Nordic, Netherworld.
Death Goddess Hela stands before the door, looking at the sunset sinking below the horizon, her hopeful gaze once again dimming.
Another day passed...
The Night Sky Sword emerging in her hand swings backward, the new sword marks occupying the last remaining corner of the wall.
Hela turns back, glances at the wall covered with dense sword marks, and suddenly feels a suffocating frustration. The Night Sky Sword in her hand sweeps forward, shattering the entire wall.
"Even if you erase these, you can't change the reality you face: no one cares about you. They all just treat you as a tool, to be called upon and dismissed at will..."
"Phew!"
The sword light flashes past, abruptly halting the obscure and low voice.
Hela turns to look outside the door, gazing at the wriggling black mud that once again aggregates into a humanoid form, a cold glare emanating from her eyes:
"You actually dare to come back!"
