[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Outskirts]
Echidna did not intervene.
She stood where she was and watched as Dante finished what he had begun—watched as Orthrus was torn apart piece by piece, watched as the Nemean Lion was reduced to a ruined corpse at his feet. She did not look away. She did not shield her gaze. If there was grief, it did not show itself openly on her face.
These were her creations.
Her children.
Beasts born of her flesh, her will, her defiance of the Gods themselves. Monsters whose names had been etched into myth and terror for ages beyond count. She had raised them, guided them, watched them grow into calamities that nations feared and heroes died trying to overcome.
And now they lay dead.
Mangled and broken. Slaughtered not through trickery or ambush, but through direct confrontation.
She could have acted.
