Chapter 9: Hela
Hela walked through the ruins of Asgard, barely recognizable as the powerful being she once was. Ragnarok had come and gone, leaving only destruction behind. The once-great city was now just a pile of broken stones, and its people were scattered across different worlds. She had been close to victory, ready to take her place as ruler of all Nine Realms, but Thor and that wretched beast Surtur had different ideas. In the last battle, as Asgard fell apart and fire filled the sky, she made the toughest choice of her life. She sacrificed all her divine strength just to stay alive.
At that moment, Hela realized something she had never thought about: power, even if it seems unbeatable, doesn't last forever. If she had died, her story would have ended too—her name would have been forgotten, just like Asgard. So, she decided to live in exile instead of being forgotten. She chose to stay alive instead of dying.
But survival came with a price.
Weak, broken, and stripped of the strength that once made her the Goddess of Death, Hela fled. She could feel her body growing frail, the tendrils of her dark power thinning out like smoke dissipating into the wind. She could no longer control the armies of the dead or use the unbreakable Necrosword easily. She was mortal now—or close enough to it.
The gates of Hel, her own realm, opened for her like a final hug. But as she entered, she felt more like a stranger than its ruler. She fell to the cold, dark ground, with the harsh landscape of Hel stretching out endlessly in front of her. The land was as cruel as ever, a twisted mirror of the emptiness in her heart.
The spirits of the lost souls surrounded her, attracted to her presence. Even in her weakened condition, they knew she was their queen. But Hela, now broken and powerless, had nothing to say to them. She lay still, her face against the ground, fighting to breathe, each shallow breath bringing her closer to losing consciousness.
Hel was silent. It had always been that way. A place without light, time, or sound. The only sound breaking the silence was the slow, steady beat of Hela's heart, reminding her that she was still alive, though just barely.
In the suffocating isolation, time ceased to matter. Minutes, days, or even centuries passed—she could no longer tell. She was alone, completely severed from the realms above, where the gods squabbled over whatever remained of Asgard. It was fitting, she thought bitterly, that the Goddess of Death would be left alone in a land of the dead.
But she did not mourn.
Instead, she rested.
For many years, Hela stayed hidden in the depths of Hel. She was forgotten by both the living and the dead. This was good for her—no one looked for her, and she needed time. She couldn't let the gods see her in her weak state. She had fallen very low, and any hint of her being alive would bring those who wanted revenge or power to her.
Each day was a battle against her new, broken self.
But where others might have succumbed to despair, Hela found purpose. She had tasted power once, and she would have it again. She would rise once more.
Her days were spent meditating in the dark halls of Hel, drawing upon the faintest remnants of magic that still lingered within her. The land itself fed her, for Hel was more than just a place—it was an extension of her essence. It responded to her desires, albeit faintly. With painstaking slowness, she began to draw strength from the shadows, absorbing the energies of the countless souls trapped within her realm.
It wasn't enough to restore her to her former glory, but it was a start.
Hela's patience became her greatest weapon. Over time, her strength returned, bit by bit, like water filling a cup drop by drop. She no longer had the Necrosword, but she could feel her control over death gradually reawakening. The dead obeyed her commands once more, their twisted forms rising at her will.
Still, the magic she regained came at a cost. The more power she drew from Hel, the more the land became bound to her. It was no longer just a refuge—it became her prison. The deeper her connection to it grew, the more difficult it became for her to leave. Yet Hela accepted this trade-off for now. The power would return, she reminded herself. It always did.
Years passed, and Hela's influence over Hel strengthened. She could control the souls more efficiently, and she could sense her enemies beginning to stir. The Nine Realms had been left in chaos after Ragnarok, but that chaos would eventually give way to order—and when it did, her time would come again.
But this time, she would not be so reckless.
As her power grew, so did her ambition. The throne of Asgard had been lost, but her desire to rule had not. Ragnarok had shown her the limits of brute force and the folly of pride. She had underestimated her brother, underestimated the resistance of her enemies. This time, Hela would not make the same mistake.
Patience. Cunning. These would be her tools now.
Her exile had given her perspective, and with it, she began to form a new plan. She would not return to the Nine Realms in a blaze of destruction. Instead, she would wait. She would watch. She would gather her strength until the time was right—until the realms were weak and divided. And when they were, she would not just attack them from the front, but from the shadows. Hela, the Goddess of Death, would once again claim her place. But this time, it would be on her own terms.
The shadows of Hel shifted around her as she stood tall once more, her eyes gleaming with renewed purpose. The years had been cruel, but they had tempered her. She was no longer the Hela who had craved simple domination.
Now, she craved something more.
But what she didn't expect was the fact that Odin before his death foreseen something that Hela didn't think was possible...
Her Destiny.
He left a wisp of his soul in Hel for a time like this, to teach her mercy which Hela never understood. In order to understand her destiny, she needed to know mercy first.
A strong gust of wind blew through the darkness, carrying with it a single ray of light. Hela turned toward it, her eyes narrowing. This light was different from the darkness—it was warm, inviting, and full of life. It was a piece of Odin's soul, calling to her, guiding her.
"You won't let me live nor will you let me die, will you?" Hela muttered bitterly, even though she knew that her father was dead. "But I will not allow myself to become a pawn in your game, old man."
"Game? This was never a game but a way to bring you and your brothers to their destiny. You were destined to become the Goddess of Death, and fall, as Thor is destined to become the King of Asgard but lost Asgard, yet he became the king of the new Asgard, and Loki is destined to become the God of Stories but he's the only one who found his real destiny, a new throne. Each of you has a role to play in the Nine Realms, and it is up to you to choose whether you will fulfill that role or not," Odin's voice echoed in Hela's mind as if he were still alive. "As I always said, nothing is eternal. Your choices will lead you to your destiny, for good or for worse..."
Hela scoffed at the thought. Destined to become the Goddess of Death? It sounded ridiculous to her ears. How could she ever believe in such nonsense? The gods of the Nine Realms were not chosen by fate; they forged their own destinies. And if Hela had any say in the matter, she would forge her own destiny and nothing else.
"God of Stories? That's new. Anyway, why are you here? You can't do anything anymore in that pathetic state of yours, father. So, spit it out. What do you want from me?" Hela asked, crossing her arms and staring at the ray of light with annoyance.
The light moved closer to her, surrounding her with warmth and comfort.
"A new Multiverse crashed with ours. The balance is holding for the moment, but a merge is inevitable. When that happens, New Gods will come into existence. Gods, more powerful than anything we have ever seen. Stronger than you, me, or other Gods," Odin's voice whispered, a hint of worry in his tone. "They will bring destruction upon the Nine Realms and beyond."
"Ha..." Hela scoffed again. "Your jokes don't amuse me, father. Even if they exist, they would be nothing against me. They would fall under my feet like the mortals. So, save your breath for someone who cares about this Multiverse thing, old man. I have my own plans, and they do not include saving this world or any realms. Now leave me alone, you relic of the old past!" Hela spat, turning her back to the light.
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