Marvel: NIHILITY

** I have uploaded the initial chapters of my first original novel. If you love mythology, Nasuverse heroes and lovecraftian stuff, You will love it. Give it a shot! **

David soared through the cold, night sky, the wind rushing past him as he headed home. The stars seemed brighter tonight, scattered like shards of crystal across a velvet expanse.

His thoughts wandered to his future—a future he hoped would be free from the endless battles and burdens that had defined his existence. But peace was never in the cards for him.

Suddenly, the space in front of him shimmered and twisted. A jagged, glowing gap appeared, its edges crackling with unstable energy.

"What the—" he muttered, instinctively trying to stop.

But the the dimensional tear was too close , and he was sucked in, hurtling through a tunnel of swirling darkness. David tried to stop, but it was too late. Despite his best efforts to slow down, he was pulled through the tear, tumbling into the cold, dark abyss of another dimension.

When the world came back into focus, he was surrounded by an icy, desolate wasteland. Jagged, blackened mountains loomed in the distance, and an ominous green glow lit the mist that blanketed the ground.

"Niflheim," David murmured, his voice echoing faintly in the oppressive silence. The air itself felt heavy, as if it carried the weight of countless souls.

His heart sank. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. Hela. This place was her domain—or at least, it was in most universes. His heart ached as memories of another time, another Hela, flooded his mind. She had been his love , and his loss.

Memories clawed their way to the surface—another universe, another time. Hela had been his ally, his... something more. But like so many others, she was lost to him. A flicker of pain crossed his face as he recalled the day she fell.

"This isn't her," David reminded himself, shaking off the ache in his chest. "This is just another version."

As he turned to leave, black swords materialized around him, their jagged edges shimmering with dark magic. They hurtled toward him like a storm of death, but as they struck his body, they shattered into harmless fragments.

"Of course," he sighed.

A voice rang out, sharp and cold. "Who dares trespass in my realm?"

David turned to see her—Hela, the Goddess of Death. She stood tall, her antlered helm casting a menacing shadow across her face. Her piercing green eyes locked onto him with disdain, but beneath that, David saw something else: a hunger for destruction, for purpose.

He smiled sadly, his heart heavy with bittersweet nostalgia. "Hello, Hela."

Her eyes narrowed. "You know my name?"

"I know a Hela," he said softly, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "But not you. I didn't come here to fight."

Hela scoffed. "Lies. No one comes to Niflheim unless they seek death. Allow me to oblige."

She lunged at him, her hands wreathed in necrotic energy. David sighed. "So stubborn," he muttered, dodging her attacks effortlessly.

"Hela, listen," he began, holding up a hand. "I didn't come here to fight. I—"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, summoning a storm of black swords. They rained down on him, but each blade disintegrated upon impact.

"Enough!" David said, his voice firm. "I don't want to hurt you."

Her laughter was cold and mirthless. "You think you can spare me? How arrogant."

She summoned waves of blades, spectral wolves, and bursts of green fire, but nothing even scratched him. David danced through her onslaught, his movements fluid and precise, his strikes calculated to subdue rather than harm.

He disarmed her with a swift twist, pinning her arms behind her back. He stood over her, his expression a mix of pity and sorrow.

"Stop," he said, his voice almost pleading. "I'm not your enemy."

Hela struggled, her pride stinging more than her defeat. "If you're not here to fight, then why are you here?"

David released her and took a step back. "It wasn't intentional. I was pulled here by a convergence rift."

She regarded him warily, rubbing her wrists. "Then leave."

"I was trying to," he replied with a small, rueful smile. "But you attacked me before I could explain."

Hela glared up at him, defiant. "Why don't you finish it? End me, as you so easily could."

David turned away, his shoulders slumping. "I didn't come here to kill you, Hela."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why hold back when I've tried to destroy you?"

David's expression softened. "Maybe because of... fond memories." And for a moment, he looked tired. "Because I've lost someone like you before."

Hela froze, caught off guard by the sadness in his voice.

"Someone I cared about once said something to me. She said, 'No god should hold dominion over death if they have so little regard for life.'" He smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Cherish life, Hela. There's more to it than death and conquest. It's worth more than you think."

Without waiting for a reply, David stepped through the remnants of the dimensional gap, disappearing from Niflheim.

Before she could respond, David stepped through the remnants of the dimensional gap and disappeared, leaving her alone in the desolate realm.

Hela sat on the frozen ground, staring at the spot where he had stood. His words echoed in her mind, stirring something she hadn't felt in millennia—something warm and unfamiliar.

She touched her arm where his grip had disarmed her. It wasn't rough or violent. It was... gentle. No one had treated her like that before.

"It feels... nice," she murmured, her lips curling into a small, almost hesitant smile.

For the first time, the Goddess of Death found herself wondering if there could be more to existence than ruling over the dead.

Far above in Asgard, Odin sat on his throne, his one eye gazing into the void. A ripple of disturbance had reached him from Niflheim, like a faint tremor in the tapestry of the realms.

"Niflheim," he muttered, his voice heavy with regret.

His thoughts turned to Hela, his daughter, whom he had sealed away in that cold, forsaken place. Once, she had been his pride, his greatest warrior. But her ambition, her thirst for conquest... it had driven a wedge between them.

Odin leaned back, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his years. Despite all his power, all his wisdom, he had failed as a father. He had failed to guide her, to show her another path.

"Could I have done more?" he whispered, his voice filled with an unfamiliar vulnerability. "Could I have saved her from herself?"

He closed his eye, the image of his daughter as a child flashing before him—a time when her laughter had filled the halls of Asgard. But that laughter was gone, replaced by anger and bitterness.

Odin sighed deeply, the weight of his regrets pressing down on him like a physical burden. For all his might as All-Father, for all his victories and conquests, he had been powerless to save the one who mattered most.

"Forgive me, Hela," he murmured, his voice barely audible.