The devil's daughter can't hide anymore. Her destiny has come.
Desi thought all her choices had been made and there were no second chances—but she was wrong. There's one more choice she must make: eternal peace or the weight of Thor’s Hammer in the battle for Midgard.
On that choice alone, hinges the fate of all the worlds.
With her history of terrible choices, how can Desi possibly get it right?
For at least a century I hang in the dark. My body turns to stone beneath the cold and endless expanse of space. But I can see. And my mind can think.
I do a lot of both.
I spend the first forever screaming until my voice is raw—a totally pointless exercise considering no one can hear me. I spend the next forever trying to wrench my wrists free of the shackles that bind me to Ygdrasyll—another wasted effort.
And then I try to convince the strange, rock-like creatures that live around me to set me free, but they only stare with dark, viscous eyes. Occasionally they bare their teeth and screech, but the sound is muted, almost absent—something for which I am glad. I don’t think I want to hear their cries.
They seem to dare each other to get close to me. To touch my fingers. My hair. I close my eyes and imagine myself somewhere else. Anywhere else.
At first, I wish for Asgard, for Michael’s embrace, for the perfect place, all sunshine and warmth—the exact opposite of my fate. Then I wish for what I had before all this began—my rooms in Father’s fortress of Hell. The constant sameness I hated with a passion would seem like heaven. Now I wish to be anything, anywhere, but here.
And yet, moment after moment, for years, centuries, eons—here is where I am.