The clash between Yamato and Mjolnir ceased to be merely a physical impact and began to resonate as a conflicting principle, two authorities that not only clashed but refused to yield space to one another. The temple reacted to each exchange, not as an inert structure, but as something alive being forced to withstand pressures that had not been foreseen in its creation. The columns vibrated, the floor creaked under the accumulated tension, and even the invisible chains that held Freyja captive seemed to oscillate, as if that confrontation were directly touching the foundations that sustained everything there.

Vergil twisted his wrist, deflecting the crushing weight of Mjolnir with a minimal, almost lazy movement, and for the first time since the beginning of the exchange, his expression changed noticeably. It wasn't tension. It wasn't effort. It was… real focus. His eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing Thor not as a momentary obstacle, but as something worthy of complete attention. Not because he was at a disadvantage, but because, finally, there was something there that demanded more than simple automatic execution. Thor realized it.

And that bothered him more than any blow he had received so far.

The god of thunder advanced again, but this time there was no restraint whatsoever. Mjolnir descended with total intent, not just as a weapon, but as a vector of absolute divine authority. The impact against the space ahead of Vergil sought not only to strike the body, but to crush everything in its path, distorting the surrounding environment with its absurd density. It was a blow made to kill. No margin. No second chance.

Vergil didn't block.

He simply tilted his body a few centimeters to the side.

The hammer passed.

The world behind him wasn't so lucky.

The temple wall was obliterated in a perfect arc of destruction, as if it had been erased from existence at that specific point. Fragments didn't even fall; they were reduced to particles so fine that they ceased to have physical relevance. And yet, at the center of that impossible trajectory, Vergil remained unmoved, his posture steady, his gaze now fixed on Thor with a much more defined intensity.

"…I understand," he murmured, almost to himself.

It wasn't a conclusion about Thor.

It was about him.

And that… made a difference.

He advanced.

This time, there was no clean transition, no invisible displacement. It was direct, linear, yet still impossible to follow with ordinary eyes. Yamato moved in a short arc, but what followed wasn't just a cut. The space between them was split into multiple layers simultaneously, each traversed by a slightly different trajectory, creating an attack that didn't exist at a single point, but at several at once.

Thor reacted instinctively.

Mjolnir rose.

The collision occurred.

But something was wrong.

The impact came… too lightly.

The shockwave was there, the energy spread, the temple trembled again—but the resistance Thor expected to find wasn't there. It was as if Vergil's attack hadn't been aimed at confronting his strength head-on, but at bypassing it, ignoring it on levels that made no sense within the common logic of combat.

And then he realized.

Too late.

The cuts weren't all ahead.

Some had already passed.

The divine armor on his shoulder opened in perfect lines, not broken, but separated with surgical precision. There was no immediate pain, but the information arrived, clear and direct: he had been hit. And it made no sense. He blocked. He responded. He did everything right.

Yet—

He was hit.

Thor took a step back, something he hadn't done in a long time. His eyes fixed on Vergil with a different intensity now, no longer just assessing, but trying to understand. This wasn't just skill. It wasn't just speed or technique. It was… something else. Something that didn't fit the rules he knew, something that didn't respect the direct exchange of force.

And that—

Was dangerous.

Much more so than any opponent who was simply stronger.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the temple, the situation was… completely different.

Sapphire advanced, her movements fluid, natural, almost too relaxed for the level of combat unfolding around her. Heimdall was active, his eyes following every microvariation of movement, every intention, every muscular adjustment that preceded an attack. He saw everything before it happened. He anticipated. He reacted even before the action fully existed.

And yet—

He couldn't hit her.

Sapphire spun her body, dodging a counterattack with almost disrespectful ease, her foot touching the ground just enough to maintain her balance before disappearing from his direct line again. She reappeared behind him, her hand already extended, stopping inches from his neck before simply… retreating.

"Hmm…" she murmured, tilting her head slightly, clearly assessing more than fighting.

Heimdall spun instantly, his attack coming fast, precise, but again found emptiness. Not because she was faster, but because she simply wasn't where she should be when he executed the counter. It was like trying to hit something that decided not to exist at the intended point.

"This is getting repetitive," she commented, with a slight sigh, as if genuinely bored.

He frowned.

This wasn't normal.

None of this was.

"You don't understand what you're facing," he replied, his voice still firm, but with a growing tension that hadn't been there before.

Sapphire smiled.

And then laughed.

Softly.

Amused.

"Oh, yes, I understand," she said, crossing her arms for a moment, as if deliberately pausing the fight. "You see everything before it happens. You read intention, movement, decision… neatly."

She took a step forward.

Slowly.

Without haste.

"But that only works," she continued, her gaze fixed on him now, sharper, more present, "if what you're reading… is actually going to happen."

Heimdall reacted before she even finished the sentence, lunging forward with a direct blow, seeking to interrupt any attempt at psychological manipulation. But, once again, his attack missed. Sapphire didn't dodge. She didn't move. She simply wasn't there anymore at the moment of impact.

And then—

She appeared beside him.

Too close.

Her face tilted slightly toward his, a smile that carried no threat… only certainty.

"Keep going like that," she said, her voice low, almost a whisper laden with provocation, "and your little horn will end up being used to call for help."

The silence that followed was short.

But heavy.

Heimdall didn't answer.

But his posture changed.

Because now… he was taking it seriously.

And that was exactly what Sapphire wanted.

On the other side, Thor advanced again, but now without any restraint. His blows were no longer just strong—they were absolute. Every movement of Mjolnir carried the total intention of annihilation, distorting the surrounding space with the divine authority emanating from it. The temple no longer reacted only with cracks; entire parts of the structure were being pushed to their limits, as if reality itself were being tested there.

Vergil responded.

And for the first time—

Without holding back.

Yamato moved again, but now there was no hesitation, no calculation based on old parameters. He was no longer comparing, nor adjusting. He simply… executed. Each cut didn't seek to compete with Thor's strength, but to completely ignore it, traversing concepts that previously served as absolute defense.

And that—

That was what was most frightening.

Thor attacked with killing intent.

Vergil responded as if that were irrelevant.

And for the first time in a very, very long time—

Thor realized something he hadn't felt in combat.

Impossibility.

Not of winning.

But of achieving the objective.

He couldn't kill.

No matter how much he increased his strength, no matter how perfect the blow, no matter how much he adjusted his approach—the result remained the same. Vergil simply wasn't being hit the way he should be. When it was, it didn't matter. When it wasn't, it seemed inevitable.

And that—

It didn't make sense.

Vergil, on the other hand, was… intrigued.

There was no tension in his body. There was no real difficulty in keeping up, reacting, or counterattacking. Every movement of Thor was clear, direct, understandable. Powerful, yes—absurdly so—but still… too simple.

And that—

It was strange.

Because it should be difficult.

It should demand more.

But it didn't.

He dodged another blow, turning his body naturally before repositioning Yamato on low guard, his eyes fixed on Thor with an expression that now carried something new.

"…this is…" he began, almost as if trying to find the right word.

Thor advanced again.

Vergil responded.

The clash happened.

But this time, he didn't retreat.

He advanced.

The blade traversed Mjolnir's trajectory, not blocking it, but splitting its path, opening a space where there shouldn't be any. His body entered Thor's guard without real resistance, his free hand already positioned at the exact point where the defense couldn't reach.

He stopped.

Inches from the thunder god's chest.

And for a second—

Everything stood still.

Vergil looked at him.

Straight down.

And then concluded.

"…too easy."

And that— That's what really weighed on him.

As the confrontation between Vergil and Thor continued to escalate in intensity, the entire temple seemed to exist on the brink of a carefully avoided collapse. Each impact between Yamato and Mjolnir was not just an exchange of force, but a direct assault against the structure that sustained that space. The columns vibrated more frequently now, cracks spreading like veins across the surface of the floor, and the invisible anchors that held Freyja's seal began to oscillate more noticeably, as if constantly being pushed beyond their original limits.

At the center of that system—

Freyja felt it.

It wasn't immediate.

But it was inevitable.

Each collision carried a specific distortion, a momentary interference in the layers that held it, like small flaws in a perfect mechanism. For thousands of years, that seal had been absolute, unbreakable, designed to deny any attempt at escape before it could even form. But now… there was noise. Small. Unstable. But present.

And that—

Was enough.

Her fingers moved first.

Slowly.

Almost imperceptibly.

The energy around her body responded next, not like an explosion, but like a controlled attempt at expansion, pressing against the invisible barriers that enveloped her. She didn't try to force everything at once. She wasn't impulsive. Never had been. Freyja was patient. Calculating. And now… she was using every fraction of that external chaos as leverage.

Another impact echoed through the temple.

Stronger.

Deeper.

And for a brief instant—

She pushed.

Her energy collided with the seal with precision, exploiting exactly the point where the structure had weakened for a fraction of a second. The surrounding air distorted slightly, and the invisible chains that held it… vibrated.

But they didn't break.

Freyja frowned slightly.

Not out of frustration.

But out of confirmation.

"More…" she murmured to herself, her eyes narrowing as she adjusted her own energy, preparing for a second attempt.

On the other side of the temple, Vergil clashed again with Thor, Yamato gliding in a clean arc that split the impact of Mjolnir before it could fully solidify. The exchange was violent, absolute, and each collision generated a wave that cut through space like an invisible blade.

Freyja felt it.

And used it.

This time, she didn't wait.

The moment the next shockwave passed through the temple, she expanded her energy with greater force, synchronizing her attempt with the external impact, as if trying to "surf" on that interference to break the seal from the inside out.

For an instant—

It worked.

One of the anchors trembled.

A tiny fissure appeared.

So small that, to anyone else, it would be irrelevant.

But to her—

It was everything.

Her body responded immediately, her energy condensing at a specific point, ready to force that opening before the system stabilized again.

And then—

The seal reacted.

Not forcefully.

But precisely.

The fissure disappeared.

The chains tightened again.

And the pressure that followed was not destructive—

It was corrective.

Like a system that identified an error and eliminated it before it could propagate.

Freyja exhaled slowly.

Her eyes remained open.

But now there was something different about them.

Not despair.

But… recognition.

"It won't work…" she said softly, more to herself than to anyone else.

She tried again.

Once more.

And again.

Always synchronizing with the impacts, always seeking that brief moment of instability—

And always being denied.

The seal wasn't just strong.

It was… adaptive.

It learned.

It corrected.

It prevented.

And that—

Was a problem.

Meanwhile, Vergil moved again, dodging another blow from Thor with an ease that had gone from surprising to… unsettling. His eyes, however, weren't fully focused on the combat at that moment.

They wandered.

For a second.

Just one.

But it was enough.

He saw it.

Not directly.

But he felt it.

The attempt.

The repetition.

The pattern.

Freyja wasn't standing still.

She was trying.

And failing.

Vergil tilted his head slightly as he dodged another impact, Yamato sliding in a short slash that forced Thor to take a half-step back, not for lack of strength, but for calculation.

And then—

He understood.

There was no time to explain.

There was no room for conventional dialogue.

But that… wasn't necessary.

The connection happened naturally, silently, as if her very existence now allowed this kind of interaction without real effort.

And then—

The voice reached her.

Not as sound.

But as thought.

Direct.

Clear.

Without interference.

[I don't think we'll be able to free you normally.]

Freyja froze for a moment.

Not physically.

But internally.

Her eyes moved slightly, focusing on Vergil in the distance, even while he was still in the midst of the confrontation with Thor.

His presence was… different.

She had felt it before.

But now—

It was impossible to ignore.

The next part came soon after.

Calm.

Almost casual.

But laden with real intention. [I have an idea.]

A brief pause.

[Tell me if you agree~]