Hela's POV
As I saw Warren floating up in the sky like some over-glorified angel with an identity crisis, I instinctively followed suit.
I mean, I couldn't just stay grounded like some peasant while he did his aerial ballet. Especially with the possibility that Magneto might show up riding his trusty skatesteel—those who know, know.
There's a deep, instinctive revulsion in me at the idea of someone being above me—literally or figuratively. That lovely little pride issue?
Being looked down on is a no-go. Not unless I'm the one doing the looking down… preferably from a throne, with dramatic lighting.
Sure enough, Magneto arrives exactly as I imagined—riding a literal slab of metal like some budget Silver Surfer.
Honestly, if you slapped chrome paint on him, you could sell him as a knock-off action figure in some sketchy back alley toy store. Still, gotta respect the commitment to the aesthetic.
Now, according to what I remember, this universe's Magneto is supposedly older than your grandmother's prejudices—World War II vintage.
But visually? He's giving middle-aged brooding heartthrob energy. Honestly, it's suspicious. If I find out he has a skincare routine that involves sacrificing hope and dreams, I'm stealing it.
Meanwhile, I'm wondering whether he's going to be a major pain in my ass or if he can be useful.
That's really what it comes down to: do I have to kill him, or can I recruit him and let him do cool magnetic tricks while I pretend to be impressed?
It all depends on his 'performance' tonight. And I mean that in every sense of the word. He better not flop.
Every kingdom needs its ride-or-die people. Earth's got humans. Asgard's got Asgardians. Titan had… well, therapy bills.
For my Hel, I can't exactly staff it with just sinners, right?
Anyway, I don't intend for Hel to be some Asgardian exile camp, full of dramatic idiots with daddy issues and murder hobbies.
Nor do I plan to follow in the footsteps of the other hell-lords—Mephisto, Pluto, and the rest of those bargain-bin soul collectors.
They act like desperate landlords trying to fill vacancies.'Sign here and get eternal torment and a free toaster!'
No. My Hel will be classy. A realm of peace, power, and slightly ominous ambiance.
A place people seek on purpose. And once I'm strong enough, I'll gobble up the other Hells like a buffet and turn the whole underworld into a real estate empire of doom.
Eat your heart out, Satan.
But for now, I've set my sights on mutants.
They're tragically easy to conquer: no home, constantly rejected, hunted, hated… basically the high school outcasts of the superpowered world.
All I need to do is offer them a place where they're accepted, where they can be safe, and they'll follow me. Like sad goth ducks imprinting on the first person who gives them eyeliner.
My only problem? I still don't know what kind of Magneto I'm dealing with.
Is he the noble 'mutant rights activist' version—the one who just wants a safe corner of the world for his people and maybe a rocking chair by the ocean?
Or is he the bootleg Apocalypse edition, shouting about survival of the fittest while casually committing light genocide over brunch?
If it's the former, then hey, no problem. He's basically a grumpy old man playing mutant Moses. I can work with that.
But if it's the latter, well… I suppose it's time to let him meet 'Mother.'
Then he opens his mouth.
"Oh, so you are the representative the humans sent? Really? Can't even defend yourself without mutants stepping in. How ironic."
First words out of his mouth, no warm-up, just straight to the ego-punch. I'm guessing that was Magneto's response to Clint's little pre-battle TED Talk.
As he spoke, a stray thought poked at me: this whole world is clearly some bastard child of the comics and the movies.
A Frankenstein's monster of continuity. Do humans already know about aliens here? Are the Chitauri on their way? Did someone already blow up a building over a glowing cube?
Honestly, it's a cosmic mess if you really think about it. But I sleep well knowing that even if Earth gets conquered by aliens, I'm not the one paying rent here. Let the ants squabble over the crumbs of their doomed anthill.
Still, there's one alien-adjacent issue that actually bugs me: Captain Marvel.
Is it the woman version with the personality of a wooden plank? Or the male version from back in the day? Is this one human-turned-cosmic-being or full-blown alien with identity issues?
The answer will massively affect the power balance around here, and I'd like to know whether I need to prep for nuclear-level sass who could level up randomly or a stoic cosmic brooding.
There are still things Viper couldn't dig up, even with her talents. With her new powers, though, taking over Hydra wouldn't just be possible—it'd be easy. Hydra's intelligence network could be mine, and I wouldn't even need to grow a single tentacle.
While I was still mentally listing potential threats like a paranoid doomsday prepper, the typical pre-fight posturing between heroes and villains came to its predictable, awkward end.
Magneto raised his hand and—bam—yanked the weapons straight out of the soldiers' grips.
Pfft. I couldn't help but laugh.
For all their tactical vests and intense jawlines, humans really do look pathetic the second someone with powers actually flexes.
Then Clint, bless his squishy little heart, fired an arrow at Magneto. I assume he was going for a "Loki moment," but thank God (or Magneto's common sense) that it was stopped mid-air.
If Magneto had gone full drama and waited until the last second to dodge for style points, he'd be a corpse with great hair.
Warren, apparently suffering from a temporary lapse in brain function, tried a solo air assault. Bad idea.
Magneto casually flipped a steel pipe at him like he was swatting a fly. Warren barely dodged it, probably reevaluating all his life choices mid-flap.
Honestly, lucky guy didn't have metal wings, or that would've been over even faster than Logan vs. Magneto.
Still can't believe someone thought giving a guy with metal bones to the 'magnet' guy was a good idea. That fight was less 'epic duel' and more 'cruel physics demonstration.'
After that little incident—let's call it Gigerbish, since whatever Warren did looked like something that crawled out of a deleted scene from Alien—he didn't dare try attacking Magneto again.
Probably traumatized. Magneto let out a snort, the kind that said 'really?' but chose not to roast him live in front of the whole world.
Anyway, Magneto's disinterest didn't matter for long, because the two sides went full WWE with powers.
The soldiers, despite having their weapons Magneto-snatched away like a magician performing for toddlers, weren't just cannon fodder.
No, their presence meant one thing: these were the elite of the elite.
The military sent them in knowing damn well it was a suicide mission, probably while biting down on a cigarette and muttering, 'For democracy.'
To their credit, the soldiers proved the sacrifice wasn't entirely in vain.
The fight wasn't totally one-sided. They managed to last two or three rounds before either being knocked out cold or dying in ways that would give a trauma therapist steady employment for the next decade.
Yeah, it got bloody fast. Like, cover-your-kid's-eyes bloody. Not that probably anyone actually did.
This was the Marvel world, after all. Seeing dismembered bodies would probably become just another Tuesday once the average person hit puberty. The kids watching this live might as well start their villain arcs now.
The real action began when Jean, Scott, and Bobby decided to tag-team Magneto.
For a moment, it looked promising—until Mastermind proved why trusting a guy called Mastermind was a bad idea.
He screwed up the flow by messing with Scott's brain, resulting in Cyclops nearly vaporizing Bobby. If Jean hadn't shoved Bobby aside with her telekinesis, he'd be barbecue right now and Scott would have lost his 'not a killer' status like a teenager losing their Minecraft virginity.
"Hey Scott, gear up, man, you're being controlled," Bobby shouted, probably still mentally buffering from his near-death experience.
I glanced at Jean, who looked like she was buffering too, unsure what to do. So, I helpfully yelled, "Just mental-slap him! That usually works! Though FYI, Mastermind's still around, so maybe keep Scott on a psychic leash?"
To be fair, Mastermind wasn't even part of the original game plan. The team didn't factor him in because, well, they didn't even know the guy existed.
Apparently, he was a new addition to the Brotherhood. Like a surprise DLC boss fight no one asked for but got anyway.
And surprise—he's not some weak psychic throwaway. In the comics, Mastermind pulled off one of the most brain-bending feats in mutant history: he tricked the Phoenix Force. Yeah, e didn't even do it with a flashy power-up or a cosmic MacGuffin.
He just gaslit Jean so hard she joined the Hellfire Club and started cosplaying as the Black Queen.
Honestly, the guy was Aizen before Aizen existed.
His powers are basically Kyōka Suigetsu without the limitation of 'having a soul,' and yet somehow, nobody takes him seriously.
Aside from Jean, he could probably fold the entire anti-Brotherhood squad like laundry if he felt like it. But of course, classic mutant behavior: get handed god-tier powers and use them like party tricks and was even once a street magician.
END OF THE CHAPTER
If my ADHD didn't play tricks on me, I would end this fight next chapter and would make Hela's first appearance, guess why, how and give me ideas about how to make it more cooler.
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