DC/Marvel: This Guy is Insane

"Big Sis, this guy is one of your biggest fans. He likes to dress up as you and let other skeletons… you know." Alan held up the skull he'd been keeping tucked under his arm.

The skull's soulfire immediately extinguished as it played dead, offering no response. You can't trust a madman, it thought miserably. He spilled my deepest, darkest secret the moment he met her.

Hela just waved a hand, sending the skull flying off into the distance with a flick of divine energy, incidentally repairing its fractured form as it went. It was as if this sort of thing was a common occurrence for her. With the stunning, fatal beauty of a death goddess, it was only natural that some of her subordinates would develop… complicated feelings.

"Come on, let's go catch up."

Hela led Alan directly into the Netherworld. As they passed through the dimensional barrier, the environment instantly grew darker and more oppressive.

"Why is the Netherworld so gloomy? Can't you guys open a window or something?" Alan complained, looking up at the perpetually overcast sky. The land below was a uniform dark brown, as if black was the only color in existence.

"The borderlands of the Netherworld aren't really developed," Hela replied casually, secretly sending out a telepathic order for her undead army to retreat. Without her on the battlefield, they couldn't possibly push into Hell, and temporarily occupying territory was pointless.

"By the way, you're not dead. So how did you end up in Hell?" Hela asked, genuinely curious. Hell was reserved for the souls of the truly wicked. She knew Alan's personality, and he was definitely not that kind of person.

"It's a long story," Alan said with a sly grin. "So I won't tell it."

"Okay." Hela smiled, not pressing the issue. She knew he wouldn't be able to resist.

Alan blinked, taken aback. "Are you sure you don't want to know?" he tested, his expression turning mischievous. "It's a really dramatic and exciting story."

"I don't want to know."

Hiss… Alan sucked in a sharp breath. He had met his match. "You have to listen!" he said, his voice rising in desperation. "I'll tell you right now!"

"I'm not listening, I'm not listening…" Hela covered her ears, chanting like a child.

"Why are you being like this?! I have to tell you!" Alan looked like he was about to have a meltdown, already starting to pull at his hair.

On the ground below, the undead army stared up at their lord, dumbfounded. They had never seen the Goddess of Death act so… playful. She was usually the very picture of solemn, noble dignity.

"Call me 'Mama' and beg me," Hela said, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Mama, I'm begging you," Alan pleaded without a moment's hesitation.

"…" Hela was stunned. She hadn't actually expected him to do it. "I have underestimated your lack of shame."

"A bottom line is meant to be broken," Alan stated matter-of-factly.

It was a strangely valid point, and he was clearly a man who lived by that philosophy. Hela recalled that, as far as she could remember, Alan had always been utterly shameless.

"Fine. You can talk. I'm listening," she sighed, gesturing for him to begin.

Alan pinched his chin, adopting a coy posture. "Well, how should I put this? The thing is, it's complicated, but it's also simple. If you say it's complicated, it's actually simple, but if you say it's simple, it's actually complicated…"

"If you say one more word of that nonsensical drivel, I will curse you so that you can never speak again," Hela threatened, her brow twitching as deathly energy began to crackle around her.

"A girl confessed her love to me, and I rejected her on the spot. Her love turned to hate, and she cast me into Hell. If she can't have me, no one can," Alan explained with a dramatic flair. "And who am I? I am Odin-Uther-William-Elwyn-Owen-Tevin-William-Owen-Mubun-Osas, Chief Commander of the Iron Dimension's Ultimate Iron Guard! Our motto is 'We only play the piano, we don't play with love.' How could I let something as trivial as romance get in the way of my rhythm?"

"…"

What kind of title is that? I thought your name was Alan!

Hela cut through the nonsense to the heart of the matter. "So you provoked her, and she locked you in Hell, right?"

"I did not! That's slander! I'll sue you for slander!" Alan shouted, turning to the undead army on the ground below. "Your lord is slandering me! She's slandering me!"... "Who was she?" Hela ignored his antics and asked for the person's identity.

"Magik."

"Who?" The codename meant nothing to Hela.

"Illyana Rasputina."

"Her!" Hela's eyes widened in recognition. "I've met her a few times, but we're not familiar. She's had a rather legendary life herself."

"Oh?" Alan's interest was piqued. "How awesome is my wifey? Tell me everything!"

"Your wife!?" Hela's eyes danced with amusement. "I thought you rejected her."

"I just accepted her," Alan stated with a completely straight face, not a hint of embarrassment in his expression.

"When she was seven, she was kidnapped by the Hell Lord Belasco," Hela began. "He saw her magical potential and wanted to raise her into a powerful sorceress so he could steal her power for himself…"

"That bastard!" Alan interrupted. "He dared to use my wifey as a living power battery?! Take me to this... Belasco-Tiramisu guy so I can avenge her! I'll play him a tune from the Iron Guard that will reduce him to dust!"

"It's Belasco, and he's already dead," Hela corrected him. "He played himself. At fifteen, Illyana awakened her mutant power and manifested a sword that could injure the soul. She cut him down with it."

"He got off easy," Alan huffed. "If I'd been there, I would have played him the 'Heartbreak at the End of the World' symphony. I guarantee he would have regretted ever being born."

By now, they had arrived at Hela's domain.

Towering black buildings rose into the gloomy sky, forming a magnificent, epic cityscape. The undead who inhabited it were a diverse and varied lot, all part of a functioning, self-sustaining society. Hela, having been raised in Asgard and educated in countless arts, had no desire to rule over a simple graveyard. She had painstakingly built this city from the ground up, utilizing the memories of the undead and the alchemical skills of the liches to create a true civilization.

Her palace, the seat of her power, stood at the city's center. It was a glorious structure, primarily dark green with accents of gold, looking both stately and imposing, radiating an aura of majestic power.

"Asgard?" Alan gasped as he looked at the palace.

"It's a replica of my former home," Hela admitted freely. She had indeed modeled it after the divine realm, though on a much smaller scale since she lived alone. The aesthetic sensibilities of the undead were, after all, quite different from her own.

They landed gracefully in front of the palace. "This is magnificent!" Alan exclaimed, looking around in awe.

"Let's eat and talk inside."

They entered the main hall, where two rows of female undead were already waiting. They were dressed in wedding gowns, and through their lace gloves, one could glimpse the rotting skin and white bone beneath.

"These are my Corpse Brides," Hela explained. "They serve as my attendants."

"The Netherworld is so much fun! Can I come visit often?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Alan realized the problem. "Wait, how would I even get here? Do I have to… kill myself?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. If you end up in someone else's territory, I might not be able to get you back," Hela warned. Some of the older death lords in the Netherworld were powerful enough to beat even Odin to a pulp. Hela avoided provoking them unless absolutely necessary.

"Here, have a glass of the Netherworld's specialty." Hela poured a black, bubbling liquid into a cup.

"Is that… cola?" Without a second thought, Alan chugged the entire thing, completely letting his guard down.

Hela shook her head with a helpless sigh. Still so careless.

Buuurp.

Alan let out a satisfied belch.

Ding! Host has been baptized by a divine dark artifact. Soul strength permanently increased by 50%.

Hmm…

Alan grabbed the pitcher and started chugging directly from the spout. Glug, glug, glug… he poured the drink down his throat.

At the same time, his stomach began to swell at a visible rate.

"Ugh… I'm full… I can't drink anymore… blegh…" Alan's eyes rolled back in his head as he fought the urge to vomit. The pitcher seemed to be bottomless; the liquid just kept coming.

Hela watched with a growing smile, making no move to stop him. "That's a spatial pitcher," she explained nonchalantly. "It contains the spring of the River Styx. There's about a river's worth of water in there. Oh, and the spring's effects only work the first time."... "You didn't say so earlier!" Alan moaned. He had been trying to chug more for extra buffs, but the system hadn't given him any more notifications. He rubbed his bloated stomach, a look of pure grievance on his face. "You evil woman! You got me knocked up! You have to take responsibility!"

"Just go pee it out."

A table laden with Netherworld delicacies was spread before them, but Alan had lost his appetite. He collapsed onto Hela's personal lounge chair, rubbing his stomach with a look of utter despair. Hela, meanwhile, slowly began to savor a piece of unidentifiable meat, a mixture of amusement and exasperation on her face.

"So, Sister Seaweed," Alan asked, his curiosity returning, "how did you end up in the Netherworld?" The Goddess of Death was Asgard's greatest warrior, her duty to wage war and bring death to its enemies.

"If I hadn't fled to the Netherworld, I'd probably be a prisoner right now, living a life worse than death," Hela said, putting down her knife and fork. "Odin is too tyrannical. He can't tolerate anyone challenging his authority, and I had become a threat to his rule." In the movies, Hela had indeed been so powerful that Odin was forced to flee to Earth for refuge.

"The one-eyed old man just let you escape?" Alan pressed. Odin should have been at the peak of his power. It didn't make sense that he couldn't suppress Hela, let alone allow her to build a power base in the Netherworld.

"I have you to thank for that," Hela explained slowly. "The Guardians of the Galaxy you formed back then… your teammates broke into Asgard and rescued me. And they got permission from Death herself for me to take refuge here."

The Guardians of the Galaxy? Death? The amount of new information was staggering. How powerful was this team that they could successfully invade Asgard? They must have been a cosmic-level force.

"You mentioned Death… was Thanos on the team?" Alan asked, his eyes wide. There were two people in the universe who were famously associated with the cosmic entity Death: a certain near-invincible Merc with a Mouth, and her ever-present purple admirer.

"That is something you'll have to experience for yourself," Hela said with a knowing smile, deliberately withholding the details. The past was already written, and Alan couldn't change it. But if he went on a rampage with this new knowledge, he might actually manage to alter history. It was best not to interfere. The laws of causality were a dangerous thing, a fact that high-level gods like herself were acutely aware of.

(End of Chapter)

***

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