Machinations Beginning to Turn

She really was not sure how she came to be in this position.

One moment, she was floating over the couch, frozen beneath the intrusive gazes of several powerful and dangerous beings, the next thing she knew, she was sinking farther from the Mortal Plain—releasing her hold on reality as a means of self-preservation.

Of course, she could still feel a connection there; a tug at her collarbone above her heart that throbbed reminded her of it every few seconds—until it pulled.

Letting out a yelp, the mark of the serpent on her collarbone turned red and burned, her body being tugged away in a direction she could not understand or follow until the pain stopped, and she collapsed on the stone floor of the castle, gasping and trembling from the after effects of the violent action.

'What was that?!'

"I take it you will cause no more fuss then?" a melodious voice greeted her ears, and Asta froze, her neck slowly craning upwards to look at the familiar figure, though they were different now.

Hela stood above her wearing a simple black, yet ragged dress that swathed a figure as pale and blue as a corpse; her face was predominantly beautiful and human, but every once in a while, the rotten corpse would peek through the deathly beauty.

"H-How...?"

The overseer scoffed, "Even if I am not a true goddess, I still hold the title in your simple human brains—how could I fail to follow where a mere specter goes?"

Asta was not sure if specters could blushed, but she felt she could manage to do so with how prickly her face felt from her embarrassing question.

"I must say, your situation is rather ideal," Hela tittered. "Even after dying, you haven't really died, and you have an undyingly loyal Patron, though you yourself seem to fail in understanding and considering my little brother's more delicate emotions. A shame, really. Your cowardice knows no bounds, does it not?"

"Of course," she smiled benevolently, as of she were to impart a great kindness upon her, "I'm certain you've had your good moments, your tender moments and even moments of surprising understanding; I'm certain beneath all of your cowardice, there is a truly good and kind girl inside you. But that's the thing—it's behind all of your fear, and I must say, even for a woman that clings to her Patron for protection while still fearing him, you're quite cruel."

Leaning down towards her, Asta smelt the scent of rotten flowers from Hela—sickly sweet and suffocating.

"Why don't I help you with that fear?" she offered, and Asta became wide-eyed and desperate for a moment before cooling her head.

Although she would love nothing more than freedom from her crippling anxiety, she could already tell that unlike Jörmungandr, who was like a terrifying child that was unaware of the world, Hela was the real snake in terms of personality; she was the type that would slowly curl around and constrict her victim to death, smiling her sweet façade all the way.

"...What do you want from me? Why are you even offering me an opportunity?"

Hela simply smiled.

"I need you to want to live again, and then..." she leaned in and whispered the rest in Asta's ears. Asta's icy blue and ruby red eye widened, shudders pulling through her as violently as a pianist's recital, the notes jumbling into a discordant fear she could not remove.

"You understand, of course, the consequences of not fulfilling this? You might not die at this moment, but at the end, you will die along with everyone else; if you keep your end of the deal, the only one who will disappear will be none other than that Patron you fear so much."

The Jotun leaned away and offered her pale hand, that enchanting upturn of the lips still smeared on her face, eyes cold and calculative.

"Do we have a deal, little specter?"

Asta pondered; prayed; took a deep breath; looked up at the woman.

She raised her hand in turn.