Gods And Monsters

Chapter Twenty-five:

Thankfully, it took her less than ten minutes to reach the cemetery where Spike's crypt was located. She didn't knock before open the door, and was entirely unprepared for what she found.

Frozen in place, she felt her heart sink. Spike wasn't alone.

A curvy, slender women, with waist length, thick pale blond hair, was pressing herself onto him. She had him against the wall, less than ten feet away. Her hands were below his belt and exploring the front of his jeans. She was whispering things to him, things Hel couldn't hear from this distance and wasn't sure she wanted to.

All of a sudden, Spike grabbed onto the woman's upper arms and pried her off of him. He pushed her away. "Harmony, what in the bleeding hell do you think you're—" His gaze strayed over her shoulder, widening as it locked onto Hel.

Instinctively, Hel spun around and ran. She broke into a sprint, her feet kicking off from the ground as fast as her legs would carry her.

Spike rushed to the door, in the hopes of catching her, but she was long gone. His eyes closed in defeat. Turning around, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. His eyes reopened. The hard, steely look he sent Harmony was a death threat on its own. "Leave."

Harmony didn't need to be told twice, hastily making her way around him and taking her leave of the premises.

Realising that Hel had forgotten something earlier, he snatched up his leather duster from one of the two armchairs and dug a hand into a pocket. His fingers withdrew, grasping the vial of Eitr. Spike stared at it and sighed at his own idiocy.

Meanwhile, Hel was nearing her destination.

In spite of the chaotic thoughts crowding her head, she had a particular place in mind, and wouldn't be deterred. The field was unchanged, and the intricate, circular symbol of the Bifrost remained branded onto the ground. The sunrise was dulled by sheets of rain and the gloom of dark clouds.

Upon arrival, she dropped to her knees.

She was livid, overcome with a feeling entirely unknown to her. A seething, white-hot emotion that blinded cognitive thought and made her hands tremble. Hel curled her fingers into tight fists. Her nails dug crescents into the sensitive flesh of her palms, but she was numb to the sensation.

The name of this inferior emotion came to her at last. Jealousy.

She'd mistakenly thought that Midgard could be a safe haven, perhaps even provide her with a clean slate, a fresh start. But there was no hope for that now. The Slayer had banished her, and from what she'd seen, Spike certainly didn't want her around anymore than Buffy did. She felt a pang of hurt in her chest and was sickened by her own weakness. Sentiment was a toxin, a mortal affliction. It was a parasite; the grease on the lens, the fly in the ointment. She wanted no part of it.

"Odin!" Hel cried, face raised to the heavens. Rain droplets ran down her face in rivulets, trickled over her lips and slithered down her neck. "Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!" She screwed her eyes shut, inhaled deep, and screamed: "I accept!"

A shattering clap of thunder erupted, blackened storm clouds gathering above her. Her eyes opened, gazing upward as the sky began to churn. A whirlpool of electric blue lightning bolts and atmospheric disturbance swirled into being. She braced herself as the Bifrost shot down to earth in a funnelled beam of light, capturing her within.

The tingling sensations and weightlessness that accompanied travelling between realms were familiar to her, as was the vanishing of ground from beneath her feet.

Reappearing inside an immense dome, Hel assessed her surroundings. The chamber was encased by golden walls, their intricate engravings reminding her of clockwork gears and mechanisms. At the centre was a man, with smooth, chocolate-brown skin and glowing eyes to match the gold he wore from head to foot.

His black facial hair was closely cropped. His strong hands clasped the hilt of a large broadsword that was pointed downward into the five-tiered pedestal beneath his feet, which was lit from within. His attire was typical of Asgardian men, heavy, gleaming armour and an impressive helm. His serene, all-seeing gaze regarded her respectfully.

"Heimdall," she acknowledged, slicking her wet hair back from her face with both hands.

He nodded regally. "Welcome home, Queen Hela. Odin is expecting you."

"I don't doubt it." Hel rolled her eyes, but made her way past the Gatekeeper and towards the Rainbow Bridge. A confrontation with Odin was inevitable.