Judgment of the Endless (MarvelxDC)

A/N: Hello there to whoever is reading this. Sorry for the late update, was very busy with finalising the details of my new book which I will be posting on Monday. Do check it out when the time comes.

Word count: 2.1k

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The shattered palace of Asgard lay behind her, bathed in blood and ruin. Hela strode forward without looking back, her emerald cloak billowing in the cold winds. She had no use for nostalgia, no interest in lingering among the echoes of a home that had forsaken her.

Let the past rot. Let Loki grieve. Let Odin's legacy crumble to dust. None of it mattered anymore.

The bridge stretched before her, a shimmering path of rainbow light suspended over the vast cosmic abyss. The dome of the Bifrost Gate loomed ahead, golden and unyielding, its sentry waiting.

Heimdall stood at the entrance, his great sword already drawn, his piercing gaze fixed upon her. He had seen her coming. Of course, he had.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Hela studied him, her expression unreadable. She had no quarrel with Heimdall. He had never wronged her. He was merely another piece of Odin's kingdom, another guardian of Asgard's so-called order.

Yet, unlike her father and his wretched sons, Heimdall had never sought power for himself. He had watched, silent, patient. Even now, she could see no hatred in his eyes.

Heimdall remained still, the faintest breeze stirring the dark braids of his hair. "You seek escape," he said, his deep voice steady.

Hela smirked. "I seek freedom. There's a difference."

Heimdall did not lower his sword. "You have slain the Queen."

"And I would do it again."

He exhaled slowly. "Then where do you go now?"

Hela tilted her head. "Does it matter?"

The golden guardian remained silent.

"You know how this will end, Heimdall." She took another step forward. "You could try to stop me. But why die for a kingdom already doomed?"

He studied her, his mind likely racing through all possible futures. Eventually, his grip on the sword eased. He turned, stepping aside.

Hela grinned. "A wise choice."

With a swift motion, Heimdall plunged his blade into the central control pedestal. The energy surged, the gate pulsing with cosmic power.

"Where shall it send you?" he asked.

Hela shrugged. "Surprise me."

The Bifrost roared to life, a swirling vortex of radiant light consuming her. She felt the pull of cosmic energy, her body dissolving into streams of divine essence as the bridge cast her far into the unknown.

Then, darkness.

"..."

The Bifrost spat her out onto an unfamiliar landscape. She landed gracefully, her boots sinking slightly into the soft, damp ground.

She straightened, surveying her surroundings.

The sky overhead was a sickly shade of green, its heavy clouds swirling like dying embers. The air was thick with the scent of decay, of rot. The planet was barren, its cracked terrain stretching endlessly into jagged mountains on the horizon.

And yet, it was not empty.

In the distance, a settlement of alien creatures sprawled across the wasteland. Crude buildings, made from dark stone and twisted metal, jutted up like broken teeth. Fires burned in the distance, the flickering glow of a civilization desperately clinging to survival.

Hela rolled her shoulders.

Perfect.

She had no need for conquest, no desire for rule. She did not come as a queen or a warlord. She had come to release. To unleash.

For too long, she had been shackled, caged like an animal. Her rage, her power, had been denied.

No more.

With a slow, almost leisurely gait, she strode toward the settlement.

The first alien to see her was a wretched, hunched thing, its leathery blue skin stretched thin over protruding bones. It looked up from where it scavenged through refuse, its four black eyes blinking in confusion.

It opened its mouth to speak.

Hela's sword manifested in her hand before it could utter a sound.

A single, fluid motion. A whisper of steel.

The alien's head rolled from its shoulders, its body collapsing in a wet heap.

For a moment, the only sound was the distant howl of wind.

Then, a scream.

Others had seen.

Hela smirked as the settlement erupted in chaos. Creatures scattered, some grabbing crude weapons, others running in terror.

It made no difference.

She moved like a spectre of death, her blades manifesting and disappearing with each strike. She did not swing wildly. No, every motion was precise, practiced. She carved through the denizens like a reaper through wheat.

One warrior, a hulking brute covered in bone-like armor, charged her with a rusted axe.

She sidestepped effortlessly, severing his arm at the elbow. He howled in agony, blood spraying in thick arcs. Before he could react further, she drove her heel into his knee, shattering it. He collapsed, shrieking.

She silenced him with a blade through the throat.

Another attacker—a creature with too many limbs and too many eyes—lunged at her with twin daggers. She caught one blade mid-air, twisting it from the alien's grip before embedding it deep into its own chest.

It gurgled, clawing at the wound.

She pushed deeper, watching as its body convulsed before going still.

More screams. More blood.

More warriors emerged from the settlement's largest structure—a towering fortress of obsidian stone.

They shouted in their guttural tongue, demanding vengeance.

Hela smirked. Finally, some resistance. She welcomed them with open arms. They rushed her, twenty at once.

She met them like a storm.

A blade through the gut. A severed leg. A head cleaved clean from its shoulders.

Limbs flew, blood painted the ground in thick pools of steaming crimson.

One foolish warrior tried to attack from behind.

She spun, impaling him on her black sword before hoisting him into the air. His body convulsed, his insides sliding down the blade like overripe fruit.

With a flick, she cast him aside.

More came.

More fell.

She danced through the carnage, reveling in it. For the first time in centuries, she felt truly alive. The ground was littered with bodies, the scent of death thick in the air.

She stood amidst the ruin, her breath steady, her body untouched. None had survived, the settlement was no more, only silence remained.

Hela tilted her head back, closing her eyes, commanding her power to drift her into the voids of space.

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Hela soared through the cosmic void, her cloak billowing behind her like a dark omen. The stars stretched infinitely before her, but she paid them little mind. She did not care where she landed next.

She sought nothing—only the promise of more destruction. More violence.

And yet, as she drifted from one dead world to the next, something gnawed at her. An emptiness that refused to be filled, no matter how much blood she spilled.

The last planet had crumbled beneath her might, its inhabitants torn asunder like brittle parchment. They had fought, they had bled, they had died. But they had not mattered.

Nothing did.

Still, she pressed forward, moving through the cosmos until another world came into view.

This one was different.

It was not a barren wasteland or a crumbling ruin. It was a world of civilization, of towering cities and sprawling streets. From the heavens, it almost looked beautiful—shining towers of glass and steel, roads illuminated by neon veins of energy, vehicles gliding effortlessly through the air.

But Hela saw none of its splendor.

She saw only another stage for carnage.

With a final push, she plunged downward.

The atmosphere burned against her skin as she descended, her form wreathed in green and black shadows. The very heavens seemed to scream as she broke through the sky, streaking like a meteor of death toward the surface below.

She crashed into the heart of the city, her impact shattering the streets, sending shockwaves rippling outward. The structures around her groaned, windows exploding from the force, alarms blaring in the distance.

When the dust settled, the denizens emerged—tall, humanoid beings with smooth, metallic skin and piercing, luminescent eyes. They were not primitive. No, these creatures had intelligence, order, civilization.

And they knew fear.

Hela stood in the center of the crater she had made, blood still crusted on her armour from the last world she had ravaged. She did not bother to wipe it away. The scent of death clung to her like a second skin.

The first to approach her was an elder, draped in flowing robes, his mechanical eyes glowing with a dull golden hue. He raised his hands in supplication, his voice calm but trembling.

"Great one," he said, his words laced with cautious reverence. "You have come to our world bearing the weight of destruction. We see what you are, and we know what you have done. But please—hear us. We do not wish to fight you. We do not wish to die. What is it you seek?"

Hela regarded him with an expression of utter disinterest.

What did she seek?

She had asked herself the same question many times. She had thought she wanted revenge—vengeance upon the father who had cast her aside, upon the kingdom that had erased her name from its history.

She had thought she wanted chaos, a reign of destruction where no one could ever imprison her again.

But the truth was…

She wanted something she could not have.

A challenge. A worthy foe. A battle that set her heart ablaze.

Yet no such thing existed, on this planet atleast

With a flick of her wrist, a blade materialized in her grip.

The elder barely had time to react before she drove the black sword through his chest.

His eyes widened in shock, his mouth parting as if to speak. But no words came. Only silence, and then the dull thud of his body collapsing to the ground.

The gathered crowd recoiled in horror. Some screamed. Others dropped to their knees in despair. The guards of the city, clad in sleek, silver armor, raised their weapons.

It made no difference.

Hela moved like a storm, cutting them down before they could so much as lift their rifles. The first fell with his head cleaved clean from his shoulders. The second was impaled through the stomach, his body crumpling like broken machinery. The third, the fourth, the fifth—each one fell with practiced ease.

The city erupted into panic.

Denizens fled in all directions, their terror spilling into the streets. Vehicles crashed as their pilots abandoned them in a desperate attempt to escape. Lights flickered, alarms blared, chaos unfolded in waves.

Hela waded through it all, her blades carving paths of death wherever she went.

A mother clutched her child, shielding them with her trembling arms. Hela barely glanced at them as she walked past. A soldier, shaking but determined, fired his weapon. The energy blast dissipated harmlessly against her, and she rewarded his bravery by driving a spear through his gut.

It was all the same.

They all died the same.

She should have felt something—pride, satisfaction, anything.

But she didn't.

Even as the bodies piled around her, even as blood ran through the streets in thick rivulets, even as the wails of the dying filled the air—she felt nothing.

No joy. No fury. No pleasure.

Just emptiness.

She stopped.

Right there, in the center of the massacre, surrounded by the lifeless remains of those who had begged for mercy, she sank to the ground.

Her sword slipped from her grasp, clattering against the blood-soaked pavement.

She sat there, unmoving, silent. For the first time in a long time, she did not feel the urge to kill.

She did not feel anything at all.

Her green eyes drifted over the ruin she had created. The bodies. The destruction. The meaningless waste of it all.

What was the point?

What was the purpose?

She had thought that if she kept going—if she kept destroying, kept tearing the universe apart—then maybe something would fill the void inside her.

But there was nothing.

No worthy foe. No great battle. No challenge.

Just endless slaughter, with no one capable of stopping her.

Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms.

How pathetic.

She had once been Odin's mightiest weapon, a conqueror of realms, a goddess of war.

And now?

Now she was nothing but a bored executioner, cutting down mortals who were not even worth the effort.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

How long had it been since she had fought an opponent who could push her? Since she had felt the thrill of combat, the rush of battle against someone who could match her strength?

A fight worth remembering.

She tilted her head back, staring up at the alien sky.

There was no one left. No enemy worth her time.

She had won.

And yet, she felt like she had lost.

With a weary sigh, she leaned back, her body relaxed against the corpses around her.

Let the city burn. Let the screams fade. Let the universe do what it wished.

It did not matter anymore.

Nothing did.

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