The cut happened—and with it, everything ceased.

There was no explosion, no dramatic dissipation of energy, no spectacle marking the end of an existence that had spanned ages. On the contrary. What came after was... silence. A strange, profound, almost unnatural silence, as if the temple itself had been forced to acknowledge something not foreseen in its structure.

The constant pressure that filled the atmosphere—that invisible vigilance, that weight that observed every particle—simply... diminished.

It didn’t disappear completely.

But it weakened.

And that, in itself, was wrong.

Freyja’s body remained there for a brief instant, motionless, sustained only by the inertia of the moment that had just occurred. Her eyes, once alive with decisiveness and clarity, were now empty, unfocused, without presence. There was no pain in her expression. No tension. Only... absence.

And then—

She fell.

The sound of the body hitting the ground echoed through the temple in a dry, simple way, without any grandeur. But still, it reverberated more than any previous impact. Because, unlike the blows that had cracked columns and distorted the space, this carried a much more absolute meaning.

Freyja... had died.

The temple structure reacted.

The invisible chains that had previously held her vibrated one last time, as if searching for something that was no longer there to be contained. The anchors of reality, which held the seal with perfect precision, oscillated for a brief instant... and then stabilized.

But now—

They were holding nothing.

On the other side of the hall, Heimdall felt it.

There was no need to look.

There was no need for visual confirmation.

He simply... knew.

His body stiffened instantly, his eyes opening slightly as his perception—the same perception that anticipated movements, intentions, and possible futures—collided with a void that should not exist. Freyja was no longer there.

Not as a presence.

Not as a concept.

Not as something that could be read, predicted, or understood.

She had... vanished from the system.

And this—

This shouldn’t be possible.

The color in his face slowly shifted, a pallor settling in inevitably as the reality of it all solidified in his mind. It wasn’t just the death of a goddess. It wasn’t just the breaking of an ancient seal.

It was something far worse.

They... had lost.

Not a direct battle.

Not a traditional confrontation.

But something far more fundamental.

Control.

Vergil didn’t look at him.

Not for a moment.

His attention was completely focused on the body on the ground.

His footsteps echoed softly through the temple as he approached, unhurried, unurgent, like someone who didn’t need to worry about further interruptions. And, in fact... there weren’t any more.

Sapphire remained in the background, silent now, observing but without interfering. Heimdall did not move. The temple itself seemed... contained.

Vergil stopped beside Freyja’s body.

And for a brief moment—

He simply looked.

There was no explicit emotion in his expression, but neither was there complete coldness. It was something more... specific. A careful, precise attention, like someone dealing with something that demanded respect not out of sentimentality, but out of value.

He knelt.

Slowly.

And then—

His arms moved.

With a care that contrasted completely with everything that had happened until then, he lifted Freyja’s body, supporting it against himself as if he were holding something extremely fragile, extremely precious. There was no haste in his movements, nor any brutality. Each gesture was controlled, exact, almost... gentle.

His eyes closed for a brief moment.

And then—

He pulled.

Not physically.

But beyond that.

Something responded.

Freyja’s soul didn’t leave her body like an explosion of energy, nor as a separate entity trying to escape. It was a... controlled process. Delicate. As if it were being carefully detached from something that no longer truly held it.

And then—

It appeared.

A sphere of golden light, intense enough to overshadow its surroundings, yet at the same time... stable. It didn’t vibrate chaotically, it didn’t try to expand. It was pure, concentrated, carrying within itself something that couldn’t be reduced to ordinary energy.

Existence.

Vergil held it.

With his open hand.

Observing it for a brief moment.

And then—

He smiled.

It wasn’t a broad smile.

Nor an exaggerated one.

But it was there.

Subtle.

Real.

And in the next instant—

His fingers closed.

The light disappeared.

It didn’t dissipate.

It didn’t explode.

It simply... ceased to be visible.

Kept.

Protected.

Under his control.

Without any waste.

Without any interference.

Vergil then turned his attention to the body in his arms.

Without hesitation, he raised his free hand and, with a simple movement, cut the space beside him. Yamato’s blade wasn’t used as a weapon at that moment, but as a tool. The air opened in a precise fissure, a clean, stable distortion, revealing a void that wasn’t destructive, but... functional.

An outside space.

Separate.

Safe.

He positioned Freyja’s body with the same care as before, settling it within that opening as if he were putting something to rest, not discarding, not abandoning.

Preserving.

And then—

The fissure closed.

No sound.

No resistance.

As if it had never existed.

Vergil stood up.

Calm.

Completely composed.

And only then—

He looked at Heimdall.

The god was still on the ground, partially leaning against the rubble of the pillar, his breathing controlled, but his gaze... different. There was no more arrogance there. No superiority. Just... attention.

And caution.

Vergil didn’t advance.

He didn’t threaten.

He just spoke.

"Tell the Allfather," he said, his voice firm, clear, echoing through the now silent temple without any interference, "that I don’t want war."

A brief pause.

Not for dramatic effect.

But to ensure that every word was understood exactly as it should be.

"This was just between me... and Freyja."

There was no lengthy justification.

No attempt to persuade.

It was a fact.

Simple.

Direct.

Unquestionable.

Heimdall didn’t answer.

But he heard.

Vergil tilted his head slightly, as if considering something for a brief moment before continuing, now in an almost... casual tone.

"Thor must be about seven million kilometers from here," he commented, as if calculating something trivial. "He should arrive soon."

A slight pause.

Almost imperceptible.

And then—

"Tell him," he continued, his eyes still fixed on Heimdall, "that next time... we fight for real."

There was no provocation in the tone.

Nor exaggerated arrogance.

It was just... truth.

"Today," he concluded, with a slight shrug, "was just fulfilling a contract."

And then, with the same naturalness with which everything had begun—

He ended.

"Don’t take it personally."

The silence that followed was not empty.

It was... heavy.

Because everything had already been done.

And, for the first time since that confrontation began—

There was nothing left to stop it.

The calm that had settled in the temple wasn’t immediately broken. Even after Vergil’s declaration, even after the disappearance of Freyja’s soul and the silent collapse of everything she represented in that space, the atmosphere still carried the echo of something much greater than any physical confrontation.

Heimdall remained motionless, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the body had been taken, his mind trying to follow a sequence of events that simply didn’t fit the logic he had always mastered so perfectly. For the first time, there was no prediction, no reading, no possible anticipation—only the final, absolute, irreversible result.

It was in this dense silence that Sapphire broke the immobility. She turned slightly, the casual movement contrasting with the tension still present in the air, and her eyes fell on Heimdall with renewed interest, like someone who finally remembered something they had set aside for not being relevant enough.

A slight smile appeared on her lips, not filled with urgency, but with an almost nonchalant curiosity, as she subtly tilted her head.

"So...", she began, her voice soft but clearly carrying a direct intention, "is he to be killed too?"

The question didn’t come as an empty provocation, nor as a gratuitous threat. For Sapphire, it was simply a matter of logical continuation. Heimdall was still there. He still represented a link to Odin. He was still, in theory, a potential obstacle. Eliminating him would simply be... efficient.

Vergil didn’t answer immediately. He remained with his back to them both, his attention still partially focused on the space where he had stored Freyja’s body, as if internally confirming that everything had been executed exactly as planned. His breathing was steady, his shoulders relaxed, and there was no trace of residual tension in his posture. When he finally spoke, his voice came calmly, unhurriedly, like someone who didn’t need to think much to arrive at the answer.

"No."

The word was simple. Direct. Final.

Sapphire raised an eyebrow slightly, the smile still present, but now accompanied by a slight genuine interest. She didn’t seem annoyed—just... curious.

Vergil then turned his face slightly, enough for his gaze to reach Heimdall for the first time since the end of the confrontation. There was no hostility there. No disdain. Just... assessment.

"He is a man of integrity," he continued, in the same steady tone, as if describing an objective fact and not an opinion. "You don’t need to go to Valhalla for nothing."

The words carried a different weight than any attack could have had. There was no irony. There was no mockery. It was recognition. And that, coming from someone like Vergil, had a value that couldn’t be ignored.

Heimdall didn’t answer. But his expression changed, albeit subtly. It wasn’t pride. Nor relief. It was something more complex—something he himself hadn’t yet fully processed. Because at that moment, more than surviving, he had been... spared by choice.

And that was something he wasn’t used to dealing with.

Sapphire let out a small sigh, crossing her arms for a moment while looking away, clearly accepting the decision without needing to insist. For her, it wasn’t a problem. If Vergil had decided, then it was decided. Still, she didn’t miss the opportunity to make one last comment, her voice carrying a slight tone of playful provocation.

"What a waste..." he murmured, though without any real weight to the phrase, more out of habit than a genuine complaint.

Vergil didn’t answer. His attention had already shifted.

His eyes slowly lifted, not to Heimdall, nor to Sapphire, but to something above, beyond, piercing the layers of that temple as if observing something very distant. His expression remained neutral, but there was a slight narrowing in his gaze, like someone calculating something with absurd precision.

"He’s already coming back," he said, almost as a casual observation, though it carried absolute certainty.

There was no need to explain who.

Thor.

The force that had been removed from that space hadn’t been destroyed, only displaced. And now, inevitably, it would return. With force. With intention. And, most likely, with something more.

Vergil exhaled slowly.

There was no tension in it.

Just... time.

He then moved Yamato.

The gesture was simple, almost elegant in its economy. The blade glided through the air without resistance, as if it weren’t cutting matter, but concept. The space ahead of them opened into a clean, precise fissure, without instability or noise, revealing a controlled void on the other side—not a chaotic abyss, but a defined path, structured by his own will.

The portal didn’t pulse.

It didn’t oscillate.

It simply... existed.

"Come on, love."

The way he said it carried no effort. It was natural. Direct. As if this were just another step within something much larger.

Sapphire smiled.

This time, there was no provocation in the gesture. No irony. It was a lighter smile, more... satisfied. She took a step forward without hesitation, crossing the fissure like someone who already knew exactly what she would find on the other side. Her presence disappeared the instant she crossed the boundary, without distortion, without resistance—as if space itself accepted her passage without question.

Vergil remained for a second longer. Just one.

His eyes then returned to Heimdall.

And, for the first time since all this had begun, there was no calculation in that look. No analysis. No evaluation.

Just... closure.

"Goodbye." The word was not laden with threat.