"No more riddles? You should know that Muspelheim has no use for such things," Surtr chuckled. "Your mother was most certainly not mortal, dear child,"
An armored hand hovered over the ground as he knelt, and from the confines of Muspelheim came a fiery image of Athena, garbed head to toe in her noble battle-plate. Wisdom radiated from her just as the heat, but even then her sad eyes concealed the truth of the matter from all flesh.
"She loved an Asgardian half-breed, and thus you were born. Rather simple, when presented straightforward such as that,"
He stood and the image of Athena collapsed back into shapeless magma without his influencing hand. Surtr then took a questioning glare at Helena. "What do you mean, the 'Eitrison'? Is here here, in Muspelheim? Perhaps I can forgive your presence due in part to your Olympian heritage. Mistakes happen, after all, roads not often taken are used when they shouldn't be. But the Eitrison... he is a direct product of the Asgardians' alliance with the dwarfs. Show me where he is, and I'll let you leave with light burns."
The Mighty Surtr took steps toward the precipice of his citadel, his towering form dwarfing even the fire giants assembled around him. The Sons of Muspel were hardy folk. Yet even they cowered in the face of a godlike being such as the one who descended from the heavens. Surtr was loathe to see that she had within her grasp the Mjolnir, the hammer with which Thor would smite the World Serpent. He lowered his armored visage bitterly towards her.
"You have made your intentions clear, child," he tipped his head in curiosity.
"Though, I do not understand how one such as you are capable of coming here at all. The Olympians are not known for coming this far into my domain,"
He stood over her, a mountain of eldritch flesh and scabrite plate. His mace held firmly at his side, expecting bloodshed. Where Twilight, the Sword of Doom, had made its resting place could only be hinted at now. Even so, Surtr could call it to him at any time.
"You must have some Asgardian blood in you. Only those such as the Odinson have dared to venture here, to my doorstep. Your eyes betray that fact more than anything else, I think."
He knelt to get a better look at her face, seemingly unafraid of the Mjolnir - the Storm Splitter. Yet in his heart, the illusionary device struck a deep chord within him. He would not get any closer than he had to, and he would not risk engaging this being in a fight if she were truly worthy of wielding the Odinson's weapon of choice.
The Mighty Surt, Destroyer of the Universe, and destined Slayer of Freyr... said nothing at first.
Long had he been aware of the machinations of Malekith, the Accursed. His would be the tangled web of lies that would undermine many attempts at peace between himself and those of Alfheim. He would never stop in his crusade to take over the Nine Realms in his infinite darkness. Such was the corrupted core of the Dark Elf King. Such would be the way he would die, one day.
Twilight, the Sword of Doom, crackled in its sheath - the flesh of Muspelheim. Surtr himself made his way back to his throne, and sat himself upon it in silence. It would be with the cacophonous avalanche of noise heralding a broken tectonic plate that his voice would be carried. The weight of his presence shook the heavens, and sundered the earth. Even now, in his reclining state, the apocalyptic power foretold to bring about the destruction of the World Tree was prevalent - and distinctly overwhelming.
"Aye," he began. "I have no fondness for the Svartálfar, less than that for their 'king'," a word he spat out in harmony with even thinking of the Laughing God's smugness.
"My quarrel, indeed, is with Asgard and Midgard. Thor, in particularly. Odin most of all,"
The armrest of his seat crumbled in his titanic grasp upon mentioning the name of the Borson. Towering geysers of volcanic ash and fire burst in the wake of the crashing stone.
"But, Alfheim I have no acute reason for burning other than the Norn foretold it to be so. I now have questions for you, Child of the Golden Land,"
He removed himself from his throne.
"While you are here, discussing your feud with the Laughing God with me, who is to say that Malekith himself is not acting on your absence?"
"The only wrong question is the one that is never asked. I've only a short answer because I do not frequent other pantheons. Hela, on the other hand, knows of the comings and goings of most everything. Hers is the path of souls, but I do not want you visiting her. Ever. Do you understand? She knows the answers, but you will not leave Helheim. And once you are there, even I cannot help you escape,"
He said knowingly enough, conscious that he would destroy everything around Helheim and scorch away the Skull-Queen's very throne. But even that would not bring his son back from that accursed place.
"There was a woman here, of Asgardian and Olympian blood, none too long ago. She and the Eitrison ventured the burning roads. Perhaps she might be of some further help?"