The Ancient One had expected blood. Screaming. Explosions. Possibly a decapitation or two. After all, when it came to family drama involving deities, subtlety was usually the first casualty.
But as she observed the scene unfold, she found herself adjusting her expectations. Perhaps… just perhaps, she had underestimated Hela.
Now, officially speaking, she wasn't 'old enough' to have firsthand experience with a 5,000-year-old Goddess of Death.
But unofficially? She'd peered through more timelines than there were grains of sand on Kamar-Taj's temple floor.
At this point, there were few extraordinary beings she hadn't come across in some version of reality or another.
Her long-standing impression of Hela was fairly straightforward: a bloodstained tyrant with a sharp crown and a sharper sword.
Hela's whole existence seemed predicated on death—bringing it, guiding it, reveling in it.
To the Ancient One, Hela was just Asgard's final argument in any negotiation.
But the current situation… was not that.
Like Odin, the Ancient One had been tracking supernatural disturbances across Earth, searching for the source of the growing interference in time.
Even with the Time Stone snug around her neck, trying to get a clear picture of the past or future lately was like watching a VHS tape through a kaleidoscope.
Something—or someone—was messing with causality, and she intended to find out what.
Unlike Odin, however, she didn't watch events unfold from afar like a couch potato deity with popcorn. No, she inserted herself in the moment—astrally, of course.
Present but unseen.
She saw all of Hela's interaction when she was in the Astral Body with Jean before taking control of Jean's body. Hard to forget the only goddess who can make a skull crown look fashionable.
More importantly, Hela shouldn't have been there. Her mere presence screamed 'temporal anomaly,' and the Ancient One's first thought was simple: culprit identified.
So she stayed quiet. Hidden. Observing the interaction between Hela and the Phoenix-to-be, Jean Grey.
And what she saw shocked her more than the first time she met a version of herself who played jazz flute.
Was that… Hela? Goddess of War and Death? Acting like an emotionally constipated teenager in a 90s anime? Hot and cold? Distant one second, clumsily trying to console the girl the next? Was Hela… a tsundere?
She'd laugh if she wasn't so confused.
Jean, vulnerable and scared, had asked for help. Hela, naturally, appeared indifferent—aloof, as though the mortal's fate bored her. But there was a hesitation in her voice.
She cared, even if she couldn't admit it. And when push came to shove, she agreed to help Jean—despite the risk of Odin discovering her interference.
That was the moment the Ancient One revised her mental file on Hela.
Timeline disruptions aside—and oh yes, they were definitely off-book—she made a quiet calculation.
If someone or something was responsible for breaking time itself, then a wildcard like Hela might be more valuable as an ally than as a target.
Better to fold a queen of the underworld into your hand than face her across the table.
Of course, her primary concern remained unchanged: she couldn't allow a fight between Odin and Hela to erupt on Earth. Not unless they wanted to turn New York into Ragnarok: The Prologue.
When she overheard Hela's so-called 'big plan' of recruiting humans, she had to take a breath.
Really? That's your opening line? Recruiting humans? What are you, starting an MLM for the undead? Want to play Rogue like others Hell-Lords?
For a brief moment, the Ancient One nearly stepped in just to roll her eyes in person.
But then Hela rephrased—carefully—explaining her ambitions in a slightly less .villain in a cape' tone. That gave her pause. Maybe Hela wasn't talking conquest… maybe she was talking kingdom.
There's a difference, however subtle, and the Ancient One had learned to listen for that nuance.
Still, she decided to wait. To watch. If Hela's plans tipped into 'conquer the Earth' territory, she would have no choice but to join Odin in shutting it down.
With regret, perhaps. But firmly.
By the end of the discussion between Hela and Odin, she had a clearer sense of what was going on.
Hela didn't want to bring about another apocalypse.
She just wanted a kingdom. A home. A place where she wasn't Odin's weapon or Asgard's shame. Odin, in turn, didn't trust that vision. He feared that whatever Hela built would eventually burn down everything else around it.
And honestly? Given their track records… neither of them was wrong. So, Ancient One found herself playing the mediator in this family drama.
The Ancient One wasn't the only one nursing a metaphysical migraine.
The three bald heads of significant importance were all steeping in existential dread.
Nick Fury, whose job was rapidly evolving from world security to cosmic janitor; Charles Xavier, who had just witnessed the body of the girl he considered a daughter snatched away like an overdue library book; and the Ancient One herself.
There was something almost poetic about their shared stress—a triumvirate of shiny domes reflecting the glow of yet another apocalypse. Maybe fate had a sense of humor. A bald one.
And speaking of crisis, a certain Dr. Donald Blake—Thor's very human alter ego—found himself in a peculiar bind.
He was starting to seriously consider becoming a follower. Not of a political figure, or a lifestyle guru, but of the Goddess of Death herself.
It wasn't logic. If anyone else heard what he was thinking, they'd call him insane or worse, a goth lover.
But he couldn't deny the pull. Odin—the 'All-Father'—just felt...off. Too cold. Too judgmental.
Meanwhile, Hela had promised something impossible: a kingdom where death didn't reign.
To a man who had spent years losing patients on the table, that promise struck deep. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was fate. But the allure was there.
And Hela knew it.
She had been keeping a close eye on Thor's human persona from the beginning—not out of sibling affection, but because he was Odin's favorite.
A living bargaining chip. She had even considered unsealing his memories, letting the god awaken fully within the man.
But no. Not yet. She wanted Donald Blake to simmer in resentment. She wanted his human soul to ache at Odin's name. If she handed him his memories now, the emotional punch wouldn't land the way she needed it to.
And amusingly enough, Donald—Thor memory-locked or not—was showing faint signs of attraction to her.
She felt it. It wasn't stronger than what he felt for Jane Foster, sure, but it was there. Hela found the irony delightful.
Imagine his face when he remembered who she was. A crush on your half-sister? That wasn't just Shakespearean. That was prime-time Asgardian drama.
The kind she might watch with popcorn in her past life and commentary like, 'Ah yes, another Norse tragedy—must be Tuesday.'
Back in the heart of the confrontation, Odin's projection stood tall, regal as ever, yet notably silent.
He understood, at last, that he couldn't just 'bring Hela home.' Not today. Not with the Ancient One giving him that I will personally rewind your reality until you apologize look (He doesn't know). Not with the damage Hela had already caused.
Even Odin, in all his stubborn, ancient pride, had learned that after 10,000 years, sometimes the wisest course of action is not divine wrath—but strategic retreat. So he chose his words carefully.
"I don't know about this 'great kingdom' of yours," he said, voice steady, measured. "But I do remember your first words to me—about destroying Asgard. That, I cannot ignore."
He folded his arms. "All I ask is your promise not to harm Asgard. Make that vow, and I will let go of our past. I'll consider our slate clean."
Hela snorted, loud and unladylike.
"Oh, please," she said with theatrical disgust. Thinking 'Are you seriously pulling a young master routine on me right now? What's next—'Bow and I shall spare your sect'? Come on, Odin. You raised me better than that. Wait, no—you didn't.'
Despite her sarcasm, Hela understood what this was: pride. Odin's legendary, galaxy-sized pride had taken a hit today.
In front of cosmic witnesses and mortal ants alike, she had humiliated him. And now, he needed something—anything—to reclaim a shred of authority.
And maybe, just maybe, that meant it was her turn to take a step back.
But not on this.
The original Hela's hatred for Odin wasn't just personal—it was absolute. It didn't simmer. It burned.
As the woman now sharing her body—the one who had inherited Hela's mantle—had made a promise. She would help Hela reach her ultimate goal. Not peace. Not redemption.
Patricide.
Sure, destroying Asgard could be part of the package deal, but it was risky. A liability, even. If she promised never to attack Asgard, what would she do when they came for her? Politely die? Accept a divine slap like a good little daughter?
Not happening.
Hela tilted her head, and for a moment, her eyes glowed with that particular madness that made people flock to her in waves. The kind of madness that made the desperate think, Maybe this death goddess has a point.
"Don't try to play games with me," she said coolly. "I told you already—your daughter is back. And I will destroy Asgard."
She took a step forward, letting her shadow stretch unnaturally across the floor, curling like ink in water. "You still have time. Make your plans. Call your ravens. Build your little armies. But I won't promise you a damn thing."
Her grin widened, dark and cruel.
"And there's nothing you can do to stop me. So unless you're here to fight—" her voice dropped to a low, wicked purr "—I suggest you move aside. It's been 2,500 years since I stretched myself, and I'm dying to see how rusty I've gotten."
END OF THE CHAPTER
Should have updated it six hours later but don't know why I did it now anyway, just give me Power Stones, probably a review and support on Patreon if possible and yeah, just search Codeblack in the app or, ahh, too lazy to continue 😮💨😔