes burned like molten magma, and its serrated maw gnashed hungrily. Its massive body followed—twisted, muscular limbs ending in razor-sharp claws, cloven hooves scraping against the asphalt, a long, barbed tail dripping hellfire onto the earth.

The demon gazed at the city, lifted its head, and let out a primal roar, pounding its chest with both hands like a titan reveling in its long-awaited freedom.

Then came the carnage.

The first wave of demons surged forth—lesser fiends clawing and slashing at anything in sight. Then, the larger monstrosities followed.

The Hellhounds—massive three-headed beasts with serrated fangs—charged wildly, their mouths spewing fire. Infernal Knights, clad in blackened steel, rode on flaming steeds, their glowing lances skewering anything in their path. Wraiths, spectral horrors with sunken faces, glided over the battlefield, sucking the life from terrified mortals. Balrogs, towering giants of magma and darkness, crushed everything beneath their molten fists.

It was an onslaught.

But something unnatural was driving them. These creatures were fleeing—as if something even more terrifying lurked behind them in Hell, forcing them forward.

They weren't just invading Earth.

They were escaping from something far worse.

Above the chaos, Gabriel and Mammon stood atop a ruined skyscraper, watching with cold detachment.

Mammon's form twisted unnaturally, his body aging in seconds from an infant to an impossibly handsome man, his features carved with an unnatural, almost divine beauty. His lips curled as he inhaled deeply, absorbing the invisible essence flooding the air—the souls of the fallen.

Every death fed him.

Every soul torn from a mortal body was drawn into his being, making him stronger.

And as Mammon fed, the land beneath him withered.

The once-thriving streets of Los Angeles blackened under his presence, buildings decayed in moments, trees shriveled into lifeless husks. The air itself became thick with death, suffocating any remaining life.

Gabriel took a step away, discomfort flickering across his face. The aura surrounding Mammon was repulsive, an antithesis to the divine.

But as the wails of humans filled the streets—their prayers, their desperate cries for salvation—a smile curled on Gabriel's lips.

Yes… this was faith.

Without suffering, there would be no true devotion.

Without fear, there would be no need for Heaven.

Heaven could only be worshiped when Hell was known.

Gabriel turned his gaze toward the circling helicopters, their cameras locked onto him and Mammon.

Damn it.

They had recorded everything.

His hand twitched. Had he been too reckless? If the world saw an angel standing with the Son of Satan, his plans could be ruined.

He needed to fix this.

With a subtle flex of his power, his wings darkened, shifting from their divine gold to a midnight black.

A fallen angel.

Not Gabriel.

Not the Messenger of God.

Just another rogue, another outcast.

With this disguise, he could move freely. Let Heaven deny him now.

But something was off.

Where was the Sorcerer Supreme?

Why had Doctor Strange not appeared to contain the demonic invasion? The Ancient One had once placed powerful wards to stop interdimensional threats like this.

Gabriel frowned.

Was he being… played?

Meanwhile, in the depths of Hell, Ragna walked among the damned.

This was not Hel—the Norse realm where Hela reigned.

No, this was something else entirely. The Hell of Mephisto and Lucifer, a dimension shaped by the faith of humanity, its very existence bound to mortal belief.

And then Ragna learned the truth.

Heaven and Hell were not true worlds.

They were constructs—pocket dimensions sustained by the beliefs of Earth's inhabitants.

Man had come first.

Then came the gods.

Ragna smirked as he tore through a Greater Demon, slicing it in half with a single strike. From its corpse, he extracted a secret.

The original Satan and God were long dead.

One had become the Furnace of Hell, its smoldering core devouring souls to keep the dimension alive. The other had turned into the Flame of Heaven, a dying ember barely sustaining the celestial realm.

Ragna peered into the Furnace of Hell—an abyss of screaming souls, some reduced to nothing, others reshaped into new horrors.

But the energy of Hell was dwindling.

Fewer demons were emerging.

The system was failing.

Even the Hell Lords had resorted to sacrificing their own—crippling lesser demons, tossing them into the furnace just to keep the realm from collapsing.

Hell was dying.

And if Hell would end, so too would Heaven.

Ragna reached into the infernal flames, then sealed them away.

He wasn't leaving empty-handed.

Back on Earth—

A portal tore open above Los Angeles.

The Angelic Legion descended.

Holy energy surged through the skies as warriors clad in celestial armor, wielding flaming swords, cut through the demonic hordes.

At the forefront—Holy Keisha, the Heavenly Blade King, leading the charge.

The world watched in awe.

Millions saw it on their screens—the divine warriors arriving in blinding radiance, slaughtering demons with ease.

And then, with a subtle flick of Ragna's influence—the Space Gem activated.

The Black Abyss slammed shut.

The demons were cut off.

Mammon, seeing Keisha's forces, paled. His eyes darted toward Gabriel in horror before he fled.

But he never made it far.

Valina was waiting.

The Valkyrie struck, beating him down, capturing the Son of Satan before he could escape.

And then, in full view of the world—

Judgment fell upon Gabriel.

As Gabriel desperately flapped his blackened wings to flee, Keisha raised her blade.

And as Heaven tried to intervene—reaching down to reclaim their fallen angel—

Ragna severed their grasp.

With a single snap of his fingers, he shut the gate of Heaven.

And Keisha, standing before the cameras, declared words that shook the world:

"God is dead."

JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE 50+ CHAPTERS

patreon.com/Kora_1