(From The Narrator's POV, 1,850 words)
And just like that, what future historians—well, bloggers with too much time—would call the greatest cinematic father-daughter reunion, the prologue to chaos, and about twelve other pretentious titles… began.
Odin's presence was exactly what Hela expected. Ever since he'd lost the ability to peek into the future like a spoiled god playing with cheat codes, he'd grown more paranoid than a squirrel on espresso.
Especially where Thor—and by extension, Earth—were concerned. His eyeball may have been missing, but he had his one good eye glued to this planet like it owed him rent.
When he sensed a fight brewing, Odin was actually a little entertained. Sure, mutants were weak in the same way a nuke is 'just a firecracker,' but their potential tickled the part of him that once considered adopting a few for Asgard.
He didn't, of course. Too chaotic. Too... Earth. The last thing Asgard needed was another person punching holes in the palace walls during a tantrum.
Then came Jean.
Seeing her jogged something loose in his ancient memory—specifically, a rather passionate affair with one of her ancestors. A Phoenix host, of course.
Fire and fury, the kind that leaves scorch marks on the bedsheets and in the timeline.
But as he was sipping on metaphysical popcorn, watching events unfold like an interdimensional soap opera, something snapped. Hela. He felt her.
At first, he thought it was indigestion then dismissed it as a hallucination, but no... it was real. She was here, walking around in the flesh, before his death.
Cue the rage.
He had no idea how she'd slipped out of Hel without him knowing, but one thing was clear—she didn't do it alone.
Someone helped her. Someone clever. Someone powerful. And suddenly, all the little signs he'd been trying to ignore made sense. The blinding of his foresight. The creeping dread. Someone was plotting. Against him. Against Asgard.
But what really tripped him up was Hela's first words.
Destroying Asgard?
Now hold on—was this really his daughter?
The Hela he knew wanted to murder him, sure. Standard divine family therapy. But she loved Asgard. Claimed it. Owned it. Called it her inheritance with the entitlement of a firstborn at a will reading. Destroying it? That was new.
So after her dramatic little speech, a black storm cloud materialized over Cape Citadel. Very theatrical.
Out of it came the image of a white-haired, one-eyed old war god with a look that screamed 'final boss.' Odin's projection loomed before the entire world, eyes fixed on Hela—who, inconveniently, was in Jean's body.
"Hela?" he asked, voice like thunder chewing gravel.
If there was one word to describe Odin in that moment, it was war. Even Magneto, who just moments ago looked like he was auditioning to end the world, suddenly resembled a schoolboy caught stealing candy.
Hela didn't waste time. "Old man, didn't see this coming, did you? Me, out before you drop dead."
Meanwhile, Jean, floating in her astral form like an unpaid Netflix subscriber witnessing an unexpected crossover, was utterly confused.
Wasn't Hela supposed to be saving the X-Men and kicking Magneto's metallic ass? Why was Odin—the Allfather from Norse mythology—suddenly here?
She'd suspected something was off with Hela from the beginning. Sometimes she acted like a queen of hell. Other times like an exhausted grandma looking for her knitting needles. Occasionally, she gave off the vibe of a bored kid left unsupervised in a toy store.
Jean had even mentally categorized her into three personas: The sassy stand-up comic, the tyrannical warlord, and the unholy hybrid of both.
As for Odin and Hela? They didn't care about the onlookers. Didn't even notice the X-Men or the ruins of Cape Citadel. They only had eyes for each other, like estranged lovers at a family reunion that somehow turned into a knife fight.
Then, the moment was broken.
"God-King Odin," came a calm voice. "We had an agreement, did we not?"
The interruption came with the arrival of a portal, elegant and glowing. From it stepped someone neither man nor woman—or perhaps both, but definitely bald.
Flat-chested. Completely androgynous. The only thing giving away her identity to Hela was the face: Tilda Swinton, but younger—maybe early forties. Still smug enough to punch the timeline in the throat.
Ah yes. The Ancient One. Female edition.
Hela immediately recognized her. And despite everything going on—Magneto's chaos, Odin's drama—humans across the globe were suddenly more interested in this celestial soap opera.
Odin's 'hologram' glared at the Ancient One. "Are you protecting a criminal of Asgard?"
She didn't so much as blink. "God-King, this was not part of our deal. If you fight Hela here, Earth won't survive twenty round. I am... compelled to intervene."
Inside Hela's mind, she silently cheered. Bingo.
She knew the Ancient One would show up. The moment Odin poked his wrinkled head into Earth's affairs, she'd have no choice.
A clash between a Hell-Lord and a God-King? Mirror dimensions were cute, but laughably insufficient. These weren't magicians tossing sparkles. These were gods who could punch time in the face and make space cry.
And that's exactly what made the Ancient One dangerous—the Time Stone.
Hela hated time-based powers. Always so annoying. Undo this, redo that. One moment you're triumphant, the next you're being rewound like a VHS tape straight into a cosmic slap.
But what she hated even more was this feeling of powerlessness. Imagine—just to be free, to roam Earth and eat what you want—you have to rely on someone's pity or compassion, even though you possess the power to destroy a planet.
Even now, with a completely different powerset, she still couldn't take on Odin alone. No matter how long the fight dragged on or how much damage was dealt, the outcome was inevitable: Odin would win.
Before the situation could escalate, Magneto—feeling like a child being ignored—intervened. "Excuse me, but who are you?"
He didn't come off like one of those arrogant young masters who provoke people just because they've been ignored. No, this was genuine confusion, curiosity—maybe even frustration.
Despite his helmet, Hela easily read his thoughts. Her telepathy was far too advanced now. She knew he had been about to speak—and honestly, anything that distracted Odin and bought her time to think was more than welcome.
Her mind was racing. Should she go after the Tesseract? It was likely somewhere on Earth. Or maybe try to connect with the Phoenix Force—see if it would lend her a fraction of its power. She was grasping at anything that could give her an immediate boost.
While Odin and Hela ignored Magneto's question completely, the Ancient One decided to respond. "This is the God-King Odin, and this is Hela, Goddess of Death."
Of course, that wasn't really helpful. Anyone who'd been listening would have heard Hela shout Odin's name when she arrived, and Odin address her in turn. Anyone with a few functioning brain cells could figure that much out.
Magneto's question had been more about what they were, why they were here, and whether they'd help him—or destroy everything.
"Ah, I got it," Hela suddenly said, as a new idea formed—something she could try if the situation really spiraled. That thought eased her tension, even if just a little.
Then, thinking back on the Ancient One's vague, theatrical answer, she rolled her eyes and finally decided to respond herself.
"I'm Hela, Queen of Hel. Should I call you Magneto?" she drawled with a smirk. "And this charming floating face here is Odin, the so-called 'Allfather.' I've got a little contract going on with Jean—save the X-Men, deal with you, the usual. Consider yourself lucky I'm in a cooperative mood."
Magneto looked about as impressed as a man who just found out his arch-nemesis is now outsourcing.
Hela could practically hear his inner monologue gearing up for a dramatic rebuttal about mutant supremacy, or dignity, or whatever nonsense he used to fill the void in his soul.
So she raised an eyebrow and demonstrated just how little patience she had left.
She turned toward the rest of the Brotherhood, gave them a lazy wave of her hand, and down they went—out cold.
All except Mystique and Juggernaut, of course. Named characters had immunity from casual scene-clearing.
Then, with a flick of her wrist, the necrosword at her side began to glow with malevolent energy, pulsing like it was seconds from exploding into a murder symphony. She pointed it directly at Magneto's chest.
"What?" she said coolly. "You wanna fight?"
Magneto, for once in his metallic life, seemed at a loss for words. Whatever he'd been about to say got stuck somewhere between his throat and his pride.
He wasn't choking, exactly, but the sound that came out was something between a scoff and a regretful burp.
Moral of the story? Don't interrupt father-daughter bonding time when one of them commands death and the other commands narrative authority.
Turning her attention to Odin, she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, old man, I don't have time to play who can squint harder with you."
"So what's the plan? You wanna fight? Trade insults? I'm game. Just know, any move you make against me is only going to make your death slower, and I'm very creative when it comes to slow."
She didn't act like the original Hela, and Odin could tell. Not just because she hadn't started monologuing about glorious conquest and rivers of blood, but because she was… patient. And talkative. That alone set off a few red flags in his head.
Her talk of destroying Asgard may have been chilling to hear, but Odin could tell—this wasn't his Hela. Not the "bloodthirsty, unworthy, emotionally radioactive" daughter he remembered locking away like a family embarrassment in a mythological basement.
Since when did she talk things out? Since when did she negotiate with lesser beings?
The Hela he knew would've already tried to impale him mid-sentence. Maybe… maybe isolation had worked. Maybe she had reflected. For a second, the corners of Odin's one good eye softened.
And Hela noticed.
"Oh no," she muttered, seeing the shift in his expression. "You're not about to start that speech, are you?"
Too late.
"Hela, my child," Odin said, switching gears from War God to Disappointed Dad faster than a sitcom character. "It brings me joy to see you again—and to see that you are no longer ruled by rage and bloodlust. It seems… my decision to give you time to reflect may have been the right one."
Hela internally gagged.
Here we go. The classic paternal guilt monologue. 'This was for your own good, understand me, blah blah character growth, family is strength,' etcetera. She wasn't here for this Hallmark drama.
Especially not in front of the entire world.
END OF THE CHAPTER
I decided to call it stop here as you know, this isn't like I imagined the scenario and that I maybe rushing but yeah, this time I fulfilled my promise so, throw me more stone and maybe some supports on Patreon, I would definitely put advanced chapters later:
patreon.com/Codeblack659