"What do you want me to do?" asked Uriel, his voice sounding like a contained avalanche, deep and heavy. There was a subtle tremor in it—not of fear, but of frustration. He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to submit. But there was no choice. Not there. Not before her.
He didn't want to do any of it. But he couldn't refuse. Not now.
Hela was much stronger than him. He felt it with painful clarity, as if his soul were being pressed by an invisible, overwhelming force. Even if his body was colossal, even if his power was vast, it made no difference. It was like a silent, shadowy tide that engulfed him from within. He could try to resist... but it would be useless. For now.
For now.
He still couldn't do anything.
But the future... the future was another story.
"There is a guard..." said Hela, her voice gliding through the air like honey dripping over blades. It was sweet. Almost gentle. But beneath that tone was a deep bitterness, a bile that even time couldn't soften. "A despicable watchdog. One that doesn't allow any dead to leave. Not even me."
As she said that, her expression changed for a moment. A flash of ancient fury, contained and sharp like a dagger, flickered in her black eyes. It was pure, deep hatred, carved over ages. The presence of that guardian was a chain on her ankle, a shackle that kept her from bringing her blessing—or curse—to the rest of the universe.
"Do I have to defeat him?" Uriel shot back, teeth clenched, muscles tensing beneath his dark-blue scales. He didn't like the idea. Pride burned inside him like fire beneath ice. "You... you are a goddess, and still couldn't defeat him. Why would I be able to?"
When he finished, his words sounded more like a choked cry than a question. Admitting his inferiority was like swallowing thorns. He, an ancient dragon, bowing before a reality he couldn't contest.
Hela didn't get angry. On the contrary—a faint smile appeared on her lips, cold as the touch of death. Her eyes narrowed, piercing, as if they could see every last corner of Uriel's soul.
"Let me finish," she said, her voice now even calmer, almost maternal, but with a weight that made the air around them feel denser. "He's not strong. Not in the way you think. What makes him dangerous is something else..."
She came even closer, and Uriel felt the world shrink around her, as if the universe bowed to her presence.
"No dead being can harm him. None. Not specters, not demons, not fallen gods, not even me. But you... you are still alive."
The words hung in the air like a sentence.
"You can hurt him."
Uriel blinked slowly. His single eye, vast and luminous like a full moon, fixed on the goddess's face. The touch of her words was like ice under his skin. A shiver ran down his colossal spine.
"You must be strong enough to defeat him," Hela continued, a dark gleam dancing in her eyes. "Even if it costs you your life."
Uriel didn't answer immediately. Silence fell between them like heavy snow, muffling everything. He looked to the icy horizon, to the dead trees, to the motionless sky... and at last, to her.
He had no choice.
Not there.
Not now.
But one thought burned in his mind, lit like an ember beneath the snow:
One day, she will regret letting me live.
And in that moment, he silently vowed that the day would come.
"There's no need to fear death, my dear Uriel," said Hela, her voice like a forgotten melody, carrying something between sweetness and despair. "If you die, I'll bring you back. Or rather... I'll bring something back. Alive, you might not be anymore—not in the usual sense—but even so, isn't the blessing of immortality wonderful?"
She spun on her heels like a child playing in the snow, her long black hair fluttering around her body like veils of mist. Her smile had something charming about it, but also perverse—like a flower growing among bones. To Hela, Uriel was just a piece, a means to an end. As long as his heart beat, she had a chance. If he died... well, she'd have to wait for another fool powerful enough to enter. Or for Ragnarok.
Uriel watched her for a moment. The way she danced, light and carefree, contrasted brutally with the crushing weight of her presence. He knew he couldn't contradict her. Not there. Not now.
"As you wish," he said at last, his voice deep, resounding like stones colliding in the depths of the earth. "Where is this guard?"
There was no emotion in his tone, only cold acceptance. He wouldn't protest. He couldn't protest. But that didn't mean he accepted the mission with a clean heart.
Quite the opposite.
Uriel planned. Calculated. Observed the cracks in the goddess's throne.
And that guard, the watchdog... If he was strong, all the better. If he was a true challenge, he could grow. Evolve. Become something even more terrifying.
He would use this obstacle as a whetstone for his blade.
And deep in his soul, a truth burned like lava beneath the ice:
He didn't give a damn about freeing Hela.
She was only the beginning.
"No rush... I'll take you there," said Hela with a serene smile, as she brought her hands together and clapped them softly, as if summoning something. Her palms made a faint, almost ethereal sound, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.
Uriel frowned, confused by her words. Before he could ask what she meant, everything around him was swallowed by darkness. An absolute void engulfed him like a suffocating veil. There was no ground, no sky, no sound—only emptiness.
Then, as if light delicately tore through shadow, the scene revealed itself again. Uriel found himself standing on a land with a greenish, sickly hue, as if the very soil was rotting beneath his feet. The grass, if it could be called that, was thin and brittle, and the air had a strange, metallic and damp smell, like old blood.
With his single eye, Uriel looked toward the horizon and saw, in the distance, the figure of a solitary man, sitting relaxed with a massive axe resting on his shoulder. The image was silent, almost frozen in time.
"He hasn't seen us yet... and won't, if I don't want him to," said Hela, her voice now lower, like a whisper coming from all directions. "But I can't get much closer. This is where you take over."
Uriel turned to face her, but what he saw was her body beginning to dissolve into soft, translucent particles, like dust dancing in the light. Hela vanished before his eyes, as if she had never existed. Nothing was left of her—not a shadow, not a scent, not warmth.
Only her sweet voice, like a distant echo, remained in Uriel's mind, like a memory that refuses to be forgotten.