"...Who are you?" Hela inquired cautiously, her sharp emerald eyes taking in his appearance, the divinity he emitted, and felt slightly unsure of herself; here was a god older than even her conception from human beings—and he offered some of his divinity for someone who was unrelated to him?
A weak smile made its way onto his dark face, hazel eyes almost empty while he cradled a small body whose lifeforce was weak to his chest.
"I am a god of death and judgement as well, and I carry within me a story of restoring life to one who was dead... I can help get the job done, though I can only 'read' the story and see if it takes; the little thing isn't part of my Patronage, nor is she descended from any line of mine—my interference is limited."
"I comprehend your abilities well," she replied with a hidden acidity to her tone, "however, I fail to understand why you would lend something as personal as a story to someone so unrelated to you, as you yourself said. You want something in return," she tilted her head, eyes shaded and glowing with a certainty that even he found unnerving, "don't you, oh foreign god who refuses to name himself."
'I must say,' Anubis thought to himself, sweating a little as nerves tugged at the back of his skull, 'these siblings are something else; is this why they are called monsters who would bring about this 'Ragnarok' the Norse feared so greatly?'
Outwardly, he gave a bright, impenetrable smile, that even she had a hard time reading, while quipping, "Well, I can't say there isn't but, for the most part I've already received what I wanted; I do require something from you though."
Wariness clung to her voice as she queried, "What do you require?", her sitting stance defensive and eyes narrowed for any sign of possible treachery.
"Your best skeleton—this girl's, actually."
Rigid silence overcame the room at the bold statement. A single blink was the only sign of shock she gave while keeping her iron mask on, eyes blank and expression neutral as she replied, "...Pardon?"
"Come now," he grinned impishly, eyes catching the candlelight with a glint of gold, "we both know the rules for us overseers—the advantage and disadvantage we hold."
She remained steadfast and quiet at that statement, neither giving nor taking any emotion—especially from her brothers. Jörmungandr was silent but livid, his eyes burning with light while Fenrir's were dangerous and icy; his tone of voice was as eerie as the howl of a wolf's in the dead of a winter night.
"Jackal, what do you mean by that?"
'Jackal?' her eyes sharpened microscopically, immediately cycling through the information the System had given her in search of a god of the dead related to jackals.
"Oh, so you didn't tell them?" his smile widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic intent.
"Tell us what?!" Fenrir roared, slamming his hands on the table, making the tea and crumpets spill and crumble, Asta jumping with it.
'Not the food...' she thought to herself miserably before the conversation went to a electricity-charged standstill yet again.
"The option of the gods of death within the selection promise simply means that the mortal is fated to die soon; our Patronage is fundamentally not built upon selection, but is rather accumulated over time. The more mortals that are associated with our respective pantheons sacrificed in this conflict, the more our Patronage grows, though there are a few exceptions for those who choose us. They're destiny of 'death' is fulfilled as they work beside and alongside us, as they 'die' as humans, and are reborn as something neither living nor dead—a Priest, or Priestess, in this case.
He crossed his legs, left arm cradling his Priestess and his smug, smirking face resting upon his right hand as he leaned on the couch's armrest. Neither apathy nor emotion resided on her countenance; as if carved of stone, she was expressive yet unfailingly empty as she gazed back at him steadily.
"Did I miss anything, Ms. Hela?"
It was then a crack of emotion came across her face, a pleasant and void smile neatly resting on red lips as she gently riposted, "Yes; I doubt any more divinity can extend that corpse's life, Anubis; it would be better to give up."
"I do not want to hear such cruelty from one as corrupt and impure as you, little one; do I make myself clear?"
Black eyes gazed back at her, the shadow of death suffocating her as his voice was as sweet and deadly as nightshade, cloying her senses, choking her half to death. And even then, her iron mask did not yield, did not break; the only thing that changed was her face.
Eyes, now back to hazel, widened as he stared openly at the woman. Half of her face remained that beautiful, timeless woman, with ebony hair, emerald eyes, pale skin and red lips—the other half became a skeleton, rotting flesh sticking to filthy brown bones as an empty, eerie eye socket affixed upon him, stringy and unclean black hair doing nothing to hide the horror that sharply contrasted her beauty.
"Crystal," she replied, voice as sweet and melodious as always, and yet somehow, that was scarier; an undead skeleton should not sound so lovely. No, the dead were supposed to be silent, weren't they?
Turning to her fuming and shocked brothers, she continued with her hideous face, "Yes, he is correct—that is how things work for us overseers of death, though some understand and overlook the concourses more than others. Her body was sent here, so I have it in my possession, however, if the spirit does not wish to be bound to the Mortal Plain, then neither of our powers will do much good."
Fenrir blinked, snapping from his shock before hesitantly asking, "Well, why wouldn't she?"
At that, Hela laughed, a horrific sight with how her rotten skin stretched and snapped over rotten bone.
"Oh, my youngest brother, you should know this, no? Humans are such cowards; why else do you think murderers, molesters, and monsters exist? Trauma is a humans greatest hurdle at times, and that girl carries an impressive amount of baggage. All of the time she was human, she got hurt—why on Midgard would she wish to be hurt again? Isn't that right, Asta?"
The specter in question flinched, five pairs of eyes observing her as she shrunk into herself, her anxiety skyrocketing as she began to tremble, her image waving before it winked out of existence.
Hela clicked her tongue, disappointment on one side while death laid on the other, her skeletal hand supporting her rotten skull half.
"What a coward that little thing is."