Raising Hel, in Danmachi.

[Common]

Helena heaved an annoyed sigh, hefting the massive scythe over her shoulder with ease. Muscle memory, honed over countless eons, made the motion effortless.

"He fell funny," she murmured, surveying the field as she glanced at the corpse that was now without a head.

Millennia as Master of Death, centuries hopping worlds for Lady Death, and Helena had grown weary of the endless grind. The same motions. The same judgments. The same monotony.

A soft, chilling voice drifted through the void—the Entity known only as Death.

"You tire, Helena," it said, neither accusing nor consoling. Just… observing.

Helena's brow arched. "And you're stating the obvious," she replied dryly. "I've been doing this longer than some of your lesser minions have existed. I'd like a vacation."

"You could've retired 5 centuries ago, you know," Lady Death says as she appears behind Helena.

Helena didn't flinch at Lady Death's sudden presence. She merely tilted her head. "A vacation is just fine."

Lady Death's ethereal form shimmered, faintly amused. "I offered before, but you refused. Your pride—or stubbornness—kept you tied to the work."

"And yet, here we are," Helena replied, shifting the scythe on her shoulder. "Still standing, still cutting, still bored out of my mind. What's changed?"

"I have a new proposal," Lady Death said, voice soft yet carrying that weight only the immortal could summon. "A true retirement."

Helena's eyes narrowed. "Define 'true'."

"You will be reborn in a world not your own," Lady Death continued. "A place where gods walk openly among mortals, where life is vibrant and dangerous, where dungeons teem with monsters and heroes rise… and you will take on a new mantle. Not as my servant, but as one in your own right."

"This sounds like I am about to be thrown into another world-ending level prophecy again," Helena states.

"Oh, there is one but that is not your problem to solve my Helena. I feel that you could just use some rest for a few centuries, maybe a millennium or two, and I believe you would enjoy this place. You could let that inner Maruader out again, an not need to file the paperwork that you end up causing this time."

Helena blinked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in faint amusement. "You're offering me early retirement and a playground? Either you've gone soft, or you're trying to get rid of me."

Lady Death's lips curved into that inscrutable, knowing smile. "Perhaps both. You've done your duty, Helena. Far longer than any mortal should have endured. Even Death owes her Master a kindness."

Helena turned away, gaze sweeping across the silent field littered with bodies — remnants of whatever doomed conflict she had just overseen. "You know, when I agreed to your offer all those centuries ago, I didn't expect monotony to be what broke me."

"You broke nothing," Lady Death said. "You endured. And that is why you deserve this."

Helena adjusted the scythe on her shoulder. "And what, exactly, will I be this time? Some mortal again, fated to trip into another mess of gods and monsters?"

Lady Death chuckled, the sound like bells ringing in a graveyard. "No, my dear. You'll be divine. Hel, Goddess of Death."

"Eh, why not. Sounds fun." Helena states before even bothering to get more information.

===

Helena suddenly appeared before what could only be described as a titan in human form.

"Ah, welcome to Gekai… goddess?" the figure rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "I've seen you around before, but I don't believe we've spoken."

Helena blinked once, taking in the sheer presence of the being before her. Recognition flickered in her eyes. "That would make sense, Titan Ouranos. We're of different pantheons, after all. And I've always been a bit… distant from mine."

Ouranos inclined his head slightly. "Then this is your first descent to the Lower World?"

"Yes," Helena said evenly. "I am Hel, Goddess of Death."

There was a brief silence—heavy, but not hostile. Ouranos studied her carefully, eyes narrowing with quiet scrutiny.

"Death, you say. That is not a domain many would claim lightly."

Helena smiled faintly. "It's not a claim. Merely a fact. But don't worry—I've no intention of upsetting your balance or starting trouble. I came here for rest."

Ouranos regarded her for a long moment before nodding once. "Then you are welcome in Orario, Lady Hel. So long as you abide by the laws of this city, you will find no opposition from the Guild."

Helena tilted her head slightly. "And what are these laws, exactly? I'd rather not step on anyone's divine toes by accident."

"The rules are simple," Ouranos replied, his tone calm but absolute. "You may not directly use your divine power upon mortals. You may not enter the Dungeon in your divine form. Conflicts among gods must remain within limits—no war, no open destruction. And any god who descends must form their Familia through the Guild's proper channels."

Helena listened carefully, expression thoughtful. "So no smiting, no playing hero, no collapsing cities. Reasonable. If one were to use skills an powers that were not divine in nature, would that break the rules?"

Ouranos shook his head slightly. "No. That would be like asking a war god not to practice his martial arts, or demanding a god seal away a passive ability—like our innate lie detection. The restrictions apply only to divine intervention, not personal skill."

"That makes sense…" Helena nodded slowly, then glanced up at him. "Loki has descended, correct?"

"Yes," Ouranos replied. "She has a rather strong Familia as well."

"She, hm?" Helena murmured, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Ah—one of those phases again. That tracks." She straightened, resting her hands behind her back. "Would you happen to know where her home is? I imagine she'd be willing to offer me a place to stay until I can get settled."

Ouranos regarded her for a moment, then gave a short nod. "The Loki Familia resides in Twilight Manor, in the Northwest District. You'll recognize it easily—it's… difficult to miss."

Helena inclined her head with a graceful bow. "Much appreciated, Ouranos. I'll be sure to introduce myself properly once I've unpacked and ensured your city hasn't spontaneously combusted."

That earned her the faintest flicker of amusement from the ancient god. "Welcome to Orario, Lady Hel. May your stay be peaceful."

"No promises," Helena said lightly, turning toward the temple doors. "But I'll try."

====

The familiar map of the Dungeon spread across the table, marked with notes and small figurines representing teams. Beyond the 38th floor, intel was sparse, but the Loki Familia had done this before. What remained was coordination: who goes where, when, and with what supplies.

Finn traced a finger along the path to the 59th floor. "We know the general layout, but the specifics are unpredictable. Timing and coordination are going to be critical."

Riveria tapped her notes. "Teams need to be staggered. We can't have everyone moving at once; the narrow passages of the labyrinth will bottleneck us.

Gareth leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against his sword hilt. "So, first team goes in, second team covers the rear and handles unexpected fights?"

"I talked to Hephy, an quite a few smiths are coming," Loki said, stretching lazily on the edge of a chair.

Finn frowned slightly. "We also need to factor in Ais. She wants to take on Balor on the 49th floor to push for a level up. That will impact the timing of the first team."

Riveria nodded. "I'll coordinate signals. If Ais encounters Balor, the rest of the team will pause, maintain safe distance, and continue only once she signals success. With any luck our potion caches on the 50th floor are untouched. We'll have to leave the rearguard team with a few high level adventures there while we push for the 59th in rotating shifts."

"Yeah, I'm just happy I've gotten better at cartography so the maps should be significantly better this time." Gareth admits

A sharp knock echoed through the strategy room.

Finn glanced toward the door. "Who's interrupting at this hour?"

Riveria tilted her head. "Likely a messenger,"

Loki, lounging lazily with her legs draped over a chair, raised an eyebrow. "Open it. Let's see who it is."

One of the Familia's junior members stepped in, bowing quickly. "Loki-sama, a guest has arrived. A goddess. She requests to meet you."

Loki's gaze sharpened slightly, though her grin remained. "A goddess, huh? Very well. Keep the 59th-floor plans simmering, Finn. Let's see what she wants."

The messenger nodded and departed.

Riveria muttered, "Another god, then. Shouldn't disrupt things too much…"

That was when a raven-haired goddess suddenly appeared in the room, materializing seemingly out of nowhere. Helena had used ability Death's cloak to slip past unnoticed.

"Father!" she announced, her voice carrying easily over the table. "I have finally descended to Gekai, and I was hoping to stay with you until I get my feet on the ground."

Loki's eyes widened, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a quiet, "Hel?"

"Yes, Father?" Helena asked, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"Father?" Riveria echoed, tilting her head in confusion.

Gareth blinked, clearly trying to follow along. "Uh… she called Loki 'Father'?"

Loki shot them a sharp look, panic flickering behind her composed mask. Do not explain, do not explain, she thought frantically, while Helena's grin only widened.

"Yes, I call mother father because she is flat." Hel state wickedly

"You little—!" Loki's composure shattered as she shot out of her chair, lunging across the table.

Helena only laughed, easily sidestepping as Loki swiped at her. "Careful now, Father, you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of your subordinates, would you?"

Loki's face went crimson. "Oh, I am so going to make you regret that!"

Riveria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Children. Actual children."

Finn, suppressing a grin, leaned toward Gareth. "So… new family member, then?"

Gareth snorted. "If she survives that tackle, yeah."

Helena twirled her cloak teasingly, smirking as Loki nearly toppled a chair in her pursuit. "You've missed me, admit it!"

Loki growled, "I'll admit it when you stop calling me Father!"

"Never!" Hel shouted back gleefully, this time not even bothering to dodge.

Loki tackled her outright, the two goddesses tumbling in an undignified heap while the executives looked on—half-amused, half-resigned.


Riveria sighed. "Children. Divine children."

Finn simply folded his arms, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. "At least they seem… compatible."

Gareth laughed outright. "We're doomed."

 

[Common]

This story is part of the Sunday Special stories, each week, the users in the Discord get to vote for which story gets chapters on sunday.

https://discord.gg/9MnPukU

Also, omake's and reader-written chapters are more than welcome. I enjoy comments and those help me write more chapters aswell usually giving me great ideas.

 

[Common]

The Hostess of Fertility was louder than usual tonight. The place always got rowdy when the Loki Familia took it over, but this… this was something else.


Jorren wiped the foam from his mug and leaned toward his friend across the table. "You hear who the guest of honor is?"


His buddy, a burly spearman named Varek, grunted. "Some new goddess. Another one of Loki's drinking buddies, maybe."


Jorren snorted. "Doubt it. Word's she descended today. Straight from Tenkai."


Varek scoffed, about to retort—then the room shifted.

The warmth didn't fade, not exactly, but something colder settled over it. Like a breeze from a crypt had brushed across the hearthfire.


Every conversation quieted just a fraction. Enough for Jorren to notice.


And then he saw her.


The new goddess sat beside Loki, laughing at something Tiona said, her hand resting lightly on a mug that hadn't yet lost a drop of its ale despite her constant movements. She was beautiful in a way that wasn't quite human—too still, too sharp. Her eyes were the green of a deep forest after rain… but when the light hit them, he swore they flashed silver, like moonlight on a blade.


"Who… is that?" Varek muttered.


"Hel," someone answered nearby. "They say she's a goddess of death."


That earned a few nervous glances. Even among adventurers, who laughed in the face of monsters, that kind of title wasn't tossed around lightly.


Hel's smile didn't help. It was warm enough, polite enough—but when her gaze passed over Jorren, he felt his heartbeat skip. Just once. Like it had forgotten what it was supposed to do.


Loki, on the other hand, seemed delighted, chatting and teasing as usual—though Jorren noticed how often she refilled her own mug.


The other gods that frequented Orario could feel odd sometimes—like fire, or storms, or trickery. But this one… she felt like endings. Not cruel ones, not violent, but quiet, inevitable ones.

The tavern roared again, tension dissolving into laughter and music. Adventurers went back to drinking and boasting, though every so often, eyes still drifted toward the new goddess sitting among them.


Hel didn't seem to notice—or maybe she didn't care. Her expression shifted easily between amusement and thoughtfulness, offering the occasional dry quip that had even Bete snorting into his drink.


But Loki noticed everything.


The way Riveria's posture was too rigid, the way Finn kept studying Hel with that strategic gleam of his, and the way every mortal who came too close to her shivered slightly before backing off.


Hel fit in too easily—and that, more than anything, made Loki's skin crawl.


"Alright, alright!" Loki said suddenly, standing up and clapping her hands. "That's enough gawking! Let the new goddess breathe, yeah? Party's for fun, not for an interrogation."


There were laughs and playful groans, and soon the attention drifted away. As chatter resumed, Loki leaned down, grabbing Hel gently by the wrist.


"Walk with me for a bit, kid," she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

"Whatever you say Pops," Hel responds, setting down her drink and getting up.

Outside the Hostess of Fertility


The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of ale and woodsmoke from the tavern behind them. Music still drifted faintly from within, but the two goddesses had long since stepped into the quiet alley beside the building.


Loki leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching the other goddess with sharp eyes.


"Alright," she said, her voice low but edged with something uncertain. "Drop the act. What are you doing here, Hel?"


Hel tilted her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "Can't a daughter come to visit her father?"


Loki's smirk faltered. For a heartbeat, something older—something raw—flickered in her crimson eyes.


"You died," Loki said finally, the words barely above a whisper. "A long time ago. I felt it. I watched the whole damn pantheon tear itself apart after…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "After, Fen ate Odin… Freya still hasn't forgiven me, and she is constantly searching for my father's reincarnation."

Hel's smile softened, and for once, it wasn't the sharp, teasing grin she wore inside the tavern. "I did die. Several times, in fact. Death tends to have a sense of humor."

Loki exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders shifting from sharp alarm to something heavier, older. "So… you really are her. My little Hel. The girl who ruled the dead and made even the Valkyries nervous."


"I suppose," Hel said softly, brushing a strand of black hair from her face. "Though these days, I've had a lot of time to think. To… grow past what I was."


Loki snorted faintly. "Past being the terror of Asgard? Or past being the only one of my children who didn't scare me?"


Hel's lips curved. "Both. Although I will confirm I have a love of pranking now."




Loki stared, the truth slowly settling in. "You… didn't just become a goddess of death."


"No," Hel admitted quietly. "I was death's servant for a very long time. Centuries. Millennia, maybe—I lost count after the first few apocalypses. But she released me. Said I'd earned my peace."


"And peace means dropping into my lap?" Loki muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose.


Hel chuckled softly. "Always you the most entertaining option."

 

[Common]

The manor was quiet. Even Loki slept, for once — sprawled across her bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets, half a bottle of wine still on the nightstand.

Hel sat on the balcony outside her borrowed room, the wind tugging gently at her dark hair. Below, Orario breathed — the heartbeat of a city alive with dreams and danger.

She exhaled softly, eyes half-lidded.

When she let her awareness slip, the veil between life and death grew thin. She could hear the souls passing — faint echoes of joy, of sorrow, of stories ending in flame or blood or peace. Most moved on, guided by the threads of fate toward their next resting place.

But not all.

Tonight, one voice lingered.

It was soft — young, almost painfully earnest. A girl's voice, trembling but resolute.

"If this is the end… then I'll make it count."

The world around Hel dissolved into shadow and snow.

She stood in a dying world — sky fractured by red light, ground scorched black. A girl in a red cloak knelt at the center of it all, her silver eyes dimming as she reached for a broken weapon.
That was when here eyes lit up brilliantly covering the area in silver light.

Hel watched in silence. Not as Death's servant, but a silent observer.

Hordes of black creatures turned to ash a single petal drifted down from nowhere, landing in the girl's bloodstained hand.

"You're not ready to rest yet, are you?" Hel whispered.

The girl didn't answer — couldn't. Her heartbeat was fading, her light slipping away.

Hel's hand rose, fingers glowing faintly with silver light — then she hesitated.

"…No," she murmured. "Not yet. Not here."

The vision fractured — the snow, the girl, the dying world all dissolving like mist.

Hel's eyes opened to the quiet night once more. The moon hung full above Orario, serene and unknowing.

For the first time in centuries, Hel's chest ached.
"That was new." Hel murmured.
===
Morning light spilled over Orario, washing the stone streets in soft gold. Merchants shouted from the plaza, adventurers hurried toward Babel's towering shadow, and the scent of fresh bread drifted from every corner bakery.
Hel moved through it all like a ghost in silk. Hood drawn, steps measured. The city's noise rolled around her, but never quite touched her.

Her destination loomed ahead — the white, rounded building of the Guild headquarters, its marble gleaming under the sun.

Inside, the atmosphere was as lively as ever: arguments over dungeon quotas, parchment being stamped, and the occasional newbie adventurer trying to look braver than they felt.

The clerk at the front desk — an elf with tired eyes and a permanent professional smile — looked up as Hel approached.

"Welcome to the Guild," she said. "Are you here to register, report, or request—"

"Register," Hel said softly.

The elf blinked. "For an adventurer's license?"

Hel shook her head. "For a Familia."

That got attention. Two nearby clerks paused mid-sentence. A couple of adventurers in line turned to stare. Gods descending to form new Familias weren't exactly rare in Orario, but it always made waves — especially when it was someone they didn't recognize.

"Understood," the elf said after a beat, posture straightening. "May I have your divine name, Lady…?"
"Hel," she replied simply.

The elf's quill hesitated mid-stroke. "…Ah."

Hel smiled faintly. "Yes. That one."

"…Right," the elf said carefully. "We'll just, ah, process that." She shuffled a few papers, trying not to look unnerved. "Do you have a place of residence, initial funds, or a sponsor listed?"

"Loki will cover the costs," Hel said without hesitation.

The clerk actually blinked twice. "Loki… of the Loki Familia?"

"Yes." Hel's tone was calm. "She insisted."

Somewhere across town, Loki probably sneezed into her wine, although she should know morning drinking is bad.
Hel placed a neatly folded pouch of coins on the desk, purely ceremonial. She wasn't concerned about the money, but it helped smooth over the procedural formalities.

Next came a stack of forms — standard Guild bureaucracy: mission liability, member limits, recruitment guidelines, and a signature line for the sponsor. Hel filled them out with her elegant, precise script. There was no rush, yet everything was done with flawless efficiency, the movements too deliberate to be hurried.

The clerk scanned each form, her eyes widening at Hel's clear and decisive writing. "Everything seems to be in order, Lady Hel. Your Familia registration is complete. Officially recorded as… Hel Familia."

Hel inclined her head slightly, retrieving the paperwork. "Thank you. Please inform Lady Loki that her generosity has been noted."

The clerks exchanged nervous glances as she turned and walked calmly toward the door. Even in the mundane paperwork, there was a presence that hinted at something else — centuries of authority distilled into a quiet, deadly grace.

Outside, the sun gleamed off the Guild steps. The city moved as usual around her — merchants, adventurers, pigeons, and stray children — oblivious to the goddess who had just formalized her return to their world.

Hel allowed herself a small smile. The first step was done.

===
Loki blinked groggily, rubbing one eye as she stumbled out of her office in her pajamas — one slipper missing, hair sticking out in all directions. She yawned, looked at the sealed envelope on her desk, and muttered,
"Ugh, paperwork already? What did I sign this time…"

She tore the Guild seal open, still half-asleep — and froze.

"Notice of Familial Sponsorship: Lady Hel, newly descended goddess, has listed Lady Loki as financial guarantor and reference."

Loki blinked.
Read it again.
Then a third time, slower.

Her eyes went wide. "She. Did. WHAT!?"

The shout echoed through the manor. Somewhere downstairs, Tiona dropped a dumbbell and shouted back, "What happened!?"

Loki stormed into the hall, waving the paper like a battle standard. "That little gremlin just registered a Familia — under my tab!"

Finn peeked out of his office, calm as ever. "So… you're a patron now?"

Riveria sighed. "I told you she'd cause chaos before lunch."

"I thought she meant breakfast chaos!" Loki snapped. "Not — not financially binding chaos!"

She looked at the paper again, groaning. "Oh, the Guild's gonna think we're co-funding her death cult. Great. Just great."

 

[Common]

Hel stepped out of the Guild and let the warm morning sun wash over her. The papers in her hand were official now, stamped and signed, the weight of bureaucracy almost amusing compared to the millennia of death she'd witnessed.

Yet her thoughts drifted back to last night, to the flicker of something familiar — a presence she had sensed at the Hostess of Fertility. The silver-haired waitress, moving among the crowd with quiet efficiency, carrying mugs and listening more than she spoke.

The memory stirred something she hadn't expected: curiosity.

Why does she feel… different?

Hel adjusted her cloak and moved through the streets of Orario with purpose. Even among the morning bustle, she was a shadow, almost slipping past the notice of the city's inhabitants. Merchants hawked their goods, adventurers hustled toward Babel's shadow, and children ran, playing tag around her cloak's hem.

The Hostess of Fertility came into view, warm light spilling from its windows despite the hour. Hel pushed the door open and inhaled the familiar scent of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and faint traces of ale and magic.

The room was quiet at this hour, the regular patrons still trickling in. Behind the counter, the silver-haired waitress moved with practiced grace, wiping down mugs and humming softly.

Hel approached, her presence unnoticed at first. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, almost gentle.

"Good morning," Hel said.

The waitress looked up, startled. For a moment her green eyes — so alert, so alive — met Hel's. Then she relaxed, offering a polite smile.

"Good morning," the waitress replied. "Can I help you with something?"

Hel tilted her head, studying her. "I'll be straightforward… I don't want to ruin your fun, but you feel familiar to me. I can see souls, so I could check — but I would rather just talk with you if you are who I think you are."

The waitress froze mid-motion. For a heartbeat, the cheerful mask of Syr Flova faltered — the faintest tremor in her smile, the tiniest stilling of her fingers around the rag she held.

Hel didn't need to look deeper; she already knew. The soul beneath the mortal façade shimmered like starlight wrapped in silk — ancient, radiant, divine.

Freya.

"I see," Syr said softly, regaining her composure almost too quickly. Her expression settled into a careful smile. "What can I help you with, Granddaughter… and who have you told?"

Hel blinked, slightly off guard. "Thank you for confirming it."

Syr's — or rather, Freya's — careful smile didn't falter, but her eyes flickered with a faint warning. "And… who have you told?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper meant only for Hel.

Hel tilted her head, studying her grandmother thoughtfully. "No one. Your secret is safe. I have no desire to disrupt your mortal life… or the persona you've built. I had an inkling. Your presence… it feels different. Even through mortal disguise, I just… knew it was you."

Freya's gaze flicked toward the door, ensuring no wandering adventurer or curious guild clerk could overhear. "Exactly why I must remain Syr Flova publicly. My mortal persona is my peace, my freedom from the scrutiny of gods and mortals alike. If anyone discovered the truth…" She trailed off, frustration briefly crossing her features. "I would be very upset."

Hel's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Then consider it protected. For now, I simply wished to speak with you. Hug?"

Freya blinked — genuinely startled for the first time in centuries. Of all the things she had expected from the goddess of death — distant, composed, cold — that wasn't one of them.

"A… hug?" she repeated, her voice caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

Hel shrugged lightly, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. "It's been… a very long time since I've seen you. And I know you're still upset over what my older brother Fen did to Grandpa Odin… I thought it might help."
Syr hesitated for only a heartbeat before accepting the gesture, wrapping her arms around Hel in a careful, almost tentative hug.

For a moment, the world outside the tavern seemed to vanish — no chatter, no clinking mugs, no bustling adventurers — just the warmth of family bridging centuries of distance.

Then, almost instantly, realization flashed across Freya's eyes. She pulled back slightly, her green gaze wide with a mix of shock and fear.

"If… if you are still alive," she whispered, her voice trembling, "then… my Odin?"

"He… survived. His soul was damaged and forced to undergo reincarnation. In his last cycle, he was known as Jason the Argonaut. As of now, he exists as a mortal. If he were to theoretically reach level 10, he should ascend again — though it would take a millennium or two to fully regain his former power."
Freya's breath caught, a mixture of awe, disbelief, and hope flickering across her features.

Even though Hel had no idea who this Bell Cranel character was, she already felt a pang of sympathy for the boy whose story she would one day witness.

 

[crimson666devil]

BELL IS ODIN!?!?

 

[Megatherium]

okay fuck, this is gold. i need more!

 

[Akuma-Heika]

BELL IS ODIN!?!?

Click to shrink...

Somewhat tracks

Edit: I am really hoping that when Hel meets Hestia, she asks her if she is her new mommy. When Loki demands what she means by that, Hel points out that Hestia fits her ideal body type

 

[Asmodyne]

Hahaha that's amazing. I great reason for Freya to be so hung up on him. I quite like that!

 

[Common]

Chapter 5:

Hel wandered through Orario's streets, the morning sun already climbing high enough to warm the cobblestones beneath her boots. For once, she didn't hurry. She had no dungeon to descend, no mortal to guide, no god to outwit. Just the soft hum of city life and the smell of breakfast cooking at every corner.


She paused at a food stall near the main plaza, exchanging a few valis for a skewer of grilled meat. The vendor smiled nervously — most mortals did around her, though they couldn't have said why. She didn't mind. It was better that way.


As she ate, she watched the crowd — adventurers boasting of dungeon dives, merchants haggling, a group of children chasing each other through the fountains. Life. Raw and unfiltered. The sort of thing she'd spent ages watching from the other side.


She stopped again at another stand a few streets later, this one selling sweet dumplings. The vendor, an elderly dwarf with kind eyes, gave her an extra one "on the house." Hel smiled faintly and thanked him, feeling that rare flicker of warmth that came from simple kindness.


Still, the peace left her restless.


"Bureaucracy, family reunions, and mortal food tours," she muttered to herself between bites. "Truly, I've retired in style."


She reached the edge of the merchant quarter, gazing down the long avenue leading toward the Loki Familia mansion. The air grew quieter here — the chatter fading into the distant toll of the city bells.


Her thoughts drifted again — to Loki's likely reaction when she saw the Guild bill, to Freya's face when she mentioned Odin, and, most of all, to the dream of the girl in red. That flicker of silver light had felt too real, too close to be mere memory.


"Ruby Rose…" Hel murmured under her breath. The name felt right somehow. Fitting. "Perhaps I'll see her again tonight.


The mansion's familiar walls rose ahead — a fortress of stone and banners, laughter echoing faintly from the training yard beyond. Hel smiled faintly. So much energy… it's exhausting just listening.


As she entered through the front gate, a familiar voice rang out across the courtyard.


"Hel! You're back!"


Tiona waved from the middle of the training grounds, wooden blade in hand, sweat glistening on her skin. Beside her, Tione sighed, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed with her sister's enthusiasm.


Hel raised a hand in greeting. "Training this early? I thought Loki preferred her children lazy before noon."


Tiona grinned, bouncing on her heels. "We were just warming up for the expedition! Wanna join? You can't just laze around if you're gonna stay here, you know!"


Tione groaned. "Tiona, she's a goddess, not an adventurer."


Hel tilted her head slightly, a faint, mischievous smile forming. "You assume gods can't fight?"


That made both twins pause.


"Wait—seriously?" Tiona asked, eyes gleaming with the kind of excitement usually reserved for a new floor boss. "You wanna spar with me?"


"If you're willing," Hel said softly, stepping into the ring. "I could use a distraction."


A small crowd began to gather — Bete leaning against a wall, Riveria setting down her book with mild interest, and Lefiya peeking out from behind her.


Tiona twirled her blade, beaming. "Don't blame me if you get knocked on your butt, goddess or not!"

Hel simply raised a hand. The air shifted around her — subtle, but enough for the hairs on the back of Bete's neck to rise. The faint scent of frost and something ancient brushed through the yard.


Then, with a sound like a sigh escaping the grave, a massive scythe formed in her grasp — its haft forged of blackened metal that shimmered faintly with starlight, the curved blade long and cruel, edges glinting like moonlight on still water.


The temperature dropped several degrees in an instant.


Tiona blinked, momentarily frozen mid-step. "Okay… that's new."


Riveria's eyes widened slightly, studying the weapon. "That… is no illusion."


Hel tested the weight of the scythe in one hand, letting the blade hum through the air in a single, slow arc. Despite its enormous size, it moved effortlessly, the motion fluid, almost graceful.

"I am ready when you are!" Hel called out

Tiona's grin returned in full force, wild and eager. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" she shouted, launching herself forward with a burst of speed that cracked the dirt beneath her boots.


Hel's expression didn't change. The moment Tiona entered her range, the scythe moved — not as a weapon, but as an extension of inevitability. Its sweeping arc forced Tiona to pivot mid-strike, ducking low as the blade whispered over her head, cold air tugging at her hair.


Tiona twisted, slashing upward, but Hel's weapon slid to intercept. The clash rang out like a bell struck under water — deep, resonant, and wrong.


"Fast," Hel murmured, eyes glinting with quiet approval. "You've trained well."


Tiona landed a few meters away, already lunging again. "You talk too calmly for someone in a fight!" she barked, grinning.


"Death rarely rushes," Hel replied.


The second exchange was faster. Tiona aimed low, then feinted high — a veteran's trick — but the scythe turned and caught her blade with the hook of its curve. A gentle twist disarmed her, and the haft struck her shoulder with enough force to spin her halfway around before she hit the dirt with a soft whump.


Gasps rippled through the onlookers.


Tiona groaned, sitting up and rubbing her head. "Okay… okay, that's definitely new."


Hel leaned on her scythe, smiling faintly. "You asked for a spar. I didn't say it would be fair."


"How is your power roughly equivalent to a level 3?!" Tiona exclaimed, still half-laughing, half-wheezing as she pushed herself upright. "You're barely putting in effort, and I still couldn't touch you! That's just unfair!"


Hel tilted her head, resting the scythe across her shoulders. "Because I'm not using strength," she said simply. "Just inevitability."


Bete's ears twitched. "That's supposed to mean something?"


Riveria frowned thoughtfully. "It does. She's manipulating timing and force—every motion she makes lands exactly where it must. No wasted energy, no hesitation. It's not brute power—it's precision."


Hel nodded slightly, pleased by Riveria's assessment. "Exactly. Full power i could maybe hit at around a level 4 in power but when it comes to experience I well out class most if not all mortals."

"Could Loki fight like that?"

"If loki unsealed her divinity absolutely but most of her combat skills are locked behind that seal." Hel states


Tiona blinked, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "Wait, Loki actually knows how to fight? Like—seriously fight?"


Hel gave a small, amused hum. "You think she survived the Aesir courts by talking her way out of everything? My parent was many things—deceptive, mischievous, infuriating—but defenseless was never one of them."


Riveria arched a brow. "And yet… she acts so careless here."


"That's because she is," Hel said simply, lowering her scythe. "Her seal suppresses everything tied to her divine nature—her magic, her strength, even her battle instincts. It's the price of walking among mortals. If she ever broke that seal…" Hel's gaze grew distant, her tone quiet but steady. "You'd see the Trickster of Asgard, not the flirty, lazy goddess you know."

That is where loki shows up to ask whats going on.

"Trickster of Asgard, huh?" came a familiar, drawling voice from behind them.


Everyone froze.


Loki stood in the archway leading to the courtyard, arms crossed, expression caught somewhere between smug amusement and deep suspicion. Her red hair was a bit messy — probably from napping off a hangover — and her eyes flicked from Hel to the now-silent Tiona, then to the faint scorch marks and disturbed dirt of the training yard.


"…Should I even ask what the Hel happened here?" she said dryly, emphasizing her daughter's name just enough to make Tiona snort.


Hel, ever calm, rested the scythe against her shoulder again. "A friendly spar," she said simply.


"A friendly spar?" Loki's gaze swept over Tiona, who was still dusting herself off and trying very hard not to look embarrassed. "Because it looks like somebody got reaped."


Tiona laughed sheepishly. "Hey, it was fair! Kinda. Mostly. I think."


Riveria sighed, closing her book with a quiet snap. "No one's seriously hurt, at least. Though I'd prefer the next demonstration not involve freezing the air in the middle of the courtyard."


Loki's eyes narrowed, her sharp smile returning. "So my little death goddess decided to show off, huh? Making my top Amazon hit the dirt—bold move, kiddo."


Hel gave her a small, innocent smile. "You always said a goddess should make an impression."


That earned a genuine laugh from Loki, who sauntered closer and ruffled Hel's hair affectionately. "Ha! You've got my tongue, that's for sure. Still—try not to freak out the neighbors with the whole 'inevitability' thing, yeah? I just finished smoothing things over with the Guild."

"Awe come on it was just a belayed child support payment Father." Hel states with a smile

Bete smirked. "Guess that makes you the deadbeat dad of the decade."


Loki groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Oh, I am never living this down."


Hel, looking completely unbothered, leaned on her scythe and gave her parent an impish grin. "Don't worry, Father. I forgive you. I know raising Fen and Jörmungandr was probably enough chaos for one cosmic lifetime."


That earned her a pillow to the face — Loki having snatched one from who knows where and hurled it like a throwing knife.


"Brat!" Loki snapped, though she was laughing now. "You really are my kid!"

 

[Common]

The aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread greeted Hel as she entered the Loki Familia's dining hall. The long table was already set, candles flickering in the early evening light, and several members were already seated, chatting idly while waiting for the rest of the family to gather.


"Ah, there you are," Loki said, rising from her chair with a playful smirk. "Don't tell me the goddess of death wandered off before dinner. We'd all starve waiting for you."


Hel smiled faintly, sliding into an empty seat near the middle of the table. "I wouldn't dream of missing it," she replied softly.


Riveria gave a small nod of acknowledgment, Lefiya peeked at her over the rim of a book, and Tiona elbowed Bete, whispering something that earned a snort of laughter. The chatter was lively but comfortable—a family, united not just by power, but by bonds forged in the dangers of dungeon life.


Hel quietly took her place, observing them all with her usual composed demeanor. She picked at her food delicately, savoring the taste of a meal she hadn't expected to enjoy this much.


The conversation ebbed and flowed around her, tales of dungeon exploration, heroic feats, and minor misadventures filling the air. Loki occasionally teased a familia member, and Hel found herself smiling at the rhythm of it—the warmth, the noise, the sense of belonging.


Eventually, the meal drew to a close. Plates cleared, conversations softened, and the flickering candlelight lent a cozy glow to the hall. Hel rose, stretching slightly.


"I believe I'll retire for the night," she murmured, her voice calm but carrying a subtle weight.


Loki's smirk softened. "Already? You must be exhausted from all that sparing… How did you manage to do that anyway?"


"Not all of my strength is tied into my divinity, I am fairly skilled and adept at multiple types of magic, yet that has nothing to due with my divine nature so I am able to use it to strengthen myself."

Loki's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of curiosity—and a hint of pride—crossing her expression. "Ah…So it's just one hell of a loophole, huh? Clever. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You are my kid."

Hel inclined her head lightly, a small, polite smile playing on her lips. "I have centuries of practice. Strength alone rarely wins battles; timing, precision, and knowing what to use—and when—makes all the difference."


Riveria, still seated at the table, frowned thoughtfully. "So even without divine power fully active, your combat skills remain… extraordinary."


Hel nodded, letting the scythe rest by her side in a subtle display of calm mastery. "Experience outclasses raw might most of the time. I have lived long enough to see countless fights, countless deaths, and countless outcomes. That knowledge is something no level alone can teach."

Ais suddenly stands up and slams her face completely blank the table "Train me."

Hel arched an eyebrow, glancing at Ais with the faintest smirk. "Train you? Straight to the point, I see."


Ais, cheeks flushed with determination, didn't back down. "I want to get stronger. I want to surpass my limits. You… you fought like that earlier. I need to learn how."


Hel's silver-green eyes flicked to Loki, who leaned back with a knowing smirk, clearly entertained. "You really mean it?" Hel asked, calm yet carrying that subtle weight of inevitability in her presence.


Ais nodded furiously. "I mean it! I'll do whatever it takes!"


Hel let out a soft, amused chuckle, the sound carrying lightly across the dining hall. "Very well. But understand this—what I teach cannot simply be learned in hours or days. Strength comes from experience… from understanding not just your body, but timing, the flow of battle, and knowing when not to act. We will start tomorrow. I feel the call of sleep at the moment."

===

The moment Hel's consciousness drifted into sleep, the warmth of Orario faded away.


When she opened her eyes, she stood in a silent clearing blanketed by snow. The trees around her were bare, their skeletal branches creaking softly in the wind. The sky above was a dull gray, neither day nor night — just endless twilight.


Snowflakes drifted down lazily, settling across the quiet battlefield. Shattered weapons, cracked armor, and the remains of long-forgotten battles lay half-buried beneath the frost.


At the center of it all sat a lone figure.


A young woman, cloaked in red, knees drawn close to her chest. Her scythe — or what was left of it — lay in fragments beside her, the broken blade jutting out of the snow like a gravestone.


Hel stepped forward, her breath misting in the chill air. "Ruby Rose," she said softly.


The girl flinched at her name. Her silver eyes, dulled and empty, turned toward the sound. "...You again," she whispered. "Why do you keep showing up?"


"Because you keep calling out," Hel replied, her voice calm but not unkind. "Even when you don't mean to."


Ruby gave a bitter, broken laugh. "I don't remember calling anyone. I don't even know where I am anymore." She looked around the clearing, at the endless stretch of lifeless trees. "It's quiet here. Too quiet. Maybe that's what I deserve."


Hel's gaze softened. "You think this place is punishment."


Ruby didn't answer. She just stared down at the snow, her fingers trembling faintly.


Hel approached slowly, boots crunching lightly against the ice. "It isn't. It's memory. The echo of what's left in you. Loss, guilt… exhaustion." She stopped a few steps away. "You've been sitting here a long time."


Ruby let out a shuddering breath, her voice almost a whisper. "I couldn't save them. My team… my friends… even the world. Everything just… fell apart. And I kept fighting, but—" Her voice broke. "It wasn't enough."

Hel tilted her head slightly, the faintest ghost of a smile touching her lips. "No," she said softly. "Not unless that's what you want."


Ruby blinked, confusion flickering through the grief clouding her expression. "Then… what are you?"


"Someone who knows what it's like to lose everything," Hel replied softly. Her tone was calm, but beneath it lingered a weight — a sorrow tempered by centuries of endurance. "Someone who once sat where you sit now, surrounded by the echoes of the dead, believing the silence was all that remained."


Ruby's gaze dropped to her hands. Snowflakes gathered on her gloves, melting against the faint tremor in her fingers. "Then… why are you here?" she asked, her voice breaking into the still air — fragile, pleading.


Hel's expression softened. She reached out, brushing a bit of frost from Ruby's shoulder with a tenderness that contrasted her title. "Because," she began gently, "though your mission failed, your will did not. You fought until the end. That spark — that refusal to stop — it calls to me. I can offer you a second chance."


Ruby blinked, confusion flickering through the exhaustion in her silver eyes. "A… second chance?"


Hel nodded, the faint shimmer of divine light dancing along her cloak. "A different world. A different enemy — one that twists monsters to its will. But also a world filled with heroes… mortals who fight against the unrelenting darkness. Whether it be for power, money, or hope for a better future. They dive into the dungeon.


Ruby's eyes lifted to meet hers — dull silver searching the goddess's mismatched gaze. "I don't… I don't think I can keep going."

For a long moment, Hel said nothing. Then she knelt in the snow beside her. "You sound like someone who's forgotten what it means to be alive."

"Are you death here to help me pass on?" Ruby asks

Ruby swallowed, her voice small. "And you'd send me there? Just like that?"


"Not as a gift," Hel said, her gaze meeting Ruby's. "As an opportunity. The chance to stand again. To remember what it means to live… and to choose what kind of person you wish to become this time."


The snow around them began to stir, rising like drifting embers caught in the wind. Ruby's broken weapon glimmered faintly beneath the frost, the shattered edge reflecting her wide eyes.


"Why me?" she whispered. "Why not my team?"


"Because they haven't reached out to me yet, if they are lingering about in this purgatory… I plan on finding them and offering them the same thing I am you." Hel states

"Can I have some time to think about it?" Ruby asks

Hel inclined her head, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across her lips. "Of course," she said softly. "This choice isn't one to be made in haste. You've borne enough burdens for a lifetime… you deserve the time to rest, and to decide for yourself."


Ruby looked away again, her gaze drifting to the snow-covered treeline. The flakes fell in slow, steady silence — a rhythm that felt almost peaceful after the chaos she'd endured. "I don't even know if I can go on," she admitted quietly. "I tried so hard… and everything still ended. What if it happens again?"


Hel's voice was calm, steady — like a winter wind that carried warmth beneath the cold. "Then you'll face it again. Failure isn't the end, Ruby Rose — it's merely a chapter."

 

[Howldawg]

ChatGPT said

Click to shrink...

? If you're using Ai pls label the slop correctly so people don't waste time reading it

 

[crimson666devil]

Damn. I hope to see more. And I would love to see more of the rwby cast and maybe some others join hel's familia

 

[Common]

Hel awoke to the soft light filtering through the high windows of her guest chamber. The air was cool — crisp, with that faint scent of morning dew that clung to Orario at dawn. For a moment, she lay still, the memory of snow and silver eyes lingering faintly in her mind. Ruby's voice — quiet, trembling — echoed in the recesses of her thoughts.


Then she exhaled, slow and steady, pushing herself upright. "She'll decide in time," Hel murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The words were not meant for anyone but herself.


After dressing — a simple dark dress and fur-lined cloak this time, more mortal than divine — she stepped out into the quiet courtyard. The Loki Familia mansion was only just stirring; servants and adventurers alike beginning their morning routines. Loki herself was nowhere to be seen, likely already off causing some mischief.


Hel smiled faintly to herself. "Then I shall cause some as well."

Hel walked aimlessly at first, letting instinct guide her. Eventually, her path led toward a familiar cluster of divine auras radiating from the inner ring of the city — a place where gods gathered in the mornings to exchange gossip, wine, and endless half-truths.


She smiled faintly. So little changes.


The first divine presence she encountered was unmistakable — radiant, vibrant, and loud enough to cut through the calm like a sunrise on fire.


"Hel! Oh-ho! Never thought you'd walk these streets again!"


Apollo greeted her with his usual golden grin, lounging near the marble steps of his Familia's hall. His tunic glittered like he thought he was the sun, and his aura burned bright with warmth and arrogance in equal measure.


"Good morning, Apollo," Hel replied evenly, folding her hands in front of her. "I see humility still hasn't caught you."


He laughed, brushing a lock of shining hair back. "Humility doesn't suit me, my dear. But you — walking among mortals again? That's new. Trying to poach some adventurers?"


Hel just shrugs her shoulders, "They will come to me when it is Fated to be."

Apollo blinked, momentarily thrown off by her calm certainty. Then that radiant grin of his returned, wider and more intrigued than before.


"Fated to be, huh?" he mused, leaning lazily against one of the marble pillars. "You always did have a flair for mystery, Hel. Makes you sound like a prophet—or a temptress."


Hel gave him a sidelong look, her tone as smooth as polished obsidian. "And you always did mistake confidence for seduction."


That earned her a genuine laugh. "Touché! Still, I'll admit, there's something poetic about Death herself walking through Orario, talking about fate and heroes. I might even write a song about it."


Hel tilted her head, amusement flickering in her mismatched eyes. "Just make sure it's a ballad, not a tragedy. I dislike being portrayed as the villain."


Apollo placed a hand over his heart.

"Can you two stop it!"

Both Hel and Apollo turned at the sharp interruption — a familiar, exasperated voice cutting clean through the playful banter.


Standing a few paces away was Hermes, hands on his hips, expression halfway between disbelief and amusement. His golden eyes flicked between the two deities like a man who'd just walked in on a duel of egos he definitely didn't want to referee.


"Honestly," Hermes sighed, waving a hand. "You two are impossible. Apollo, you flirt with everyone who so much as breathes near you, and Hel—" he gave her a sly grin, "—you're just as bad for letting him think he has a chance."


Hel arched a brow, entirely unruffled. "I wasn't flirting. I was conversing."


Apollo smirked. "And enjoying it."


Hermes groaned audibly. "Oh, for—By the heavens, can we not turn the main street into a divine soap opera?"


Hel's lips curved slightly. "You interrupted of your own will, god of thieves."

Hermes placed a hand over his chest in mock offense, eyes wide with exaggerated hurt. "Thieves? I prefer the god of messengers please."

Apollo snorted. "More like a professional eavesdropper."


Hel's expression didn't change, though her tone was lightly teasing. "That too, I suppose. Your reputation precedes you, Hermes. You're nearly as famous for being where you shouldn't be as you are for actually delivering messages."


Hermes gave a low whistle, grin widening. "Sharp tongue, this one. I can see where she gets it — must run in Loki's family."

A soft voice broke through their divine banter.


"Excuse me?"


The three gods turned in unison to see a young waitress standing just outside the small café they had stopped in front of — a tray tucked under one arm, her expression caught somewhere between polite patience and mild exasperation. "Are you three going to stand there blocking the door all morning, or are you actually coming in to eat?"


Apollo blinked, then laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. "Ah, my apologies, dear! We got a little distracted by divine matters."


"Divine or not," the waitress said, tapping her foot lightly, "you're still in the way of paying customers."


Hel's lips curved faintly. "She's right, Apollo. Even gods must obey the law of commerce."


Hermes leaned forward, smirking. "Now there's a statement the Guild would love to hear."


The waitress sighed, clearly not impressed by any of them. "If you're planning to eat, sit. If you're planning to gossip, take it somewhere else. I just mopped."


That earned her a soft chuckle from Hel, who stepped forward first. "Very well. I'll take a seat, then. A quiet meal might be pleasant."


Apollo grinned. "And here I thought you were above all of this play mortal crap."


Hel's mismatched eyes flicked toward him. "Why is it that people always assume that they know a lot about me"


Hermes raised his hands, surrendering with a grin. "Well, far be it from me to argue with Death herself. Lead the way, my lady."

"Calling me Death Herself is another false assumption," Hel states before joining them for a meal.

 

[Common]

Chapter 8:

The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the Hephaestus Familia forge — steady, powerful, alive. Sparks burst like fireflies in the dim light, dancing across the floor as the goddess of the forge brought her hammer down one final time.


With a hiss of cooling steam, Hephaestus lifted the blade she'd been shaping, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. The steel sang when she turned it, every inch of its edge flawless. Another masterpiece, she thought. Not bad for a morning's work.


She was just setting it aside when the heavy doors to the forge creaked open.


"Oi, Boss!" Tsubaki's voice called out, loud and lazy as always. "You've got a visitor. Says she wants a word with ya — real polite-like, too. Didn't even barge in."


Hephaestus frowned slightly, wiping her hands on a rag. "A customer?"


Tsubaki scratched the back of her neck, her single visible eye narrowing in thought. "Nah. Not the type. She's… different. Definitely a goddess though.

Hephaestus's brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "Different, how?"


Tsubaki shrugged, shifting her weight and glancing toward the open doorway. "Hard to explain. She's quiet — polite — but there's this weight around her. Like the air itself gets heavy when she walks by. The apprentices damn near dropped their tools when she passed."


The red-haired goddess set the finished blade aside carefully and unfastened her apron. "That's not exactly comforting. Did she say what she wanted?"


"Not really," Tsubaki replied, her usual confidence tempered by unease. "Said it was a personal visit. Mentioned you by name — full title and all. 'Lady Hephaestus, Forgemother of Flame.' Nobody talks like that unless they're either ancient or pretentious."


Hephaestus blinked once. That did narrow the possibilities down to a very short list. "Bring her in."


Tsubaki nodded and disappeared into the hall. A moment later, the forge's ambient heat wavered — not dimmed exactly, but softened, tempered by something older and colder.


When Hel entered, the contrast was striking. Her cloak trailed wisps of pale mist that seemed to resist the heat, and her silver-green eyes gleamed like distant light. The forges roared and hissed, but none of their warmth reached her.


"Lady Hephaestus," Hel greeted, inclining her head, voice low and silken. "It's good to see your craft endures unchanged by time. I'd almost forgotten how beautiful the flame looks reflected in your hair."


Hephaestus blinked — not used to that kind of compliment — then chuckled nervously, shaking her head. "Beautiful, huh? Most people are too busy worrying I'll throw molten steel at them to notice."


Hel let her smile deepen, slow and knowing. "Perhaps they simply lack courage… or taste," she murmured, letting her gaze linger a heartbeat too long on Hephaestus before drifting to the glowing sword resting on the anvil. Then she added, with a playful lift in her tone, "It must have hurt falling from Olympus… because you, goddess, are as radiant as you are in your divine form."


Hephaestus flinched, a shadow crossing her face. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she didn't speak. The compliment, meant playfully, struck uncomfortably close to old, unhealed wounds.


Hel tilted her head, noticing the pause but not the reason. Her voice remained smooth, curious but gentle. "Is something wrong? I meant… well, I should go. I appear to have upset you."

Hephaestus's hands twitched slightly, as if gripping the hammer for reassurance, but she didn't speak immediately. The firelight reflected in her eyes, casting flickering shadows over a face that had rarely been complimented without a sting attached.


"I… it's nothing," she finally said, voice tight but steady, though the slight catch betrayed her. "Just… an old wound flaring up. Don't let it bother you."


"Can I see it? I may not look it but I am a good Healer."

Hephaestus blinked, caught off guard by the offer. "See it?" she repeated, her tone uncertain — almost defensive. The instinct to deflect rose fast, honed from centuries of turning pity aside. But something in Hel's eyes — that calm, steady light, neither mocking nor pitying — gave her pause.


"It's… not the kind of wound that heals," Hephaestus said at last, setting her hammer down with a soft clink. "Not with magic. Not even divine magic."

Hel stepped closer, the cool air that seemed to follow her whispering against the heat of the forge. "You'd be surprised what time — and honesty — can mend," she murmured. "And I am not afraid of scars, Hephaestus."


For a heartbeat, silence held between them — only the hiss of molten metal filling the air. Then, almost reluctantly, Hephaestus exhaled and brushed her red hair aside, revealing the faint trace of an old, cursed burn trailing down the left side of her face, its imprint woven deep into divine flesh. A scar she had lived with for eons. A scar she had accepted would never fade.


Hel's eyes narrowed — not in disgust or pity, but in recognition.


It was a damn boils curse,one of the most mundane things that wizarding children used to throw around for fun.


She stepped close enough that the forge's heat and her chill air met in the space between them.


Hel exhaled slowly. "You should have found me sooner," she murmured, voice dropping to something low and edged. "This is a simple curse… petty, really."


Hephaestus stiffened. "Simple? But no one could heal it"


Before she could finish, Hel lifted her hand and brushed a single finger near the mark — not touching it, merely tracing the air above it.


A soft pulse of pale light rippled from her fingertip. Cool. Silent. Final.


It was a tale as old as time, curse meet counter curse… Pretty mundane actually.


The curse broke with the quiet sigh of a candle snuffed out.


Hephaestus's breath caught in her throat as the last vestige of the wound vanished — not burned, not scarred, simply gone.

Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. The forge crackled, metal hissed, but she stood utterly still — struck silent by something she had never dared imagine.


Hel watched the stunned goddess for a moment, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips. "Take your time," she whispered softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the forges. "Let the weight lift."


Hephaestus didn't respond. Couldn't.


And while the goddess of the forge remained frozen — hand still hovering at her cheek, eye wide with shock, breath caught halfway in her throat — Hel stepped back.


Her cloak whispered like settling snow.


Her presence faded from the room as gently as nightfall.


By the time Hephaestus finally blinked, breath returning in a slow, unsteady rush…


Hel was already gone.

 

[Common]

This is chapter 4 of 5 that are meant to be posted today, i got most the other chapter written but want to take some time to go back over it and I need to add a whole sequence to it. I am probably gonna be leaving you all off on a hell of a cliff hanger this week so please join the discord and vote if you want this story continued.

 

[crimson666devil]

Thanks for the chapters. Hel is changing lives so casually.

 

[Common]

Chapter 9:

Dinner with Loki was always… unpredictable. Luckily, it was much more mundane now that they were in the mortal world.

Hel sat at the small wooden table watching Loki—currently in a slim, mostly female form with short red hair.

"No, no," Loki waved their fork in a small circle. "This is a specific quiet. The 'I did something important, but I won't tell you unless you guess correctly' quiet."


"…I helped someone."


Loki's eyebrows shot up. "Ooh? A mortal? A magician? A witch? Please tell me it wasn't a god."

"An Olympian."


Loki froze, fork halfway to their mouth.

"Hel. Sweetheart. Darling child. We talked about this."


Hel frowned. "What?"


"Who's gonna try and use this as an excuse to marry you now?"


Hel blinked, offended on multiple levels. "She didn't— It's not— That's not what happened."


Loki set the fork down like it personally betrayed them.

"Hel, honey, Olympians don't understand casual favors. You heal their curse and boom—suddenly they turn into a goose and try to fuck you," Loki declared, pointing her fork at Hel with the confidence of someone who had lived through far too many questionable myths.


Every member of the Loki Familia went completely still.


Ais's fork hovered mid-air.

Tiona mouthed the word goose.

Tione muttered, "That explains so much and also nothing."

Bete looked personally offended by the information.

Finn shut his eyes like he was begging any god—besides Loki—for patience.

Riveria froze in place, face blank, soul momentarily leaving her body.


Hel looked around the table as half the familia silently tried to process that sentence and utterly failed.


"…Loki," she said flatly, "Hephaestus is not going to turn into a goose."


Loki blinked, then her entire posture relaxed.


"Oh, it's Hephy-chan? You'll be fine then."


Hel stared. "…That's all it takes?"


Loki waved her hand dismissively. "Sweetie, if there's one Olympian who isn't gonna sprout wings, honk seductively, it's Hephaestus. Zero percent goose-potential. Rock-solid. Craftsmanship only."

Riveria opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"…I cannot believe I'm hearing this," she whispered.


Loki kept going, fully committed.


"Now Poseidon? Zeus? Hera? Absolutely top-tier animal menace." She stabbed her fork into her food for emphasis. "Those three shift forms like other people change socks. And don't even get me started on the swan incidents—plural."


Hel could only stare at Loki in disbelief, lips parting slightly before she shut them again. For the first time in centuries, she looked genuinely… lost.


Around the table, the familia began muttering.


Tiona leaned forward eagerly. "Wait—do gods really turn into animals to flirt with each other?"


Tione groaned. "Please don't encourage her."


Ais blinked slowly. "…What is seductive about a goose?"


Bete scoffed. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This entire conversation is cursed."


Finn cleared his throat, trying for leadership and failing miserably. "Loki, perhaps we could refrain from discussing divine… ah… bird courtship at the dinner table?"


Loki ignored him entirely.


"Look, the point is—Olympians get weird, okay? You don't just heal one of them without consequences!"


Hel finally managed to speak, voice flat and incredulous.

"There is no way you are judging others for sleeping with an animal father… Did the bards not write a song about an incident you were involved in…"


Loki froze mid-bite, eyebrows climbing like they were trying to escape her face.

"Excuse me? What incident are you referring to, my clever little death-brat?"


Hel leaned back slightly, eyes cool and mercilessly calm.

"Oh, you know the one. The tavern classic." She cleared her throat, voice deadpan and merciless.

"There is no cock like horse cock, as the bards of Asgard used to sing."

"HEEEEEEL!" she shrieked, flinging a roll at her daughter. "You ungrateful little crypt-goblin! That song was BANNED in three realms!"


The familia simply stared at their goddess—half horrified, half fascinated—while Hel remained perfectly still, perfectly calm…

She tilted her head, voice mild as if asking about the weather.

"What was your defense again? If the horse dick doesn't fit, you must acquit?"

Bete and the others froze mid-chew, eyes wide and unblinking.

Tiona slowly—very slowly—set her fork down like she feared it might explode.

Riveria blinked several times, each one slower than the last, as if her brain needed a full system reboot.


"LIES! ALL LIES!" Loki howled, pointing a trembling accusatory finger at Hel. "Slander! Defamation! Character assassination of the highest mythic order!"


Hel didn't even flinch. Her expression remained serene… almost bored.


"You," she said evenly, "are an unrepentant pervert."


Loki grabbed the nearest edible object—a dinner roll, possibly a weaponized one—and hurled it with the desperation of a goddess fighting for the last shred of her dignity.


The roll bounced off Hel's shoulder with a soft thup.

Hel didn't blink.


Tiona whispered, half to herself, "I… I think I need a drink."


"YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" Loki shrieked, her face turning redder than the flames of Hel's scythe.


Hel rose, the hem of her cloak brushing the floor as she pivoted toward the door. Her tone was measured, calm, and lethal in its composure—the kind that made even gods pause.


"I think I shall retire for the night," she said, inclining her head slightly, her silver-green eyes glinting with faint amusement.


Loki froze mid-gesture, fork suspended in the air, the chaos of spilled bread and sauce forgotten. "Wait—Hel! You're just… leaving me like this?!"


A soft, almost imperceptible smile touched Hel's lips as she continued toward her room. "I trust you'll survive the aftermath of your own chaos, Father."


Behind her, the familia remained frozen—half in awe, half in disbelief—watching as the goddess of death disappeared, leaving Loki sputtering in a storm of chaos that even said goddess could not cause by herself.

======

Snow fell again.

Soft, slow, endless — drifting through a cold, abandoned forest clearing. The same place she'd met Ruby before. The same stillness. The same ache in the air.


Except this time… the hill of bodies was gone.


The shattered weapon was gone.


Ruby Rose herself was standing.


Not fully.

Not confidently.

But standing.


She stood at the edge of the clearing, cloak torn, hair dusted with frost, silver eyes staring into the darkness as if unsure she belonged here at all. She looked older than the first time — not in years, but in weight.


Hel stepped forward, boots crunching in the snow.


Ruby turned at the sound, her breath visible in the frigid air. Her silver eyes flicked up, hopeful and wary all at once.


"You came back," Ruby whispered, something like relief carrying on the cold wind.


Hel nodded, expression unreadable. "Have you come to your decision?"


Ruby swallowed, hands tightening on Crescent Rose's strap. "I… yeah. I mean—yes. I've thought about it. A lot."


Hel's gaze softened just a fraction—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Ruby to feel it.


"I do not offer paths lightly," Hel said. "And normally I would dissuade cheating death."


Ruby tensed—not out of fear, but because she knew that every word mattered.


Hel continued, voice soft but edged like frost, "Mortals who grasp beyond their allotted time usually crumble beneath the strain. They cling to life, rather than live it. They fear the end so fiercely that they become hollow long before it comes."


Ruby lowered her gaze for a moment, listening.


"But you," Hel said, stepping closer, "are not seeking more life. You are seeking purpose."


Ruby looked up—silver eyes steady.


"I'm not trying to escape anything," she said. "I just… want to keep helping people. I want to make sure that we do not fail this time… You said you could find my team, right?"

"Of course, I am sure it is only a matter of time. I may not find them at first or for a few years, but if they are out there. And they reach out I can get them."

"Yes," she said.

Her voice didn't shake.

"I will join you, Hel."


For the first time, something warm flickered in Hel's expression—approval, pride, maybe even relief.


Ruby stepped forward.


And without hesitation, without fear, she wrapped her arms around the goddess of death.

Ruby's cheek brushed the cold metal of Hel's armor as she murmured softly,


"So this is what it means to embrace death, huh…?"


The moment the words left her mouth, the world fractured.


Snow dissolved into drifting feathers of light.

Hel's arms vanished from around her.

The sky split into mirrored shards like broken glass.


Then—

CRACK.

Everything collapsed inward.


Ruby jolted awake, surprised to be in a bed.