Freyja's temple existed in a state that could not be described merely as physical; it was a continuous imposition, a structure sustained by divine will and reinforced by a sealing system so absolute that even the concept of "exit" seemed not to exist within. The columns that rose around it were not merely stone, but anchors of reality, each vibrating at a specific frequency that kept that prison functional, stable, eternal. The air was heavy, filtered, as if every particle were constantly being observed by something invisible, something that allowed no errors. It was a place that tolerated no intruders. A place that should not be violated.

And yet—

Vergil and Sapphire were there.

There was no visible rupture, no portals tearing through space or energy being forced against divine barriers. They simply appeared, as if the world itself had been convinced, even if only for an instant, to accept them within something that did not recognize them. The reaction was immediate, though silent. The temple's energy rippled slightly, like a body of water disturbed by something that shouldn't touch it, and for a brief moment, the entire structure seemed… to hesitate.

Freyja was already looking at them.

Seated in the center of that space, enveloped by the invisible chains that defined her prison, she showed no surprise. There was no startle, no instinctive defensive reaction. Her eyes were open even before their arrival, fixed, attentive, as if she had been waiting for that very moment. There was weariness there, a profound exhaustion that didn't come from days or years, but from something much greater, something that diluted time until it ceased to have real meaning.

"You took your time," she said, her voice low, but firm enough to pierce the weight of that environment effortlessly.

Vergil didn't answer immediately. His eyes scanned the temple, analyzing, calculating, absorbing every detail of the surrounding structure like someone who not only observes, but understands. He wasn't looking at the walls or the floor, but at what held it all together, at the invisible layers that kept Freyja trapped there. Sapphire, beside him, remained silent, her posture firm, her gaze equally attentive, but more direct, more focused on the objective than on analysis.

"…the plan remains the same," Vergil finally said, his voice calm, without diverting attention from what truly mattered.

Sapphire nodded slightly. "No changes."

Freyja closed her eyes for a moment. It wasn't relief. It wasn't despair. It was acceptance. Like someone who had already considered all possibilities and yet chose to trust in that single course of action.

They moved forward.

One step.

And the world responded.

The impact came without warning, without any anticipated transition. An absurd weight surged through space in the next instant, compressing everything around it in a single direction, and before any conscious reaction could form, the hammer was already there.

Mjolnir wasn't thrown.

It simply… arrived.

And in the next instant, it was already piercing Vergil's torso, piercing him with a violence that wasn't limited to the physical, but carried with it an overwhelming divine authority. The impact not only struck him, but dragged him, hurling his body against the temple's structures with enough force to destroy multiple columns before finally stopping him against the distant wall. The sound that followed wasn't just one of destruction, but of something being forced beyond its limits, as if space itself had been compressed at that point.

At the same time, Sapphire felt it.

She didn't see it.

She didn't anticipate it.

She felt it.

A presence that was already there before she even realized it, a speed that didn't translate into movement, but into inevitability. The blow came sideways, directly to his head, precise enough not to destroy it, but strong enough to completely interrupt his train of thought for a brief instant. His body slid across the floor, his feet dragging as the force of that impact reverberated through his frame, disrupting his perception for a critical second.

And then—

Silence.

Heavy.

Controlled.

Vergil remained motionless for a brief moment, still pinned against the wall, the hammer piercing his body as if it were permanent. But it wasn't. His breath returned first, a slow and controlled flow, followed by the minimal movement of his hand, which rose to the hammer's handle with an almost absurd calm. The flesh around him was already reorganizing itself, not in response to the damage, but as if the damage had never been significant enough to disrupt its functioning.

He pulled.

Without apparent effort.

The metal released from his body with a dry sound, and in the same instant, the wound was gone. No mark, no scar, no sign that it had ever happened. Vergil slightly rotated his shoulders, testing his own frame, as if assessing not the damage, but the response.

And then he looked.

Thor stood before him.

Momentary.

Observing.

His presence filled the temple with an absurd density, not only because of the power he carried, but because of how that power was contained, disciplined, directed. Mjolnir returned to his hand with a silent call, vibrating slightly, as if it were… attentive.

"…so now it's the real one," said Vergil, tilting his head slightly, as if confirming something to himself.

Thor didn't respond immediately, but his posture changed almost imperceptibly. His eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing not only the man before him, but what he represented.

"It's not personal," he finally said, his deep voice echoing through the temple with the weight of something unavoidable. "Orders from the Allfather."

Vergil smiled.

Slightly.

"Of course," he replied, twirling Yamato in his hand naturally. "It's not like I'm a big problem."

But there was something in that smile.

Something that made Thor grip the hammer's handle slightly.

Because he felt it.

On the other side, Sapphire was already standing again, her vision stabilized, her body fully functional as if the previous blow had been just a momentary inconvenience. Before her, Heimdall remained still, his posture relaxed, but his eyes… too active. They weren't just looking. They were processing, analyzing, anticipating.

"…you really thought you could get in here unnoticed?" "He asked," his voice carrying a slight tone of disdain, but also of curiosity.

Sapphire didn't answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on him, her mind working at an absurd pace, trying to understand not only her opponent, but what made him so… difficult to read.

"No," she finally said. "But I expected something better."

Heimdall smiled.

And then—

They moved.

Vergil disappeared.

Not at normal speed, but in a transition that ignored the need for linear displacement. He simply ceased to be where he was and began to exist alongside Thor, Yamato already descending in a precise cut that sought not only to strike flesh, but to split the very concept of resistance.

Thor responded instantly.

Mjolnir collided with the cut, not blocking, but crushing the trajectory with absolute force. The explosion of energy that followed made the entire temple tremble, cracks spreading across the floor as the surrounding air was violently pushed away.

Vergil was thrown backward—

But he returned before touching the ground.

Another slash.

Another collision.

Another impact that reverberated through everything around.

Meanwhile, Sapphire advanced against Heimdall, her movements precise, lethal, calculated. But each attack met… void. Not because he was faster, but because he already knew. Each of her trajectories was foreseen before it was even executed, each intention read before it materialized.

But then—

Something changed.

Not in rhythm.

Not in speed.

But in intention.

Sapphire stopped trying to hit.

That, in itself, was already a mistake within any common combat logic, but there… it wasn't. Her movements ceased to seek direct impact and began to exist as shifts of presence, as if each step, each turn, each change of axis were part of something larger, something that wasn't limited to striking Heimdall's body, but to pressuring the field around him.

Heimdall noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His eyes followed every micro-variation, every adjustment in her breathing, every alteration in weight distribution… and yet, for the first time since the beginning of the confrontation, there was a slight delay.

Minimal.

Almost imperceptible.

But real.

Sapphire advanced again, not in a straight line, but in an irregular arc that didn't obey the direct logic of attack. Her arm moved in a strike that clearly lacked an efficient trajectory, something that, in any other situation, would be considered flawed. Heimdall was no longer at the point of impact even before the strike was completed, his body moving with that absolute precision that seemed to anticipate the future.

But the blow was never the intention.

The instant he dodged—

Sapphire was no longer where she should be.

She spun.

Low.

Her body slid at an angle that didn't correspond to that previous movement, and for the first time, Heimdall didn't have an immediate, ready response. His head turned slightly, his eyes recalculating, trying to adjust to something that had broken the predictable pattern.

The impact came.

Direct.

Short.

Precise.

It wasn't a devastating blow.

But it was a blow.

And that—

That was enough.

The dry sound echoed through the temple as Sapphire's fist struck the side of Heimdall's face, displacing his head a few inches to the side. There was no explosion, no absurd force involved. It was… clean.

Real.

Heimdall took a step back.

Just one.

But that—

Should never have happened.

He remained motionless for a moment, his head still slightly tilted, his eyes now fixed on her with a completely different intensity than before. There was no more disdain there. No more provocation.

There was… focus.

"I understand…" he murmured, more to himself than to her, his voice low, almost reflective.

Sapphire didn't answer.

But her posture changed again.

Now—

She was serious.

On the other side of the temple, the situation was… less subtle.

Vergil and Thor weren't testing.

They were colliding.

Each exchange between them wasn't just a physical confrontation, but a direct struggle for authority, for dominance over the surrounding space. Yamato moved in cuts that left no visible trace, but whose effects manifested in the environment seconds later, as if the world took a while to understand that it had been divided. Mjolnir, on the other hand, didn't cut.

It crushed.

Each impact of the hammer was accompanied by an absurd compression of the air, as if the environment itself were being forced to bend under the weight of that blow.

Vergil advanced again, appearing above Thor this time, Yamato descending in a vertical cut that aimed not only at the body, but at his very connection to space. Thor raised his hammer to intercept, but at the instant of impact, something… slipped.

The cut didn't stop.

He passed.

Not completely.

But enough.

Thor's armor was marked, a thin line cutting through his defense, not deep enough to cause significant damage, but clear enough to exist.

Thor stepped back.

A single step.

His eyes locked on Vergil with renewed intensity, while his hand gripped Mjolnir tighter.

"…so that's how it is," he said, his voice lower now, more focused.

Vergil landed lightly in front of him, Yamato resting beside him, his expression calm, but his eyes… completely alert.

"You're holding back," Vergil commented, as if observing something obvious.

Thor exhaled slightly through his nose.

"And you… don't understand how much you should."

The thunder responded even before the blow.

The sky above the temple—though nonexistent—seemed to react, an absurd discharge of energy descending along with Mjolnir's movement, not as a directed attack, but as an absolute punishment that didn't differentiate between target and environment.

Vergil didn't retreat.

He cut.

Yamato moved in a precise arc, intercepting not the hammer, but the very flow of energy that accompanied it. The result wasn't a clean defense, but a brutal division of force, creating two currents of impact that passed beside him and destroyed everything behind them.

The temple trembled.

The columns vibrated.

The anchors of reality… swayed.

Freyja felt it.

Her eyes opened a little wider, her breath catching for a brief moment as she watched with absolute attention. It wasn't just a fight. This was affecting the very system that held her captive.

And this—

It never happened.

Vergil advanced again, this time more directly, his movement less restrained, more natural, as if he were finally beginning to accept the scale of what he could do. Yamato flashed briefly, not with light, but with absence, a cut being prepared not as an attack, but as a conclusion.

Thor responded with the same intensity, Mjolnir meeting the blow with a force that sought not to block, but to completely nullify any attempt at division.

And when the two collided—

The sound didn't come first.

The void came first.

For a fraction of a second, the space between them simply… ceased to exist, as if it couldn't sustain that exchange. And then, when reality reasserted itself, the explosion that followed was not only sonic, but structural.

The entire temple truly trembled this time.

Cracks opened in the ground.

The invisible chains that bound Freyja vibrated violently, as if being forced beyond their limits.

And at the center of it all—

Vergil smiled. Not out of provocation.

But out of understanding.

Because now—

He was beginning to understand.

Meanwhile, Heimdall was no longer just dodging.

He advanced.

Quickly.

Directly.

His hand moved in a strike that carried not absurd force, but absolute precision, targeting specific points, joints, energy flow. Sapphire blocked, but felt it. It wasn't a brute impact, it was… interference.

He wasn't trying to defeat her.

He was trying to dismantle her.

Sapphire took a step back, her eyes narrowing slightly as she recalculated, as she adjusted her own reading of the combat. Heimdall wasn't giving her time for that. He continued, his movements fluid, inevitable, each action already positioned before the previous one even finished.

But now—

She had already seen it.

She didn't try to follow.

She broke.

Her body spun again, but this time there was no pattern to follow. It wasn't random, but it wasn't logical within conventional reading either. It was… instinctive.

And that—

Couldn't be predicted.

Her next blow grazed Heimdall's face, too close to be ignored. He dodged, but this time there was real effort in it. His eyes fixed on her with full intensity.

"…interesting," he said, and this time there was no irony.

Sapphire didn't answer.

But her next move—

was already coming.

And the temple—

continued to tremble.

Because that struggle… was no longer contained.