Judgment of the Endless (MarvelxDC)

Hela, Goddess of Death – The Awakening

For millennia, she had been here.

Suspended in an abyss of cold nothingness, trapped in a world where time held no meaning.

Hel was not a place of torment—not for her. It was a cage, a realm meant to be ruled, but one that had been stripped of all purpose when Odin had cast her down.

A goddess of war, conquest, and death—reduced to a prisoner.

Hela sat on her blackened throne, her back rigid, her fingers curled tightly over the armrests. The chamber around her was vast, endless, a reflection of her own forgotten dominion. Shadows stretched across the obsidian walls, shifting like writhing specters, each one a whisper of the past, a memory replaying over and over in her mind.

And she let them play.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Glory Days of the Death Goddess

She could still hear it—the sound of blade meeting flesh, the roars of her enemies as she cut them down, the cries of those who begged for mercy.

She had never given it.

She could see the battlefield—the ruins of worlds crumbling beneath her black boots. She had led Asgard's armies across the cosmos, her father at her side, wielding power so absolute that entire realms surrendered before their names were even spoken.

She had been his weapon.

His perfect heir.

"You were my greatest mistake."

Odin's words, spoken in a voice thick with regret, shattered the memory like glass.

Hela's lips curled into a sneer.

His mistake?

She had been his sword, his executioner, the rightful ruler of the Nine Realms. It was not her desire that had changed, it was his weakness.

Odin grew soft.

He abandoned their path of conquest for a vision of peace and diplomacy.

And when she refused to bow to his new ideals, he had turned on her.

Banished her.

Sealed her away in a place where she could never touch the throne that was rightfully hers.

But he had been wrong.

Odin's reign was ending.

And Hela?

Hela would rise again.

The Whisper in the Dark

She sat in silence, her mind still replaying the past, when—

A whisper.

A ripple in the air.

Hela's dark brows furrowed. She sat straighter, her emerald eyes narrowing. It had been eons since she had felt anything beyond the crushing weight of this place.

Then—

The void around her shifted.

Something was piercing through her prison.

A shimmer of black glass materialized before her, distorting, twisting—until a mirror stood in its place.

Hela leaned forward slightly, her sharp green gaze locking onto the surface as an image began to take shape.

A man.

Dressed in Asgardian finery, his expression sharp, calculating, yet playful. He wore green and gold, his dark hair slicked back, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes gleamed with a cunning she recognized all too well.

"You seek me, little brother?"

Her voice was smooth, but layered with a dark amusement.

The man—Loki—did not flinch.

Ah. That was interesting.

Hela's head tilted slightly, her gaze raking over his form with slow, deliberate scrutiny. He was Asgardian, clearly—but not wholly.

Odin's child, but not by blood.

She could feel their mental connection, formed by whatever forbidden sorcery had allowed him to pierce through her prison.

A trickster. A deceiver. A liar.

She liked him already.

"You have my attention," she purred.

Loki smiled.

A Devil's Bargain

Loki spoke of Asgard. Of how Odin had left for Midgard. How the throne stood unguarded.

How Thor was absent.

How she could take back what was rightfully hers.

Hela listened, her expression unreadable. She let him believe that she was swayed by his words. That she cared about revenge.

But in truth?

Vengeance was secondary.

What she truly desired—was freedom.

She had waited too long.

And now, fate had sent her a fool with the means to unshackle her chains.

So she agreed.

But in her mind, she was already plotting.

She would use Loki's magic.

And when she was free, she would take everything.

The Return of Death

The moment Loki's spell took hold, the entire realm of Hel began to shudder.

A dark wind howled through the empty halls. The air crackled with raw power as a deep, guttural groan echoed through the void.

Hela rose to her feet, her black cloak billowing violently as energy coiled around her form.

The walls of her prison fractured.

Her eyes blazed emerald.

With a final pulse of power, the world tore apart—and Hela stepped forward.

Asgard Trembles

The moment she emerged—

Asgard itself felt it.

A terrible shockwave rippled through the realm, shattering stained glass windows, cracking golden towers, sending guards and scholars tumbling to the ground.

Across the Rainbow Bridge, Heimdall's golden eyes flew wide open as his sword-arm trembled.

In the palace, the remaining Asgardian warriors seized their weapons, their faces paling as a presence unlike any they had felt before washed over them.

From deep within the royal crypts, the spirits of fallen warriors shuddered, as if awakened from their eternal slumber.

The sky darkened, a swirling storm of green and black energy gathering above the palace.

And then—

She appeared.

Hela strode through the golden gates, her steps silent, her posture effortlessly regal. Her black headdress, sharp as a crown of blades, framed her face perfectly, and the long, obsidian tendrils of her armor shifted like liquid shadows.

The warriors before her raised their weapons—but none dared to attack.

They could feel it.

They knew.

She was death itself.

"Home."

The hurried footfalls of approaching warriors reached her ears, but she did not flinch. The palace guards—loyal to the throne, to the Allfather who had hidden her existence—stormed into the chamber with weapons drawn.

Their golden armor gleamed under the dim torchlight, but Hela barely regarded them as threats.

Then, from behind the guards, a familiar presence emerged.

Freya.

The moment the goddess of love and beauty laid eyes upon her daughter, her breath caught in her throat. Time seemed to stand still. The years had taken their toll on her heart, but in that instant, it was as though she had been transported back to the past—to the days when Hela had been a child, standing by her side, grasping her hand with innocent fingers that had yet to know war.

"Hela..." Freya whispered, her voice barely audible, laced with disbelief and a sorrow so profound it nearly broke her.

The guards hesitated at their queen's reaction, exchanging uncertain glances.

Hela regarded her mother with cold, detached eyes. There was no warmth, no flicker of recognition or longing.

She merely tilted her head slightly, as if assessing an old relic from a bygone era.

Freya took a step forward, her hands trembling. "My child, after all these years..." Her voice faltered, her body overwhelmed by emotions she had long buried.

She had mourned Hela, had convinced herself that her daughter was gone forever.

And yet, here she stood, alive and in the flesh.

"Do not call me that," Hela said coolly. "I am no one's child."

Freya's heart clenched. "You are my daughter."

Hela said nothing.

Freya took another step, desperate to reach her, to hold her. "I searched for you, pleaded with Odin to tell me what happened to you, but he—"

Hela's expression darkened at the mention of Odin. The resentment in her eyes burned like a raging fire. "He lied. He locked me away. And you did nothing."

The words struck Freya like a dagger. "I tried, Hela, I swear to you—I tried."

Tried? That word held no meaning to Hela. She had been abandoned, cast aside like an inconvenient secret. Whether Freya had tried or not did not matter—what mattered was that she had not been there.

The guards remained still, unsure whether to interfere as the queen took yet another step toward Hela.

"I never stopped loving you," Freya whispered, eyes shining with unshed tears.

For a brief moment, an almost imperceptible hesitation flickered across Hela's face. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the icy indifference she had worn for so long.

Without warning, black mist coiled around her fingers, and from the void, a sword of obsidian steel manifested in her grasp.

Freya's eyes widened in horror.

The guards barely had time to react before Hela thrust the blade forward.

A sickening schlick echoed through the chamber.

Freya gasped sharply as the sword buried itself deep into her stomach. Blood seeped into her golden gown, blooming like a crimson flower against the fabric.

She staggered, her body trembling.

For the first time, pain—not physical, but something deeper—reflected in her eyes as she gazed at her daughter.

"H-Hela…" Her voice was weak, fragile, a mother's silent plea.

Hela remained unmoved, staring into Freya's dying gaze with the same coldness she had shown everyone else.

Loki, standing in the shadows behind the guards, froze as the scene played out before him. His heart pounded violently against his ribs.

He had tried to kill his father time and time again. He had made Thor suffer. He had even betrayed Asgard in the past, aligning himself with those who wished it harm. But Freya—his mother—had always been the one constant in his life.

She was the only one who had ever loved him unconditionally.

And now…

"No," he breathed, his voice shaking.

Freya's legs gave out, and she collapsed forward, only held up by Hela's blade still lodged inside her.

"Hela!" Loki roared.

Rage surged through him like never before. Without thinking, he lunged, summoning twin daggers from the void.

Hela did not flinch. With a simple flick of her wrist, she tore her blade free, letting Freya crumple to the ground in a lifeless heap. The queen's once radiant form now lay still, a pool of blood expanding beneath her.

Loki barely had time to register his mother's lifeless body before he was upon Hela. He slashed wildly, fury guiding his every strike.

"YOU MURDEROUS WRETCH!" he snarled.

Hela easily sidestepped the first attack, caught his wrist mid-swing, and twisted it violently. The sound of bones snapping filled the air, and Loki cried out in pain, his dagger clattering to the ground.

But he did not stop.

With his good hand, he summoned another blade and thrust it toward her throat.

Hela caught that one too.

"Pathetic," she muttered, before driving her knee into his gut.

Loki choked as the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs. He staggered, but Hela did not give him a chance to recover. She seized him by the throat and slammed him against a broken pillar.

Loki wheezed, struggling against her grip.

She gazed into his eyes, unimpressed. "Did you think you could kill me?"

Loki spat in her face. "Damn you!"

Hela merely wiped her cheek, sighing. "You have spirit, I'll give you that."

Loki clawed at her fingers, but her grip was iron.

She leaned in, her voice soft but lethal. "I don't play well with others, Loki. But since you freed me, I'll let you live. This once."

With that, she released him, letting him crumple to the floor, coughing violently.

The guards, still frozen in place, dared not move.

Hela cast one last glance at Freya's lifeless form before turning toward the great doors leading to the Bifrost.

She had wasted enough time here.

As she strode forward, the shadows coiled around her like living tendrils, drawn to her presence.

Loki, still gasping for breath, could only watch helplessly as she disappeared into the distance, leaving behind nothing but ruin.

And the corpse of the only person who had ever truly loved him.

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