Chapter 599: Journey on the Bifrost 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

The Bifrost was, essentially, the fastest bridge that existed between worlds.

For the Norse, it was the direct link between Asgard and any point in the cosmos—a bridge of pure energy, sustained by the power of Yggdrasil.

What mortals called a “rainbow” was only the visual reflection of something far more complex: a dimensional current that bent space and time.

It was the kind of portal that could traverse galaxies in seconds.

At least, in theory.

Vergil stood, arms crossed, watching the streaks of light pass at absurd speed around him. His body floated slightly, supported by the Bifrost’s own energy.

Ahead, Brynhildr—the Valkyrie sent by Odin—led the way.

She seemed completely at ease, even amidst the colorful chaos that moved like a hurricane around them. Her silver cloak rippled behind her strong, well-defined body, the golden runes on her helmet shining with each pulse of the bridge.

Vergil looked around, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Tell me something,” he began, his voice calm, but with the tone of someone who was already impatient. “If this is the fastest bridge in the universe, why are we still here? I’ve seen slower journeys than this in ox-drawn carriages.”

Brynhildr glanced over her shoulder, not seeming offended.

“The Bifrost is fast, yes,” she replied, with a slight Nordic accent, firm and clear. “But the problem isn’t the bridge. It’s the destination.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow.

“Explain.”

She rotated her wrist, adjusting the floating rune before her. A projection appeared, showing a gigantic tree—its roots and branches extending in infinite directions.

“Yggdrasil,” she said. “The World Tree. Everything that exists is connected to it. Realities, dimensions, realms, even time. Nothing moves without passing through its paths.”

Vergil looked at the projection with moderate interest.

“I’ve heard of it,” he commented. “But I always thought it was a metaphor.”

“It’s not,” Brynhildr replied, without humor. “When you travel through the Bifrost, you’re not just crossing space. You’re traversing the structure of existence.”

Vergil took a step closer to the projection, analyzing it like someone observing a complex mechanism.

“And that explains the slowness?”

“Partly,” she replied. “The problem is the destination. The Hall of Erebus is not in a Norse domain, but within the dimension of Hades. And to get there, we need to pass through the entire extent of Yggdrasil.”

She moved the rune again, and the hologram showed the top of the tree, where intense lights intersected in vertical lines.

“First, we ascend to the top of the tree,” she explained. “That’s where all the paths intersect. From there, we descend to the desired domain.”

Vergil crossed his arms, watching the lights move like circuits.

“So, basically, it’s a journey with a layover.”

Brynhildr glanced sideways, the corner of her mouth subtly turning up.

“If you want to put it that way… yes.”

“I understand,” Vergil said thoughtfully. “And what exactly is slowing us down?”

“The tree is overloaded,” she replied. “Since the gods began interfering in each other’s domains, the connections between planes have become unstable. Yggdrasil processes each dimensional crossing as an entry request.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow.

“A request? Like an immigration gate?”

Brynhildr nodded, without changing her tone. “Something like that. To go from a Nordic realm to the biblical underworld, for example, we need authorization from the intermediate roots. The tree checks if the traveler can pass, if the path is clear, and if there is no risk of collapse between realities.”

Vergil let out a light sigh, almost a laugh.

“Fascinating. So even the gods need to fill out cosmic forms now.”

Brynhildr remained serious.

“If it weren’t for that, each journey could tear a part of the structure of creation. You don’t want to be around when one of those paths collapses.”

Vergil observed the flow of energy around them and commented, with a slight touch of sarcasm:

“I imagine that explains why we didn’t take a shortcut.”

“There are no shortcuts between dimensions, Lord Vergil,” she said firmly. “Only more dangerous paths. And Odin doesn’t like losing emissaries.”

Vergil observed her for a moment.

She didn’t just seem disciplined—there was a solid confidence about her, the kind of conviction that didn’t come from faith, but from experience.

The way she spoke, without faltering even once, caught his attention.

“You speak with conviction,” he said. “How many times have you made this crossing?”

“Enough to know when something goes wrong,” Brynhildr replied.

“And does it happen often?”

“More often than you imagine.” She adjusted another rune in the air. “In the last decade, Yggdrasil has been reacting strangely. The borders between realms are getting thinner. The gods are meddling where they shouldn’t.”

Vergil nodded slowly.

“That sounds like the kind of thing I’d expect from them.”

Brynhildr glanced at him for a brief moment.

“You speak like someone who’s dealt with gods before.”

“I have,” Vergil replied dryly. “And look, from a virgin goddess to a monkey-shaped God Slayer who consciously transforms into a hottie. I’d say I handle them pretty well and I’m still alive, even after seeing two Celestial Dragons fight and a nervous goddess of death.”

She didn’t answer, only looked away back at the energy flow.

The silence between them lasted a few seconds, broken only by the hum of the Bifrost.

Vergil spoke again:

“So, if we weren’t using the Bifrost, how long would this journey take?”

Brynhildr looked at him and answered without hesitation:

“Millennia.”

Vergil blinked once, surprised, but maintained his composure.

“Millennia?”

“Yes.” She seemed to find his reaction almost amusing. “The distance between a biblical infernal domain and the Greek underworld is the equivalent of crossing the entire trunk of Yggdrasil—from the root to the highest branch. Without the bridge, not even a god could do it quickly.”

Vergil looked again at the nothingness around them, the multicolored arc that distorted into infinity.

“Millennia reduced to minutes,” he commented. “I suppose I should be grateful.”

Brynhildr kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, her body firm as a spear planted on the battlefield.

“Gratitude is not necessary. Just don’t fall in the middle of the way.”

Vergil slightly raised the corner of his mouth.

“Believe me, I don’t intend to.”

For a moment, silence returned. Ada didn’t want to say anything because her body was under a lot of pressure from the Bifrost. Unlike Vergil, who had a much more robust and trained body, she struggled to resist.

The light of the Bifrost enveloped them, as if the entire universe were moving around them.

Vergil observed the Valkyrie again—the precision of her gestures, the confidence in her commands, the way her presence effortlessly dominated the space.

Mentally, he thought to himself: “Odin is lucky and knows what he has in his hands. Although I want to steal her, I feel that Odin has much more to offer… She wouldn’t be convinced with words.”

He averted his gaze, returning to the moving landscape, without letting a single trace of that line of thought escape him.

Brynhildr adjusted the focus of the portal and announced:

“We’re almost there. When the glow begins to diminish, hold on tight. The descent is quick and abrupt.”

Vergil simply nodded.

“I hope the destination is worth the effort.”

Brynhildr replied with the calm of someone who has heard this before:

“In the end, it always is. Even when it doesn’t seem like it.”

The glow began to flicker.

First, there was a slight change in color—the gold mixed with blue becoming an intense white. Then came the sound. A low, deep hum, vibrating through each of their bodies as if the very air were breaking apart.

Vergil looked up, feeling the ground—or whatever supported their feet—disappear for an instant.

“Is this it?” he asked, his voice firm, but already tense.

Brynhildr kept her gaze forward, her hands pressed against the floating runic seal.

“The descent,” she replied. “Hold on.”

But before she could finish the sentence, space began to distort.

The bands of light twisted, the sound grew louder, and what was just a glow was now an explosion of energy around them. The Bifrost screamed, vibrating like a string about to snap.

Ada groaned softly. Her body, despite being reinforced by Vergil’s energy, couldn’t withstand the pressure. The air seemed to compress, crushing her bones, distorting every fiber. Instinctively, she lunged against him, her arms closing around his waist.

Vergil held her tightly, placing his hand on the back of her neck.

“Breathe,” he murmured, but the sound barely came out, swallowed by the dimensional roar.

Brynhildr shouted something ahead—words in an ancient, runic language, which the distorted sound made almost impossible to understand. The runes around them began to overlap, spinning in chaotic patterns.

“She’s trying to stabilize it!” Vergil realized, feeling the flow of energy change.

But it was too late.

A crackle cut through the space.

The light compressed—and then exploded.

The impact came like a cosmic punch.

Vergil felt the ground form beneath his feet in a single instant, followed by the absurd force of the fall. He held Ada tightly, twisting his body so that she would fall on top of him.

The blast shook the ground.

The earth cracked, the energy of the Bifrost spreading in colorful sparks, burning the black marble beneath them. A circle of soot and heat formed around the point of impact—as if a thunderbolt had struck there.

The sound echoed for endless seconds until silence swallowed them.

Vergil slowly opened his eyes. The smell of burnt stone and sulfur dominated the air.

Ada was still on top of him, breathing heavily, but alive. He placed his hand on her back, helping her to stand up.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.

She nodded, trying to catch her breath.

“I should be used to it… but this… was different.”

Vergil helped her to her feet, looking around.

The scenery was… monumental.

They were standing before a vast underground expanse—but not dark. The walls, made of a black, translucent rock, emanated a soft, bluish light. The air was heavy, hot, and each breath was accompanied by a slight metallic taste.

In the distance, an immense structure rose: the Palace of Erebus.

Made of obsidian and pale gold, the castle seemed to float on a lake of black mist. Streams of spectral energy rose from the ground, snaking through the towers. The sky above—if it could be called a sky—was a mixture of gray and violet, with luminous cracks crossing the horizon.

Brynhildr was a few meters ahead, kneeling, resting one hand on the ground. Part of her armor was smoking—the energy of the Bifrost still dissipating around her.

Vergil walked towards her, his expression cold, but his gaze sharp.

“It seems your ‘fastest portal in the universe’ almost tore us in half.”

Brynhildr slowly rose, her gaze still firm. “Crossing dimensions is never exact, Lord Vergil. But we arrived intact. That’s what matters.”

Vergil looked around, assessing the terrain, and gave a half-smile.

“Intact enough, I’d say.”

He then looked at the palace in the distance. The solid gold doors were ajar, and distant figures—specters, perhaps guards—moved slowly along the path of floating stones that led to the entrance.

Ada stopped beside him, her eyes still adjusting to the light.

“So this is where Hades lives.”

Vergil nodded.

“Yes. The Hall of Erebus.”

Brynhildr straightened up, adjusting her helmet and tapping her fist against her chest.

“Mission accomplished. Odin asked me to leave you at the entrance and return. My duty ends here.”

Vergil turned to her, his gaze fixed for a moment.

“A pity,” he said in a low, almost casual tone. “I thought Odin was more generous with his emissaries.”

Brynhildr stared at him, her face impassive, but a slight arch formed on her lips.

“He is. He just doesn’t like to share.”

Vergil held her gaze for another second before looking away.

Ada watched the exchange with a curious expression, but chose not to comment.

Brynhildr raised her arm, and the symbol of the Bifrost appeared above her palm—a circular beam of white light that began to expand.

“See you someday, Valkyrie,” Vergil commented, smiling, “I hope I can have a coffee with you.” He said smiling.

Brynhildr looked at him, unable to understand his intention, but sighed… almost disappointed?

“Until then, Lucifer.”