The battle continues, stretching on like an endless show of violence. Samael, displaying his superiority with the use of his magic, made everything seem too easy against the goliath.
Hela yawns, a sound that carries the weight of ages of boredom. Samael's spectacle, though technical, has become too verbose for the Queen's liking. She rises from her throne of bones, and the air in the obsidian hall freezes instantly.
"Samael, your words are as long as your chains, and equally tiresome," says Hela, her voice echoing with an authority that makes the shadows recoil. "You speak of darkness and emptiness, but you've forgotten that here, I am the one in charge!"
She extends her pale hand and closes her fingers in the air. A sound of shattering glass echoes throughout the hall. Hela smiles, observing the change in dynamics. The chains have stopped glowing, and so has her magic. Samael lands on his feet, exuding unnecessary elegance.
King advances like an avalanche, wrapping the chains around his fists and going for a brutal crush. He believes that, without magic, the "sorcerer" is just a skeleton encased in metal. He is sorely mistaken.
The moment King's fist—laden with the weight of a ton of fury—is about to collide with Samael's face, the Kyton vanishes from his line of sight. It wasn't teleportation; it was pure reflex.
Samael slides under King's arm, using the giant's own momentum against him. With a short, sharp movement, he pulls the chain still fastened to King's shoulder, causing the Goliath to stumble forward.
Samael: (His voice, though without the magical echo, is sharp as a scalpel) — You thought I was just a conjurer, Mortal? I was a master of combat even before your first ancestor learned to strike two stones together to make fire!
Samael spins in place, the chain in his right hand moving not like a whip, but as an extension of his will. The barbed tip cuts the air with a deadly hiss.
As King turns, Samael delivers a blow that strikes precisely the giant's Achilles tendon. It's not a blow of strength, it's anatomical. King lets out a grunt and his knee buckles.
King attempts a desperate side punch. Samael doesn't even flinch; he merely tilts his head millimeters to the side, letting the fist pass, and digs the metallic fingers of his free hand into King's arm, striking a pressure point that renders the giant's arm numb.
Samael: — Magic is a complement, King. Skill... skill is eternal. You fight like an animal desperate to survive. I fight like the assassin I am, cold and calculating.
Samael leaps onto King's back as the giant tries to stand. He uses the chain links to apply a technical chokehold, not to suffocate (because they're already dead), but to use leverage and hurl King's massive body against the obsidian floor with a perfectly executed technique.
The impact makes the hall tremble. Samael lands on his feet, light as a feather, while King tries to catch his breath.
Samael: — The Demon of Darkness won't defeat you with just complex magic, you fool. He will defeat you because he is the perfection of combat. He will read you as I am reading you: an open book written with the blood of an amateur.
Samael holds the end of his chain as if it were a dagger and points it at King's chest.
Samael: — Stand up. Let me show you why Lilith chose me to be her executioner, and not a brute like you.
King is frustrated. He had hoped that by taking away Samael's magic, the fight would be "fair," but he discovered that Samael is an equally dangerous opponent when focused solely on martiality. The Kyton is too fast, too technical, and doesn't waste a single movement.
King, feeling the weight of Samael's technical mastery, realizes that he won't defeat the Kyton in a game of mental fencing or precision. He needs chaos. Bleeding and with his movements limited by Samael's surgical precision, the Goliath lets out a hoarse laugh, wiping the black blood from his face.
— You talk a lot about perfection, Samael... — King growls, regaining his balance. — But you forgot that we are in the garden of a Queen who hates to be ignored.
In a desperate and calculated move, King doesn't advance against Samael. He lunges toward the throne's staircase, hurling one of his chains with all his might against one of the bone ornaments decorating Hela's pedestal. The metal strikes the base of the throne with a dry crack, a visual heresy before the sovereign of Helheim.
Hela narrows her eyes. The giant's audacity in using her throne as a battle platform is the final straw for her patience.
"ENOUGH!" Hela's voice is not a shout, it's a decree that makes the walls of Helheim tremble.
With an impatient movement of her hand, the Queen conjures a Gust of Wind of titanic proportions. The icy, dense air of the realm of the dead materializes into an invisible but devastating shockwave that sweeps the hall from the throne.
Samael, who was about to deliver a coup de grâce to King, is caught squarely by the mass of air. Any other warrior would have been hurled against the walls like a rag doll, but Kyton is a master of inertia.
Instead of fighting against Hela's wind, Samael leans his body, transforming into a black sail. He uses the Queen's repulsive force to gain supernatural speed.
"Thank you for the gift, Lilith!" Samael shouts, his voice carried by the gale.
He becomes a projectile. Propelled by the gust, Samael crosses the hall in a millisecond. He retracts the chains and crosses them in front of his body, spinning like a drill of metal and hatred.
King, who was still recovering from the effort of provoking Hela, barely has time to cross his arms in guard. Samael's impact is like that of a comet. Kyton strikes the giant's chest with both feet, and the sound of King's sternum cracking under the pressure is muffled by the howling of the wind.
Both roll across the obsidian floor, but Samael uses his agility to recover first, spinning in the air and landing crouched, one of his chains already stretched and ready to decapitate.
"You tried to use the Queen against me?" Samael hisses, his eyes gleaming with a fury renewed by the adrenaline of flight. "You're dumber than I thought. You just gave me the speed I needed to end this charade."
King lies fallen, the trail of his body marked in the dust of Helheim, while Hela's Gust still makes Samael's chains tinkle like funeral bells.
Samael stops abruptly. The movement of the chains ceases, and the clinking of metal on the obsidian floor sounds like the final point of a sentence. He rises, wiping a drop of black blood from his metallic mask with irritating elegance, while King, panting and broken, tries to get back on his feet.
The Kyton looks at the giant with a mixture of boredom and a hint of genuine disappointment.
"You know, King... there's a difference between a warrior and a punching bag." Samael puts away the chains, wrapping them around his arms with mechanical and precise movements. "In your current state, continuing this is no longer combat. It's just housework, and I'm tired of cleaning the floor with you."
He walks over to King and, with a swift gesture, grabs the Goliath by what remains of his armor. Samael's touch no longer burns with magic, but has the coldness of inevitability.
"You want to fight the Demon of Darkness?" — Samael gives a sadistic smile that distorts the scars on his face. — Then let's skip the preliminaries. If you survive what comes next, perhaps I'll decide to learn your name.
Samael doesn't ask Hela's permission; he merely gives a short bow and, with a snap of his fingers (one of the few tricks the Queen allows for transporting prisoners), the reality around them tears apart.
The obsidian hall disappears. The cold of Helheim is replaced by something far worse: the total absence of everything.
They emerge in the ninth and final layer of hell, a place where the very concept of existence is a burden. It is a desert of eternal ice and solid darkness, where the greatest traitors and the most dangerous threats to the cosmos are left to be forgotten by time.
Samael drops King onto the frozen ground. The impact makes the giant's body crack, but here, even sound seems to be devoured by the void. Kyton begins to walk away, his silhouette becoming a shadow against nothingness.
"The Demon of Darkness loves to visit this place for... lunch," Samael says, his voice echoing playfully in the absolute silence. "Consider this intensive training."
He makes a farewell gesture with two fingers, as his body begins to dissolve to return to Hela's palace.
"Ah, and King? I know you're already dead. But here in the Ninth Layer, death is the least of your problems. There are things here that can make you wish your soul would simply cease to exist."
Samael lets out one last short laugh.
"Survive. If you can."
And with a flash of black light, Samael disappears.
King is alone. The silence is so absolute that he can hear his own blood circulating in his veins and the ice forming in his pores. There is no Hela, no chains, no taunts.
Only darkness. And, deep within that darkness, something immense, ancient, and hungry began to notice the presence of a new "immortal" soul in its territory.
Samael stops abruptly. The movement of the chains ceases, and the clinking of metal on the obsidian floor sounds like the final point of a sentence. He rises, wiping a drop of black blood from his metallic mask with irritating elegance, while King, panting and broken, tries to get back on his feet.
The Kyton looks at the giant with a mixture of boredom and a hint of genuine disappointment.
"You know, King... there's a difference between a warrior and a punching bag." Samael puts away the chains, wrapping them around his arms with mechanical and precise movements. "In your current state, continuing this is no longer combat. It's just housework, and I'm tired of cleaning the floor with you."
He walks over to King and, with a swift gesture, grabs the Goliath by what remains of his armor. Samael's touch no longer burns with magic, but has the coldness of inevitability.
"You want to fight the Demon of Darkness?" — Samael gives a sadistic smile that distorts the scars on his face. — Then let's skip the preliminaries. If you survive what comes next, perhaps I'll decide to learn your name.
Samael doesn't ask Hela's permission; he merely gives a short bow and, with a snap of his fingers (one of the few tricks the Queen allows for transporting prisoners), the reality around them tears apart.
The obsidian hall disappears. The cold of Helheim is replaced by something far worse: the total absence of everything.
They emerge in the ninth and final layer of hell, a place where the very concept of existence is a burden. It is a desert of eternal ice and solid darkness, where the greatest traitors and the most dangerous threats to the cosmos are left to be forgotten by time.
Samael drops King onto the frozen ground. The impact makes the giant's body crack, but here, even sound seems to be devoured by the void. Kyton begins to walk away, his silhouette becoming a shadow against nothingness.
"Consider this intensive training."
He makes a farewell gesture with two fingers, as his body begins to dissolve to return to Hela's palace.
"Ah, and King? I know you're already dead. But here in the Ninth Layer, death is the least of your problems. There are things here that can make you wish your soul would simply cease to exist."
Samael lets out one last short laugh.
"Survive. If you can."
And with a flash of black light, Samael disappears.
King is alone. The silence is so absolute that he can hear his own blood circulating in his veins and the ice forming in his pores. There is no Hela, no chains, no taunts.
Only darkness. And, deep within that darkness, something immense, ancient, and hungry has begun to notice the presence of a new "immortal" soul in its territory.