The towering giant never cared about insignificant mortals.
Provided that mortal did not have his Twilight Sword.
The moment John appeared, Surtur stopped destroying everything.
His eyes locked onto John-or, more precisely, the Twilight Sword in his hand, shrunk to a hundredth of its size.
The intense heat could not escape beneath the golden scales.
John's right hand had transformed completely into a dragon's, and his golden draconic arm gripped the Twilight Sword.
As for Hela...
John had her slung over his shoulder.
Hela said, "Has anyone ever told you that treating a lady like this is very rude?"
John thought for a moment and said, "I still need one hand to hold the sword."
Was holding the sword really the issue?
Hela's face darkened.
Fortunately, no one had seen this, or her dignity as the Goddess of Death would have been utterly ruined.
"Your dog?"
John glanced at Fenris, flailing in the water.
"My wolf." Seeing her beloved pet, Hela could not help growing anxious.
John set her down, holding the sword in his right hand and drawing his wand with his left.
Hela pulled Fenris out of the water and asked, "What are you going to do?"
"I thought I could stop all this from happening." Hela folded her arms, her expression dimming. "This is the gods' fate, my friend."
"Fate?" John's lips curved into a soft chuckle. "I've seen a destined Chosen One, and I've seen a Demon King."
"They all struggled within prophecies called fate."
"But I'm different." His wand slowly passed over the Twilight Sword. A golden Ouroboros coiled around the blade as green magic circles unfolded in layers. "I prefer crushing this so-called fate."
John was a variant, a unique John Wick.
No matter which world they inhabited.
The Johns could not escape their