Hela's comic origins are deeply complex. She is neither Odin's daughter nor Loki's.
She's a girl born from Loki's thoughts, which explains her absence from the Ragnarök prophecy—she fundamentally doesn't exist.
In this timeline's future, Loki will die and be reborn as a child with a kinder heart.
Once, gravely injured, he imagined a nonexistent sister to care for him—a manifestation of his fractured psyche.
This girl, Lorraine, tended to Loki like a true sister, healing his wounds and playing with him.
But after the Serpent's defeat, Thor falls in battle, giving rise to a new God of Thunder.
To resurrect Thor, Loki strikes deals with a host of demonic and eldritch entities, wielding magic over time, space, fate, reality, and life itself.
The process is grueling, but in the end, all is prepared—because Loki uncovers Hela's true identity.
He negotiates with her, tasking her to retrieve Thor.
Hela agrees, sending Lorraine far into the past, to an empty Underworld.
Loki's magic deceives the world, crafting Lorraine's identity as the half-living, half-dead Goddess of the Underworld, daughter of Odin, sister to Thor and Loki.
Lorraine, unable to comprehend Loki's actions, curses him as she's cast into the timestream.
Hela tells Loki, "She'll understand you in time."
Arriving in the Underworld, Lorraine initially calls herself its ruler, but over time, she adopts its name—Hela.
She returns to Asgard. Imbued with the "daughter of Odin" trait from her creation, Odin accepts her naturally, influenced by the world's consciousness. She is his daughter.
Hela has no mother, her left side dead, her right alive—a fact everyone overlooks.
She becomes Asgard's eldest princess.
If Loki hadn't sent Lorraine back, Hela wouldn't exist. Without Hela, souls would have no place to go.
It forms a perfect temporal loop.
When Ragnarök arrives and Thor dies, his soul will reach the Underworld, giving Loki a chance to find his foolish brother.
A plan spanning millennia, orchestrated by a future Loki with formidable power.
The only ones in the know are Hela and that future Loki.
So when Su Ming utters Hela's true name, her mind shuts down, unable to process reality.
She's consumed by questions about time. How does Odin know? Was she always part of a scheme? What did future Loki do?
The black spikes on her head seem to twist into question marks.
The answer? It bought Su Ming time to escape.
He's an imposter, carrying Gin and a dozen souls. If Hela struck from behind during their retreat, what then?
Su Ming might survive, but Gin and the steed lack his healing factor.
So he tossed out a riddle. He wasn't sure if Hela's origin matched the comics, but throwing it out cost nothing.
It worked brilliantly.
Hela didn't even notice their departure, standing atop her spikes, staring at the roiling clouds, silent for a long time.
"Queen? Was that Odin?" Tyr asked, uncertain. Some details felt off, yet everything pointed to Odin.
He was still pinned under the unconscious wolf, struggling to free himself.
Hela snapped back to reality at his call. She leapt down, grabbed Fenris's leg, and yanked it off Tyr, dragging it toward the palace.
Its pristine fur swept the streets like a rag, quickly turning black.
"I'm not sure. Either way, he only took the Valkyries. It doesn't affect us. Check the recent souls from Midgard for any word on the Serpent or the Hammer of Winter."
Tyr flexed his mechanical hand, silently accepting the order. Fewer mortals revered Asgard's gods now, but it was worth a shot.
By now, Su Ming was far gone, relieved that Hela hadn't pursued.
Gin sat in front of him, the magic cloak behind them cradling the dozen ghosts.
He glanced at their translucent forms and blank expressions, pursing his lips.
The souls were saved, but reviving them was another issue.
The simplest solution was sending them to Valhalla, where they'd gain new bodies and regain their minds.
But that would bind them to Valhalla, unable to leave unless Odin unleashed them against enemies during Ragnarök.
Su Ming had promised Gin a reunion with her sisters.
After all that effort—spilling gallons of blood—handing them to Valhalla would be working for Odin for free.
Reviving them required other means.
Perhaps a deal with a Hell lord or some roundabout method.
For now, they could be stored in Asgard. If Brunnhilde's house was still habitable, Gin likely had a place too.
Hela's issue was resolved. Su Ming saw her army was dormant, meaning she had no immediate plans to mobilize.
Informing her of the Serpent's escape ensured she'd act against it, whether alone or in a temporary alliance with Asgard—both outcomes benefited Su Ming.
Most tasks were done. Now, it was about waiting for Zemo and the Serpent to crawl out of their holes.
The eight-legged steed galloped through the stars, which seemed to surround them. Su Ming noticed Gin lean back slightly, more relaxed.
"Thanks, boss."
"No need. You've helped me plenty."
Gin gripped the steed's mane, glancing at Su Ming, then at the souls.
"This is different. Seeing them again was my dream."
"Then start dreaming something new. Your boss makes dreams come true."
Su Ming chuckled, shaking his head. Since reverting to her true form, Gin seemed more polite.
"What's next?"
She turned forward, the wind curling her bangs as they flew.
Their initial goals were met, and Hydra and the Serpent weren't their problems.
Hydra was unpredictable. Zemo was too clever, his preparations thorough. His invisibility to Heimdall proved it.
But whether it was father or son, the Zemos weren't too unhinged—a good sign, with limited danger.
If Odin kept sleeping, though, the Serpent's unchecked threat loomed large.
"Back to Asgard. We wait for Hydra's move."
Zemo was patient, but his "ally" wasn't. Even if Jotuns appeared in Asgard, it broke their agreement.
Considering Odin's wrath, Laufey would have to act, even if unwilling.
The Frost Giants likely wanted the Casket of Ancient Winters and to kill Asgardians.
But Zemo's true goal remained a mystery.
Chatting idly with Gin, Su Ming marveled at the steed's speed. Asgard's outline soon appeared.
"Don't land yet, Little Eight. Circle around, let's check things out."
Su Ming casually nicknamed the steed.
It was confused, unable to tell if this was the real Odin, but accepted "Little Eight" and took them for a loop.
Mephisto had withdrawn, suggesting the move with the Grandmaster paid off.
Whether Thor would still end up a gladiator, Su Ming figured he wouldn't escape it.
Surtur's beastly weapons, lent to Gullveig, were gone from the battlefield, likely dealt with.
Warriors were tending the wounded and cleaning up. Blood pooled ankle-deep, yet their faces were joyful.
They spoke of fallen comrades' glorious deaths and boasted of beheading mighty foes—more glory.
This nation was brainwashed by honor. Perhaps only at night, during funerals, would they grow solemn.
Parts of the city were damaged, mostly homes. The Golden Palace stood pristine, gleaming in the sunset. Its towering gold spires cast a faint red glow over Asgard.
But Su Ming's eyes caught something off—the World Tree.
Once charred black, it now bore a faint white sheen.
He doubted his fire could reduce it to white ash.
"Gin, take your team to your place. Keep them hidden." Su Ming had the steed land, reverting to Odin's form, and set the ghosts and Gin down. "I'm checking the World Tree."
"It looks frosted," Gin said, straining to see with her lesser vision.
"Seems our Hydra friends have made their move while everyone's focused on the battlefield."
This opportunistic tactic screamed young Zemo—slippery as ever.
"What do they want with the World Tree?"
Gin was uneasy. The World Tree was too precious to lose.
"I'm going to find out. Settle them first—watch out, one's wandering."
A ghost, regaining fragments of memory, was stumbling toward what seemed like her old home.
Gin rushed to grab her.
Valkyries could seize souls with their hands—a skill Su Ming lacked without his cloak.
As Gin took the souls to settle them, Su Ming rode toward the World Tree.
A crowd had gathered, saluting "Odin" as he arrived.
He waved off the formalities, circling the tree by air.
Someone had used frost to craft a massive spiral staircase around the World Tree, descending into the endless clouds below, leading who-knows-where.