Vergil watched the thousands of Niddrog's descendants descending along the roots, caves, and fissures of the World Tree while black, red, and golden lightning thickened around Mjölnir.
The hammer seemed especially excited now that there was finally an appropriate number of targets.
The spawn were smaller than their mother, but "smaller" was a relative word in that place. Some were dozens of meters long, others hundreds, and the largest possessed bodies capable of destroying a city simply by landing on it.
They came from every direction, forming a draconic swarm that gradually covered the golden leaves above until Vergil had to tilt his head just to keep track of how many signatures were entering his perception.
Mjölnir trembled in his hand, almost impatient.
Vergil spun the hammer once.
"All right."
Another spin.
The air responded.
On the third, the entire sky seemed to bend.
