Helheim's sky was a boundless vortex of storms, raging infernos, and chaos incarnate. Lightning the color of diseased flesh arced between roiling clouds that churned like the contents of a tortured stomach.
Rivers of fire twisted through the atmosphere like serpents, casting an eerie orange glow across the desolate landscape below. The air itself was thick and misty, carrying with it the weight of countless damned souls and the oppressive knowledge that this place existed beyond hope, beyond redemption.
As far as Asura's eyes could see, there were no signs of intelligent civilizations—no structures, no settlements, no indication that anything capable of thought had ever tried to make a home in this forsaken realm. Only twisted rock formations, pools of bubbling tar, and the occasional fossilized remains of creatures too ancient to name.
Two more monsters had made the fatal mistake of crossing Asura's path an hour ago. One had been a serpentine beast with crystalline scales that could cut steel; the other, a hulking mass of animated corpses fused together into a grotesque mockery of life. Both now lay in pieces behind him, adding to the ever-growing trail of destruction that marked his journey through the Underworld.
More hours flew by as Asura trudged forward through the desolate lands, his golden skin somehow seeming to shine brighter in contrast to the oppressive darkness around him. His six arms swung in rhythm with his steps, and his white hair whipped behind him in the hot, fetid winds. The rage within him had become a constant companion—a burning coal in his chest that never diminished, never cooled.
But then, something changed.
The barren wasteland began to give way to something impossible. Like a breath of fresh air, vibrant colors of life slowly came into view.
Asura slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he found himself entering what could only be described as a garden.
Flowers of every conceivable color bloomed in wild profusion—crimson roses the size of shields, azure lilies that seemed to glow with inner light, golden chrysanthemums that swayed despite the absence of any breeze.
Trees with silver bark and leaves of emerald stood in elegant groves, their branches heavy with fruit that looked almost too perfect to be real. Crystal-clear ponds reflected the chaotic sky above, their surfaces somehow remaining pristine and undisturbed.
Yet despite this sudden burst of beauty, there were no birds flying in the sky. No squirrels or rabbits scurrying across the ground. No insects buzzing among the flowers. The garden was alive, but utterly silent. And the dark atmosphere—that oppressive weight of death and despair—had not changed in the slightest.
Asura knew he was still in Helheim.
He moved slowly through the scenic gardens, his eyes scanning for threats, his body coiled and ready despite the serene surroundings. His bare feet found a stone path—smooth white marble that seemed to glow faintly in the darkness—and he followed it, his instincts telling him that this path led somewhere important.
After several minutes of walking, the path curved around a particularly large pond, and Asura halted in his tracks.
His eyes widened instinctively.
Before him stood a gate that defied description. It towered ten meters high, constructed from what appeared to be marble, silver, and some other material that Asura couldn't identify—something that seemed to shimmer between solid matter and pure energy. Intricate carvings covered every surface: scenes of battles between gods and titans, depictions of creation and destruction, symbols in languages both familiar and utterly alien.
Flanking the gate were statues—six on each side. The first six were gargoyles, each unique in its horrific detail, with wings spread wide and mouths frozen in silent roars. The other six were valkyries, beautiful and terrible in equal measure, their stone faces serene but their weapons—spears, swords, and shields—held at the ready.
Beyond the gate, Asura could see it: a swirling pillar of rainbow light that extended infinitely upward into the chaotic sky.
The Bifrost. The bridge between realms. And The way out.
Asura took in the allure of his surroundings one last time. Then he inhaled a deep breath of the thick, misty air and exhaled slowly.
His stance shifted. He squatted low, his center of gravity dropping as all six of his arms drew back. His upper arms positioned themselves high, his middle arms at chest level, his lower arms near his waist. Golden and red fiery energy began to emanate from the crimson markings across his body, growing brighter and more intense with each passing second. The ground beneath his feet began to crack and splinter from the sheer pressure of the power he was gathering.
But just as he was about to throw his punch, everything changed.
A dark and suppressing aura erupted from the side—not with the mindless malevolence of the demons he'd encountered, but with calculated, overwhelming presence. It was the aura of something far beyond those creatures, something that existed on an entirely different level of power.
Asura instantly became battle-ready, his gathered energy dispersing as he pivoted toward the source of this new threat. His six arms spread into a defensive formation, and his golden eyes locked onto the figure that now stood several meters away from him.
The being was tall—at least two and a half meters—with a frame that was distinctly humanoid but clearly artificial. Its body was constructed from dark metallic materials that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, with visible hydraulic joints and what looked like tubes carrying some luminescent fluid through its limbs. The torso was broad and powerful, covered in armor plating etched with ancient runes.
But it was the face—or rather, the mask—that drew Asura's attention. Covering the figure's head was what appeared to be a beetle-like insect mask, crafted from the same dark metal as the body. Two purple eyes glowed from behind the mask's optical ports, studying Asura with an intelligence that was distinctly and unsettlingly aware.
The two figures stood in silence for a moment, sizing each other up.
Then, suddenly, steam erupted from vents at the back of the cyborg's animatronic head with a sharp hiss. The beetle mask split apart down the middle with a mechanical whir, the two halves retracting into the sides of the being's skull.
Beneath the mask was a face that made Asura's eyes narrow. The skin was a gnarled, dark green—leathery and scarred as if it had survived countless battles and tortures. Red hair, wild and unkempt, jutted from the scalp in irregular spikes. But it was the eyes that truly marked this being as something beyond ordinary: golden irises that seemed to contain the weight of eons, pupils that dilated and contracted independently of each other, studying Asura from multiple angles simultaneously.
When the being spoke, its voice was deep and jagged, like metal scraping against stone, with an underlying mechanical distortion that suggested the vocal cords themselves were partially synthetic.
"I am Adamantine," the cyborg declared, each word carrying an authority that seemed to make the very air vibrate. "Current Guardian of the Underworld, appointed by the pantheons to ensure that what belongs in Helheim stays in Helheim." Those golden eyes narrowed. "And you, six-armed one, carry the aura of the divine. So tell me—what is one who bears the essence of godhood doing attempting to breach the gate between realms?"
Asura's eyes widened slightly in surprise—not at being caught, but at the claim that he carried divine essence. The words struck something deep within him, like a key turning in a lock he hadn't known existed. Divine? Was that what he was? The fragments of memory swirled just out of reach, taunting him.
"I'm trying to cross over to Valhalla," Asura responded, his voice low but steady. His six arms remained poised for combat. "Using the Bifrost as my gateway."
For a moment, Adamantine simply stared at him in stunned silence.
Then the guardian's eyes widened in shock, his mechanical jaw dropping open slightly. A beat passed. Then another.
And then Adamantine threw his head back and began to burst into an uncontrollable laughter.
It was a manic sound, utterly devoid of humor—a laugh that spoke of witnessing countless fools meet their doom in exactly the same way. The sound echoed through the silent garden, disturbing the perfect stillness of the ponds.
"You fool!" Adamantine howled between fits of laughter, doubling over slightly as steam vented from his body. "You absolute, magnificent fool! Do you have any idea—any comprehension whatsoever—of what you're attempting?" He straightened up, wiping a tear from his golden eye with one metallic finger. "The only entities that can even think to use the Bifrost are the Chief Gods of each pantheon! Odin! Zeus! Ra! Shiva! Beings who have ruled for millennia, who command the very fabric of reality itself!"
The laughter subsided into a dark chuckle. "And you? You don't qualify." Adamantine's expression shifted to something almost pitying. "You'll probably just be trapped in Helheim for the rest of your existence. After all, you're here for a reason, aren't you? The Underworld doesn't claim souls by accident. Whatever you did, whatever you were—it was enough to damn you to this place for eternity."
The words hit Asura like physical blows, each one stoking the rage that constantly burned within him. Trapped. Forever. The very idea was intolerable. The anger that had been simmering suddenly erupted into an inferno.
Without meaning to, without even consciously willing it, Asura unleashed his own aura.
The effect was immediate and devastating. The air around him began to shimmer and distort from sheer pressure. The stone path beneath his feet cracked and split, chunks of marble lifting into the air before disintegrating into dust. The flowers in the nearest gardens wilted and died instantly. The water in the ponds began to boil and evaporate. Golden light exploded outward from his body in waves, and for just a moment, even the chaotic sky of Helheim seemed to recoil from the fury radiating from this single being.
It was wrath given form. It was rage made manifest. It was the anger of something that refused to accept limitations, that refused to bow, that refused to stop.
Adamantine's manic grin vanished instantly. His golden eyes widened, and without hesitation, the beetle mask snapped back into place over his face with a sharp mechanical click. His entire body shifted into a combat stance—legs spread, weight balanced, every hydraulic joint tensing in preparation.
When he spoke again, his voice had lost all traces of mockery. It was calm now, professional, tinged with what might have been respect.
"Are you really prepared to fight me?" Adamantine asked quietly. "One of the Four Supreme Gods?"
Asura's response was a low chuckle that built into something darker, more primal. His six arms spread wide, golden energy crackling between his fingers. His white hair lifted as if caught in an updraft, and his crimson markings blazed with inner fire.
"Hell yeah."