As Hela and Tyr sat drinking, Hela faintly heard an eerie strain of music.
Music had no place in the Underworld.
Her ears twitched, and she slowly set down her cup. The green glow from the fireplace cast her face in an even paler hue.
Amid the air thick with decay and staleness, a faint melody drifted from afar.
She tilted her head, angling her ear toward the door, her eyes fixed on Tyr.
"Do you hear that?"
"Yes, my queen," Tyr replied, frowning. The music was alien, unlike anything he'd heard in Asgard.
Hela rose from her chaise, her black cloak flowing like water around her neck, coalescing into a crown of thorn-like horns.
"Let's go see. A living soul has entered the Underworld."
They set down their cups and left the palace, their footsteps echoing through the vast hall, the surrounding darkness swaying with each step.
Following the sound, they searched the city, finally spotting two figures atop a distant spire.
One was familiar—a Valkyrie, sitting on Fenris, holding a massive black sword, gesturing at the wolf's neck and back.
The other was a stranger, but his blind right eye and the eight-legged steed behind him gave Hela an uneasy feeling.
The stranger was the source of the music, playing a peculiar instrument.
It rested on a black cloth platform, supporting dozens of golden strings.
His fingers plucked the strings, producing crisp, pleasant notes. Nearby, several white-and-yellow paper sticks stood in the ground, emitting thin trails of smoke.
When Hela and Tyr appeared below, the stranger merely glanced at them, then softly began to sing.
"This city's so empty, these memories so fierce, these streets teem with life, but who can I embrace…"
Hela stopped in her tracks. Something was wrong.
The man's demeanor was utterly relaxed, showing no trace of panic at her and Tyr's presence. The music carried a metallic edge.
She couldn't understand the lyrics' language, but she felt their desolate, solemn weight—as if a heart-devouring beast lurked in the darkness.
As a former princess of Asgard, she had some appreciation for music.
Her instinct was to charge up and reclaim her wolf. Even with the Valkyrie so close, Hela's speed would outmatch her.
But now… something was off.
She couldn't pinpoint what, but she sensed the stranger had a plan to counter her and Tyr.
Indeed, he seemed too calm—eyes closed, swaying as he sang. Even the Valkyrie, focused on grooming Fenris, didn't spare them a glance. It was unnervingly abnormal.
Hela scanned the surroundings, finding nothing unusual. She tried probing the stranger with magic, but he was like an insulator—nothing registered.
It was as if he didn't exist in this world.
Su Ming: "Alone, Alone, Alone, this feeling I follow…"
Hela: "…"
She halted, pulling Tyr back with her, and they watched the figure on the spire.
There was a trap here. This could be Odin. They couldn't act rashly.
And a trap there was—a reverse Empty City ploy, tailored for Hela.
Su Ming knew the Underworld housed billions of soldiers, buried beneath the ground.
Yet he projected utter disregard, not only climbing the spire to "admire the view" but singing as well.
Hela, betrayed multiple times, was deeply suspicious of the living. She couldn't discern Su Ming's identity, and her mind swirled with doubts.
Hela was much like Odin—brave and cunning. Against a hothead like Thor, Su Ming would never have used this ploy.
Some strategies were designed to deceive the clever.
The effect was promising—Hela was visibly uncertain.
Of course, the plan needed adjustments. Su Ming was the attacker here; Hela wouldn't retreat.
More likely, she'd summon her army to surround them.
The ruse could buy time, but the Empty City ploy wasn't sustainable. If Hela caught on, things would get tricky.
Fenris was a "hostage," but Su Ming couldn't actually kill it—just use it as leverage for negotiation.
Finishing his song, he opened his eyes, calmly meeting the gaze of the Underworld's goddess.
She wore a form-fitting dark green dress, her black spiked helmet framing a face both sharp and beautiful, now studying Su Ming with suspicion.
"Hela, I'm here to negotiate."
Countless faint souls fell from the sky, never landing in the palace, forming a backdrop against the distant green lightning that flashed and faded.
"Who are you?!"
Su Ming didn't answer. If he denied being Odin, Hela might charge immediately, confident in her strength.
"I found a wolf. I figured it was yours, so I thought I'd trade my catch for something."
Hela stepped forward, black stone spikes rising beneath her, lifting her to Su Ming's eye level.
"You've got some nerve, challenging my authority in the Underworld."
Su Ming gave a faint smile, his fingers brushing the strings of the Godslayer-turned-zither, producing a rippling sound.
"There's nowhere in the Nine Realms I can't go."
Hela bit her lip, her eyes narrowing. That tone sounded like Odin…
Was he here to settle the score for her destruction of Asgard's army?
Worse, her trump card against Odin—Fenris—was already subdued. The situation was dire.
That stupid wolf.
If this was Odin, restored to youth through some special means, he'd be unstoppable.
"…"
She responded with silence, secretly rousing her dormant army.
"No need for war. I just need answers to a few questions and a dozen or so souls."
Hela considered for a moment, then nodded slightly.
"Do you know the Serpent has broken free of its seal?"
"What?!"
Hela's expression and tone seemed genuine—she truly didn't know.
The Underworld was one of the Nine Realms; freeing the Serpent would harm her interests. She wasn't behind it.
"Hm. The Serpent's loose, likely targeting the Nine Realms. I thought your attack on Asgard's forces was to bolster your strength against it, but it seems you were unaware."
Su Ming posed a guess as a statement, baiting Hela to confirm her motives for attacking Asgard's army.
"I knew nothing of it, but even if the Serpent appears, don't expect me to join forces with you."
Hela crossed her arms, her expression sour.
"Fair enough. I'm just giving you a heads-up. Now, hand over the souls of the Valkyries you killed last time, and I'll return Fenris."
Su Ming gestured to Gin, who struggled to lift Fenris's head, showing it was alive.
Its tongue lolled out like a carpet, but the white breath from its mouth proved it was still breathing.
"I'm curious why you'd return Fenris to me," Hela said, signaling Tyr to retrieve the souls. She had to get her wolf back.
But Odin's actions baffled her.
If she faced a creature prophesied to kill her, she'd strike first.
Su Ming gazed at the gloomy sky, where black clouds blurred the line between heaven and earth, and answered in a low, calm voice: "Because Ragnarök is inevitable, and endings are beginnings. You're not in the prophecy."
Hela's brow furrowed.
Indeed, the prophecy mentioned the dead but not the Goddess of Death.
Yet Odin wasn't elaborating. He knew much—perhaps even his own death.
"Beginnings? Was sealing me as the Goddess of Death part of your plan?"
"Ragnarök is set for 72 years from now… Now, the souls."
Su Ming sidestepped the question, reverting to Odin's appearance and attire. The Godslayer-zither and magic cloak snapped back onto him.
The Eternal Spear. The red cape.
Hela felt a sudden pressure. Odin in his war armor was a deep-seated memory.
She used to watch his back as he charged into battle, her always second.
Now, facing him, she understood why enemies crumbled so easily.
It was an inexplicable fear.
Tyr approached with the souls—white, translucent, like ordinary ghosts.
He looked to Hela for guidance.
Exchange or fight? As a war god, he wouldn't shrink from battle.
Hela sighed deeply. The 72-year claim, the Serpent's escape—true or not, she'd verify.
But Fenris's capture was real. It had to be reclaimed.
The Valkyrie souls ignored her commands, mere trophies. Trading them for Fenris was a small loss.
"Tyr, give him the souls."
The dead war god tossed the souls like stones toward the spire. Weightless as they seemed, they had mass, arcing far.
Gin mounted the steed, catching each soul and grouping them together.
Their consciousness was faint, like translucent dolls. Gin's heart ached.
Soon, all dozen-plus souls were with Su Ming.
"Correct number?"
Gin confirmed with a nod.
With that, Fenris could be returned. Ragnarök's prophecy required the wolf's survival.
Su Ming drove the Godslayer into the ground, approached the wolf, and, with Stranglehold's muscles bulging, hoisted it up.
He tossed it toward Tyr.
Whoosh—thud!
Tyr didn't catch it. The wolf crushed him, forming a deep pit, dust billowing everywhere.
Su Ming shrugged. At worst, minor injuries. The deal was done—blame Odin if there was an issue.
He wrapped the souls in his enlarged cape, mounted the steed, pulled the spear free, and vanished with Gin into the horizon.
"Farewell, Lorraine."
Hearing that name, Hela froze in place.