One slap cracked across Mephisto's left cheek. Before Mephisto could even react, Harry's left hand swung again—another slap, this time on the other side.
Right hand, left hand, back and forth without pause—and each strike carried chaos magic, which seeped into Mephisto's body and drastically slowed his regeneration.
So Mephisto's face began to swell at a rate visible to the naked eye. In no time at all, it was puffed up high, his once-arrogant features twisted into something grotesque.
After capturing the moment, Harry condensed the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak in his hand. The instant Mephisto was bound, Harry whipped him again and again.
Each lash of the scarlet bands against Mephisto's body landed with a dull, heavy thud, spraying scalding blood in wide arcs.
That blood was like molten magma—so hot it hissed as it splattered onto the floor, instantly eating deep, blackened pits into the surface.
Mephisto, of course, didn't just lie there and take it. He tried to fight back.
Power surged out of the wormhole in a raging flood, hurtling toward Earth—trying to blast Harry away and shatter the spatial shielding array he'd laid down.
But Harry had been ready for it. He intercepted the force with ease.
Every attempt Mephisto made was like an egg thrown at a boulder—vanishing into nothing.
Seeing there was no escape, yet unwilling to abandon this avatar, Mephisto finally snapped, screaming himself hoarse as he spat venom:
"Harry, you'll regret this. You will regret this!
I swear in the name of Mephisto—I will kill your teacher, torture your family, make you taste the worst suffering this world can offer, and make you pay a bloody price for what you've done today!"
Harry acted as though he hadn't heard a word. His expression stayed calm and flat, as if Mephisto's curses were nothing more than a passing breeze.
Unhurried, he raised a finger to his lips and let out a soft shh—then planted his boot on Mephisto's cheek and twisted his heel hard.
"Aaah!"
Mephisto let out a shriek so sharp it grated the air. This kind of low-grade torment couldn't truly hurt him in the slightest.
The scream wasn't from pain.
It was from humiliation—Harry was doing it on purpose, stepping on his face like dirt.
And more importantly, just now he'd finally caught the subtle ripple of magic on Harry—an aura he knew all too well.
A recording spell.
Back when Mephisto tortured others and listened to their agonized screams, his favorite hobby had always been using recording magic to preserve every second of their suffering.
Then, later, when he met the victim's loved ones, he'd play it for them right in front of their faces.
No extra torture required—just watching the despair, the pain, the fury explode across their expressions, hearing their heart-rending wails and curses… that alone gave Mephisto a pleasure beyond compare.
Especially those husbands who'd lost their wives—when they watched the woman they loved struggle under the torment of countless demons, the agony and helplessness in their eyes…
That was the most exquisite scenery of all. It was enough to intoxicate him.
But Mephisto never would've imagined the tables could turn like this.
Now someone was recording him.
Veins bulged at his temple as he snarled, "Harry Potter—what are you doing?!"
Harry didn't bother hiding it. The person involved had a right to know.
The corner of his mouth curled into a mocking grin as he said leisurely, "Oh, I'm using a recording spell to capture what you look like right now. Later I'll sell it to the profiteers in the Crossroads Dimension. Guaranteed to make a fortune."
"I've even got the headline ready: 'Shocking! Mephisto's secret side exposed—he's actually a masochist!' Tell me that won't get clicks."
Mephisto's whole body shuddered. A chill ran through him despite himself.
The Crossroads Dimension was infamous across the multiverse. Of course he knew what those profiteers were like.
They'd do anything for profit. If this footage got into their hands, he'd become the multiverse's laughingstock—endlessly mocked and humiliated by other dimension-lords.
"Damn it!" Mephisto cursed in his heart. If Harry really sold the video to those vultures, it would be over.
Once it leaked, the prestige he'd built in his hell-dimension would collapse overnight.
Just imagine—who would still support a "masochist" as Satan?
And with the Crossroads' special nature, once Harry completed the deal, even if Mephisto mobilized every ounce of power he had, it would be extremely hard to snatch the video back.
After all, the Crossroads hid someone monstrously powerful—stronger than him. That was exactly why the place could remain so "special," and survive for so long.
No. He had to do something. He couldn't let Harry finish the recording.
Mephisto was frantic, thoughts racing at full speed as he hunted for a solution.
As a demon steeped in malice and schemes, his first instinct was to seize and destroy—to use brute force to interrupt Harry's recording spell.
But his avatar was separated from his true body by a powerful warding array. The power he could use was severely limited. Even going all out, he couldn't affect Harry in the slightest.
So he immediately switched to Plan B.
He forced an ugly smile onto his face, tried to look a little friendlier, and spoke in a deliberately gentle tone:
"Harry… I think we can negotiate. I can give you more than those Crossroads profiteers."
"Can you let me enter your dimension?" Harry arched a brow, pure teasing.
"Th-that…" Mephisto obviously wouldn't agree. If Harry entered his realm, he didn't even want to think about the losses. "Maybe we can trade something else. I heard you've been collecting rare metals lately—an infernal alloy unique to hell should satisfy you."
Harry's eyes flickered. His mood brightened instantly. "Then give me a down payment first."
Mephisto spread his hands, trying to sound clever. "Or we could sign a contract. If you agree, I'll give you the full share directly—ugh!"
Before he could finish, Harry's boot came down on his face again. Harry's voice dripped with disdain:
"Sign a contract with a demon—are you insane, or do you have delusions? I'm telling you right now: I'm selling this recording no matter what."
Amid Mephisto's nonstop stream of curses, Harry finished capturing the entire humiliation on record.
Then he drew out five Sacred Swords of the Vishanti and fired them with perfect precision.
In the blink of an eye, all five swords buried themselves deep into Mephisto's limbs, pinning him firmly in place.
The Sacred Sword of the Vishanti carried powerful holy power, making it especially effective against demons.
Using them to temporarily seal Mephisto's mortal vessel was far more convenient than relying on Harry's self-made Lightning Sword.
Of course, Harry's Lightning Sword had its own strengths—raw destructive power was even higher.
Finally, Harry took out a spherical chunk of uru alloy and slammed it straight into Mephisto's mouth, gagging him so he could no longer spew curses.
With that done, Harry stepped off Mephisto and flew to the side.
Over there, Thor and Loki had already fought themselves into a frenzy.
As their battle raged, the entire rooftop was nearly destroyed—luxurious décor and solid structural supports alike were shattered under the impact of overwhelming force, leaving the place in ruins.
And right now, Thor was losing.
The brute who had once suppressed Loki for thousands of years was gradually no match anymore—ever since Loki started paying to win with upgrades.
Boom!
A deafening explosion erupted as Mjolnir collided with the Scepter again.
A visible shockwave burst outward from the point of contact, swelling like a rapidly expanding sphere as it tore through the air.
When it hit the walls, the walls shattered like brittle glass.
The worst-damaged section collapsed outright, turning into countless chunks of stone and building debris that rained down from hundreds of meters up, kicking up massive clouds of dust below.
Thankfully, there were no pedestrians under Stark Tower anymore—otherwise dozens would've been dead or wounded again.
Thor looked utterly battered now. His body was crisscrossed with horrific wounds, blood seeping nonstop and staining his once-majestic armor in messy, dark patches.
Loki, meanwhile, was straddling him, fists hammering down—one punch after another, brutal and relentless.
The scene looked almost identical to the way Harry had just beaten Mephisto.
Even though he was far weaker than a Loki massively empowered by two divine artifacts, Thor still didn't show the slightest intention of giving up. He kept trying to resist, trying to throw Loki off him.
His face twisted with effort as he roared, "Loki—look at this! Look around you! Do you think all of this will just end because you order it to?
No. The hatred is already planted. These people will hate you forever!"
Loki looked around, dazed.
Dense beams of light filling the sky. Explosions that never stopped. Towers and homes collapsing. People running in panic. Corpses on the ground. Screams sharp enough to tear the heart.
Staring at it all, he fell silent.
He realized he was about to win… but there was no joy in it. Instead, something heavy clogged his chest.
Loki's expression turned complicated. He glared at Thor and shouted back, "It's too late! It's too late to stop any of this!"
Thor saw the hint of regret and lit up with genuine hope, his face full of sincerity. "No. If we work together, we can stop it!"
Shhk!
A blade pierced flesh.
Somehow, an icy dagger had appeared in Loki's hand—radiating a cold, vicious chill.
With a flash of frost-bright steel, Loki drove it into Thor's chest without hesitation. The force pinned Thor straight into the floor.
Loki jumped back quickly. Once he steadied himself, his eyes flicked—seemingly casual—as he glanced at Thor.
After confirming Thor wasn't in danger of dying, he let out a silent breath of relief. The softness vanished instantly, replaced by arrogance as he shouted smugly:
"Thor, you're still the same—soft-hearted and sentimental!
To survive in this cruel world, you need power. You need backing.
If we didn't have Father—if we didn't have powerful magitech—then even Asgard would sink into the universe and turn to dust!
And now… it's no longer something I can stop just because I want to. Too many people are pushing me from behind. They'll only let me move forward. They won't let me step back.
If I take even one step back, I'll die without a grave!"
Thor's face tightened with pain, but he still fought to persuade him. "No, Loki. I'll help you. Father will help you. You're not alone!
I'll ask Harry—he'll definitely have a way to fix this!"
For a moment, seeing how much Thor hurt—and how sincerely he cared—Loki actually felt moved.
But the instant he heard that last line, his face twisted into a snarl.
"No! Don't say that name! I hate that damn bastard!"
At that moment, Loki suddenly noticed Thor go unnaturally still, staring behind Loki with a strange, fixed look.
A cold wave ran up Loki's spine. Every hair on his body stood on end as a sense of dread flooded him.
And sure enough, the next second, a voice he knew all too well—one he loathed with every fiber of his being—drifted lazily from behind him:
"Oh? How much do you hate me? Say it out loud. Let me hear it."
Then a tremendous force slammed into the back of Loki's head, driving his face into the floor—smashing through the rooftop and down into the level below.
Harry's ambush succeeded.
He didn't hesitate. He immediately locked onto the Casket of Ancient Winters hanging at Loki's waist, snatched it off him, and stuffed it into his pocket dimension.
But when Harry reached for the Scepter, Loki—already reacting—stopped him.
Loki retreated instantly, preparing to strike back.
Harry was faster.
He snapped his fingers. Space twisted under Loki's feet, and a portal opened out of nowhere.
At the same time, an identical portal appeared directly above his head. The two portals linked together, trapping Loki between them.
So Loki fell endlessly through the two portals, screaming as he dropped again and again.
Harry stepped to the edge, looking down at him. When he saw the Scepter had already been put into Loki's pocket dimension, Harry frowned slightly.
"Loki. You don't want to keep falling like this forever, do you? Hand over your staff. I can send you straight to Odin, and I won't 'interrogate' you."
"Ah—You'd dare—ah—risk Kamar-Taj and—ah—Asgard turning against each other—ah—just to 'interrogate' me?" Even caught like this, Loki looked smug.
He knew Harry wouldn't torture him. At worst, Harry would bring him back to Asgard for judgment.
And honestly, Loki had a point—when two great civilizations were involved, caution mattered.
But Harry had other ways to "punish" Loki without harming him.
Not damage to soul or flesh.
Damage to dignity.
Harry gave Loki one last chance, voice light and amused. "Are you sure, Asgard's second princess?"
"Bastard! Don't call me that!" Loki roared. "You damn worm—do your worst!"
Harry sighed as if helpless. He stepped forward, pulled out a potion bottle from his pocket dimension—one that leaked an eerie, wrong sort of presence—and after binding Loki with the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak, slowly brought the bottle to Loki's lips.
"Wait—what is that? Damn it, get it away from me!"
Suspended and restrained, Loki had no power to resist. He fought like mad anyway, but it changed nothing.
"Mmm—mmmh!"
Moments later, Loki's eyes went wide, terror rising in them.
That colorful, bubble-spewing liquid was forced down his throat, and instantly his mind dissolved into chaos—as if cryptic whispers were crawling through the inside of his skull.
Then cold flooded him, followed by scorching heat—ice and fire weaving back and forth through his body as if something unknown was rewriting him.
When it finally ended, Loki glared at Harry and demanded, "Damn you—what did you do to me?!"
The moment the words left his mouth, Loki froze.
His voice was wrong.
The deep, magnetic tone was gone, replaced by something soft, alluring, unmistakably feminine—more captivating than even Sif's.
A thought hit him like lightning.
His pupils shrank as he looked down in disbelief—his once-flat chest had risen high, blocking the view of his own toes.
And down below… there was a cold emptiness, as if the companion he'd had for thousands of years was simply gone.
With Loki's intelligence, how could he not understand what had happened?
He writhed violently, trying to lunge close enough to bite Harry to death.
Once he realized he'd been turned into a woman, Loki completely broke.
"Damn you! You bastard—what did you do?! You turned Asgard's second prince into a woman!"
Loki's rage only made Harry happier.
Harry looked him over and, honestly, this was far prettier than Thor's girlfriend—easily on par with Black Widow.
Harry finally couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing.
"Hahahaha—nothing much. I just fed you the potion formulas for the first three Sequences of the Assassin Pathway. You're now Sequence 7: Witch, with some extra supernatural abilities."
"But the Witch pathway's potions come with a pretty big price."
"After you drink it, you become a woman completely—body and soul included."
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
Loki went berserk, screaming and cursing.
Harry, meanwhile, used a recording spell to capture Loki's new appearance—and then, with a wicked grin, said:
"Loki, don't be so mad. Look at you—you're way better like this. A real, proper second princess of Asgard.
And you're gorgeous right now. Who knows—maybe even Thor will fall for you."
"Thor—don't you think so?"
Harry glanced over at Thor—
Only to find Thor staring straight at Loki, not looking away for even a second.
His gaze was even softer than when he looked at Jane.
Harry: "…"
Bro.
You're not actually falling for her, are you?!
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