The hollow bone-land stretched endlessly around me, a colorless wasteland swallowed by fog and death. Sharp rocks jutted from the ground like jagged ribs of a fallen beast. Mists curled along my ankles, thick with whispers and memories—this was Helheim, and it was quickly becoming my new reality.
I remembered my lessons from Asgard: Helheim was the prison of the dead, the graveyard of cowards and the unworthy. The warriors who did not die in battle, the oathbreakers, the forgotten—all were sent here. Even celestial beings like the Angels of Hevan, once denied entry into Valhalla, had been seen trapped in the lowest depths. This place… it was more than just a realm of the dead, it was a prison for punishment.
Helheim was a splinter of Niflheim—the forbidden land of mist. Semi-neutral in the hierarchy of realms, ruled not by kings but watched by an ancient council, Congress of Worlds. No living being could remain here without being corrupted. This realm rejected life as much as it welcomed the forgotten.
I walked slowly, cautiously, my mortal frame still fragile, still cursed. The fog felt alive, pressing on my skin like cold breath. Still, my mind remained sharp.
"System," I murmured again. The window responded, flickering slightly in the air before me.
I focused on my Skills, this time diving deeper.
They weren't just titles. They were libraries—collections of lost spells and abilities—organized under the banners of magic schools and combat forms. My knowledge wasn't gone. Only sealed, fragmented.
Skill: Transmutation Magic [D+]
Spell: Ferra Forma – Shape or manipulate existing metal into desired form.
Spell: Arcane Alchemy – Break and recombine materials into new substances.
Spell: Etherforge – Create temporary arcane weapons from surrounding matter.
Spell: True Convert (Locked) – High-tier spell to alter objects at atomic structure.
Spell: Transmute Core (Locked) – Convert magical energy from one form to another.
This system... even in its sealed form, it was still a weapon. Even degraded, my knowledge was vast.
"At least something remains..."
I passed towering piles of bleached bones, broken armor, rusted blades—monuments to forgotten battles.
Something shifted behind me.
I froze.
A soft crunch of bone under foot.
Not mine.
It emerged from the fog—a twisted figure limping on broken limbs, wrapped in rotting leather and rusted mail. Its eyes glowed dim green, hollow yet fixated on me with mindless hunger.
A draugr. Low-class undead. Helheim's leftovers. They lacked will, lacked intelligence—animated purely by hatred and the residue of death.
Detected: Lesser DraugrClass: Undead Scavenger [Threat: Minimal]Condition: Semi-Rotting / AggressiveKnown Weaknesses: Fire, Light, Divine Aura
It shouldn't be dangerous. But I wasn't exactly in my prime.
The cursed runes across my skin pulsed weakly in warning. Still sealed. My body responded like that of a mortal—slow, stiff, and already aching.
The draugr lunged without ceremony.
I barely dodged. Its claws tore into my shoulder, splitting the fragile cloth and scoring shallow wounds. The pain was hot and sharp. Mortal.
Skill Activated: Close Combat (Degraded – C+)
Training kicked in. My foot shifted back, bracing for impact. I intercepted its second swing, turning its arm and driving my elbow into its rotting jaw. Bone cracked. The creature staggered, but didn't fall.
I'd fought gods. I'd faced titans. And now this rotting mistake of death was pushing me back.
It attacked again. I ducked low and grabbed a rusted sword from the ground. It was shattered, useless in its current form.
But I remembered a spell.
Casting: Ferra Forma (Transmutation Magic – Rank D+)
The metal trembled in my grip. It melted, then reshaped—growing into a jagged, unstable spear. Crude. But better than nothing.
The draugr shrieked and charged again.
I struck first.
The spear pierced through its chest and slammed it into the stones behind. It writhed, struggling like a hooked animal, trying to claw me even now.
Direct Hit: High Impact – Central Cavity Compromised
It reached for me anyway.
Then bit my arm.
I screamed—not from pain, but fury.
I grabbed its skull with my free hand and smashed it against the rocks. Once. Twice. Until the glow in its eyes flickered and died.
Silence returned.
I stumbled back, clutching my bleeding arm. My breath was ragged, and the mist was colder now, almost mocking. I stared down at the dust where the creature fell. My first true encounter. A mindless corpse nearly ended me. And I was supposed to be the Goddess of Death.