Fin IV

In one of the many orbs that decided the fates of trapped gods, a middle aged man with a dignified air around him, slowly walked forward. He wore a traditional red robe with several engravings of an eastern dragon. His head was without a strand of hair, as though such a thing was a luxury that tainted the soul. He had nothing on his person but a staff and a set of bangles that decorated his wrists. He walked barefoot, but his feet were not stained by dust. This man was Master Subhuti.

"To think that Heimdall would prepare such a thing to receive me," Master Subhuti smiled faintly with his eyes slightly closed.

He walked through the field of blood and gore without an ounce of discomfort. He didn't seem saddened by the countless lives that had been lost, neither was he worried about the many that would join the dead in drinking from Grandma Meng's Meng Po Soup on the Bridge of Forgetfulness. He had reached a state of absolute serenity; this wasn't enough to disturb his iron heart. Litt