Yamato's cut opened directly in the center of Helheim's throne room, a violet line appearing in the air before expanding enough for Vergil to pass through.
He stepped across without hurry, sheathing the sword as the fissure closed behind him.
After the last few hours, this almost felt like a peaceful visit.
No creature trying to tear his head off.
No entranced god landing absurdly powerful blows.
No World Tree complaining because he had helped burn and freeze its roots.
There was only Helheim, with its green-blue mist drifting through the enormous openings in the hall and that cold, dead atmosphere that, strangely enough, was starting to feel familiar.
Hela was seated on the throne, which by itself was nothing unusual.
The problem was her expression.
The woman who had previously practically thrown herself at Vergil, teasing him and making it very clear how interested she had become after learning how thoroughly he had humiliated Odin, now looked like a different person.
