The Beginning of Ragnarök — Death Shapes the Board
The sky over Norway darkened unnaturally, the horizon bending with the weight of incoming power. The clouds churned like ink spilled across the heavens, lightning splitting the air, and reality itself began to tear.
Thor stood alone now on the jagged cliffs, still feeling the ghost of his father's presence—the fading warmth of Odin's final words lingering like embers.
But something else was coming.
The atmosphere crackled, a rift splitting the very sky, green flames licking at the edges of existence itself. From the abyss stepped her — clad in black, crowned with antlers that twisted like the bones of forgotten beasts, eyes burning with contempt.
Hela. Goddess of Death. Firstborn of Odin.
Her boots clicked against the stone as she descended, her smirk cutting across her face like a blade. Her gaze locked onto Thor with hungry anticipation, ready to claim what she saw as rightfully hers.
But then… everything stopped.
The air froze. The wind ceased. Even the echo of crashing waves muted beneath an unseen force.
A voice, calm, cold, inevitable, sliced through the stillness.
"I've been waiting for you."
She turned, pupils narrowing as she noticed him — a figure clad in black, long obsidian trench coat catching the dying sunlight, tailored to perfection. His eyes were endless voids, his presence quiet yet suffocating.
Daniel. Death, no longer lurking in the shadows—but shaping fate openly.
Hela's smile faltered, only for a moment. "You wear the shape of a man, but your scent betrays you," she hissed, circling him like a predator. "You're not from this realm… are you, Reaper?"
Daniel's expression remained neutral, his posture still as marble.
"I'm not from your petty throne disputes, no," he answered simply. "But your time and your legacy? That falls under my domain."
Thor's eyes widened, electricity buzzing faintly at his fingertips. He remembered Daniel—the being who escorted his father beyond the veil, whose presence even Odin respected.
Hela tilted her head, eyes narrowing, amusement flickering. "You dare stand between me and my birthright?"
Daniel's voice dropped, carrying the weight of a thousand inevitable endings.
"Your father's legacy is not your playground, Hela." His eyes darkened further. "Odin is gone. His chapter closed—by his own terms. But you…"
He took a slow step closer, shadows curling at his heels, faint whispers of ancient Reapers coiling in the periphery.
"You get to choose."
Hela laughed, cold and sharp like shattered glass. "Choose?"
Daniel's gaze sharpened, his voice low, merciless.
"Die brutally… or leave with the same peace your father earned." He paused, letting the inevitability settle over them like fog. "There won't be a third option."
The cliffs seemed to lean inward, the horizon bending around his words, as if the universe itself acknowledged the deal laid bare.
Hela's posture tensed, her arrogance chipping under the oppressive calm radiating from him.
"You'd stop Ragnarök?" she challenged, summoning blades of shadow in both hands.
Daniel smirked faintly. "I won't stop the storm. I'll simply direct where it falls." His tone hardened, glacial and final. "You are not beyond consequence, Hela. Not even you cheat death's ledger."
Thor stepped forward, storm crackling around him. "Hela, listen to him… This isn't about thrones or crowns anymore."
She hesitated—the faintest crack in her confidence as the Reapers flickered around Daniel, faint silhouettes with scythes of shadow lingering at the edges of vision.
Hela's jaw clenched. "You think you can intimidate me with whispers and ghosts?"
Daniel's smile grew colder, more dangerous.
"Ghosts? Those are my employees." His coat flared slightly, the suggestion of skeletal hands visible beneath the fabric, reaching for something unseen. "You forget what I am, Daughter of Odin. You play with death. I am death."
The ground trembled. Even the ancient stones of the cliffs quaked beneath the unbearable quiet that followed.
Daniel exhaled softly, stepping even closer. Now, Hela could see the faint outline of Reapers standing behind him, figures barely tethered to reality, waiting… patient… inevitable.
"I am not here to steal your legacy, Hela," Daniel concluded, his voice almost mournful. "I am offering you dignity. Refuse… and your end will not be one of song or myth. It will be a cautionary tale… whispered in fear."
For the first time, uncertainty danced behind Hela's emerald eyes. Not fear—but understanding. Recognition.
A god can fall.
Even she was not exempt.
She lowered her blades slowly, considering, calculating, her mind racing with ancient battles, betrayals, bloodlines. The inevitability standing before her—the incorruptible finality that even Odin bowed to.
Daniel didn't press her.
The choice was hers… as always.
The cliffs groaned under the weight of decisions, fate holding its breath, the sea still as glass.
Thor stepped beside Daniel, eyes locked on his sister. "Don't mistake his courtesy for weakness."
Hela met Daniel's endless stare once more.
The Goddess of Death… faced with the true, final Death.
The question lingered unspoken:
Would she embrace peace like her father… or invite oblivion upon herself?
We can continue from here, irmão — Hela's decision, the molding of Ragnarök, Daniel guiding fate, elegant, brutal, inevitable.