Freyja was still absorbing the weight of those words when the surrounding reality reasserted itself with renewed violence, as if the temple itself refused to allow any kind of pause in that confrontation. The air vibrated intensely again, the invisible layers that sustained the seal reacting to the external distortions as the battle between Vergil and Thor reached a new level. There was no more room for hesitation, nor for prolonged contemplation. Everything there was in constant motion, pressing, demanding, forcing immediate decisions.

And then—

The impact came.

This time it wasn’t a common blow, nor a technical exchange like the previous ones. Thor didn’t advance with refined calculation or an attempt to read. He simply attacked with everything. Mjolnir descended in a direct trajectory, carrying not only physical force, but an absurd compression of divine energy condensed into a single point, as if the very concept of impact had been reduced to its purest and most destructive form.

Vergil noticed.

But he didn’t dodge in time.

The hammer collided.

And the result wasn’t just displacement—

It was expulsion.

Vergil’s body was thrown backward with a violence that left no room for softening. The impact tore through the space around him, creating a trail of destruction that cut through the temple like a brutal slash, columns pulverizing along its path as its form traversed multiple structural layers before finally being hurled against the farthest wall.

The sound that followed wasn’t just of collision.

It was of released compression.

As if the very air had been crushed at that point before being released all at once.

And for a brief instant—

Vergil remained there.

Momentary.

Sunk into the destroyed structure.

The silence that followed was short.

But heavy.

Thor remained where he was, his arm still slightly extended after the blow, Mjolnir vibrating gently in his hand as the energy around him still oscillated with the aftershocks of the impact. His eyes were fixed on the spot where Vergil had been thrown, his breathing controlled, but deeper than before.

"...you’re distracted," he said, his voice echoing through the temple with a much more direct weight now, less restrained, more...present. "If you’re going to fight, then face me like a real man."

The dust began to settle.

Slowly.

Revealing.

First the silhouette.

Then—

The complete form.

Vergil emerged from the impact as if it had been, at most, an inconvenience. His body was already completely restored, without any sign of damage or wear, his movements fluid, natural, as if he had simply been pushed... and nothing more.

He cracked his neck slightly.

He turned his shoulder.

And then—

He laughed.

Softly.

Almost too lightly for the moment.

"A real man?" "You really think this is a fight?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly as he looked at Thor with an expression that mixed amusement and disinterest.

He took a step forward.

Without haste.

Without urgency.

But with a completely different presence now.

"I don’t care about you," he continued, his voice calm, direct, without any trace of exaggerated provocation—just... truth. "I didn’t come here for you. I’m not here for pride, nor for conflict."

Another step.

Closer.

"I’m just fulfilling a contract."

The silence that followed was not comfortable.

It wasn’t neutral.

It was... heavy.

Because this wasn’t superficial disdain.

It was something much deeper.

Thor gripped the handle of Mjolnir.

Hardly.

Not out of impulsive anger—

But because it hit him.

Directly.

... Still, his posture didn’t change. He wasn’t someone who reacted impulsively. His presence remained firm, his energy steady, but now there was something more there... something more aggressive, more direct.

"Then do it right," he replied, his voice lower now, but carrying a greater weight. "Or get out of the way."

Vergil just smiled.

Slightly.

"Relax," he said, slowly spinning Yamato in his hand, the blade reflecting the distorted light of the temple in a strange way, almost... too silent for what was to come. "I’ll solve your problem."

He stopped.

Completely.

His feet firmly on the ground.

His posture adjusting almost imperceptibly.

And then—

He brought Yamato forward.

Not in a direct attack position.

But... preparation.

The air around him shifted.

There was no explosion.

There was no immediate pressure.

But something began to align.

The layers of space around him began to vibrate at a different frequency, as if they were being tuned to something specific, something that had not yet been released, but that was already... present.

Thor felt it.

He didn’t fully understand it.

But he felt it.

And that was enough to make him move.

He advanced again, this time without any intention of letting it be completed. Mjolnir rose, ready to descend with full force once more—

But Vergil didn’t move.

His eyes were closed now.

For a brief instant.

And within that instant—

He thought.

’Defeating Thor is impossible...’

There was no doubt about it.

There was no arrogance.

It was just a clear reading of the situation.

’He’s testing me.’

The perception came clear.

Direct.

Thor wasn’t fighting like someone desperate to kill.

He was... assessing.

Measuring.

Observing.

And that—

Made that fight something completely different.

Vergil opened his eyes.

And within them—

There was understanding.

’Then I don’t need to win...’

His grip on Yamato tightened.

Subtly.

But intentionally.

’I just need to get him out of the way.’

And then—

He executed.

The movement was almost imperceptible at first. Yamato slid out with absurd smoothness, the blade leaving the sheath soundlessly, without resistance, as if it wasn’t being withdrawn... but released. There was no direct strike, no physical advance. The surrounding space simply... responded.

The first cut happened.

Not visible.

But felt.

A perfect line cut through the environment, not as a directed attack, but as an absolute division between points that shouldn’t be separated. And then came another.

And another.

And another.

But something was different.

This wasn’t the Judgment Cut End as before.

Vergil wasn’t just multiplying cuts in space—

He was rearranging them.

The lines didn’t appear randomly or converge explosively. They positioned themselves with mathematical precision, creating an invisible structure that expanded around Thor, enveloping him in a pattern that sought not just to cut... but to delimit.

Thor advanced.

Mjolnir descended.

But the impact never arrived.

The space ahead of him fragmented into multiple layers even before the blow materialized, diverting the trajectory, dissipating the force, redistributing the impact to points that were no longer aligned with its original intention.

And then—

He realized.

Too late.

The cuts weren’t attacking.

They were... closing.

The environment around Thor compressed not by external force, but by the absence of valid space for occupation. Every movement he made met with resistance, not physical, but structural, as if the very world around him was being rearranged to limit his existence at that point.

Vergil didn’t advance.

He remained still.

Controlling.

Adjusting.

And then—

He finished.

Yamato returned to its sheath.

With a single dry sound.

And in the next instant—

Everything collapsed.

The cuts converged.

Not in an explosion.

But in an ejection.

The space around Thor folded in on itself for a brief instant, compressing everything into an impossible point before releasing it in a single direction.

And that direction—

Wasn’t there.

Thor’s body was teleported.

Not like someone who was thrown.

But like someone who ceased to be there.

For a fraction of a second, the entire temple seemed to stop. Not because the combat had ceased, but because the sudden absence of a presence like Thor’s created a perceptible void even in the deepest layers of that sealed space. The energy that had previously pressed everything around with divine weight simply... was no longer there.

And it was felt.

By everyone.

Vergil remained where he was, Yamato now fully reclining in its sheath, his posture relaxing just enough to indicate that that specific action had been completed. His breathing was steady, his body showed no signs of fatigue, but his eyes... were still alert. Because he knew. This was not a victory. It was not a defeat. It was just... a temporary solution.

"...this should hold him for a few minutes," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, tilting his head slightly as if calculating the exact time that spatial distortion would keep Thor away before he simply... returned.

On the other side of the temple, Sapphire had already stopped moving.

Heimdall too.

The struggle between the two, which until then had been a constant dance between prediction and denial of existence, ceased the instant Thor’s presence vanished. Not by agreement, but because both understood immediately that something had changed significantly.

Heimdall was the first to react.

His eyes moved quickly, not physically searching for Thor, but trying... to find him. To track him. To understand what had happened. His advanced perception sought patterns, trajectories, intentions—anything that would explain that disappearance.

And he found nothing.

"...what did you do?" he asked, his voice more tense than before, not filled with fear, but with something rare for someone like him: uncertainty.

Vergil didn’t look at him.

Nor did he answer directly.

"I solved his problem," he said simply, repeating his own previous words with a slight variation in tone, now drier, more objective, while his eyes turned... to the center of the temple.

To Freyja.

Sapphire let out a small sigh, as if she had finally lost what little interest she still had in that specific confrontation, running a hand through her hair while casting a brief glance at Heimdall.

"If you want to continue," she said, with a half-smile that clearly carried no real threat at that moment, "you’ll have to do better than predict movements."

Heimdall didn’t answer.

But he didn’t advance.

Because now... he was thinking.

And that, in itself, was already a change.

Vergil took a step forward.

And then another.

His movements were calm, controlled, completely different from the intensity of the combat that had occurred moments before. There was no more hurry. No more distraction. Now there was only focus on the original objective.

He stopped a few meters from Freyja.

And this time—

He looked directly at her.

Without looking away.

Without analyzing the surrounding environment.

Just... her. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

Freyja held his gaze.

And for an instant, the world around her seemed to shrink, as if everything that had happened up to that point was just... context for that specific moment.

"...so?" she asked, her voice low but firm, even with all the weight of the situation still present in her existence. "This ’idea’ of yours... is it still standing?"

Vergil tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question for a brief second.

"Yes," he answered simply.

But there was no lightness in that answer.

There was... a decision.

He raised his hand.

Not toward the seal.

Not directly.

But like someone about to interact with something far deeper than what was visible.

"You’ve realized," he began, his voice calm, but now carrying absolute clarity, "that this seal wasn’t made just to contain you physically."

Freyja didn’t answer immediately.

But her eyes... said yes.

She knew.

She always knew.

"It doesn’t just restrain your body," Vergil continued, his fingers moving lightly in the air, as if touching invisible layers. "It prevents the concept of ’you leaving.’ It redefines your existence as something that... belongs here."

A brief pause.

"That’s why you can’t break it."

The silence that followed was dense.

But not empty.

Freyja narrowed her eyes slightly.

"...then just say it," she said bluntly, impatient for explanations that wouldn’t lead to a solution. "What’s your idea?"

Vergil didn’t hesitate.

"If you can’t leave..." he said, looking directly at her now, his eyes carrying a subtle glint that hadn’t been there before, "...then we change what you are."

The sentence fell into the air as something simple.

But it wasn’t.

Sapphire, in the background, raised an eyebrow slightly.

Heimdall remained completely still.

And Freyja—

Freyja understood.

Not completely.

But enough.

"...you want..." she began, her voice lower now, not out of weakness, but out of caution, "to redefine my existence."

Vergil nodded.

"Exactly."

He took another step forward.

"This seal was made to bind you as you are now," he continued, his voice firm, each word carefully placed. "But if ’you’ cease to exist in this way..."

He stopped.

Right before her.

"...then there’s nothing left for the seal to hold."

The silence that followed was heavier than any previous impact in that temple.

Because this—

This wasn’t a breaking of the seal.

It was something far more radical.

Far more dangerous.

Freyja kept her gaze fixed on him.

And for a moment... something passed through her expression.

Something that hadn’t been there for a long time.

Fear?

No.

Not exactly.

It was... consideration.

Deep.

Real.

"...and the price?" she finally asked, her voice stabilizing again, but now carrying a much greater gravity. "Because I know this doesn’t come without one."

Vergil didn’t look away.

"You cease to be who you are now," he replied bluntly. "Everything that this label recognizes as ’Freyja’... ceases to exist."

Another pause.

"And you are reborn... as something of mine."