The Weight of Immortality - CH - 69

It took more time than anyone had expected—long, grueling discussions, heated arguments, and sharp-tongued debates—but eventually, Odin relented.

He was still wary, his old wounds from Hela’s past too deep to heal overnight. He watched her with an ever-watchful eye, scrutinizing her every movement, as if waiting for her to betray them all once again.

But Hela had no interest in conquest anymore.

That was her old self—the one Odin himself had created. This Hela was different.

She sat beside Frigga, who took her hand in hers, a silent bond of mother and daughter rekindled after centuries apart. The warmth of Frigga’s touch was something Hela never expected to miss, but now that she had it again, she cherished it more than she let on.

“I wish things had been different,” Frigga whispered one evening, as they sat on the golden balcony overlooking Asgard’s vast beauty.

Hela didn’t answer immediately. She traced the rim of her goblet, the Asgardian wine untouched.

“Different how?”

Frigga sighed. “I wish Odin had not feared you… had not locked you away. You and Thor could have been the greatest siblings.”

Hela scoffed softly. “Thor would have hated me.”

“Perhaps,” Frigga admitted, squeezing Hela’s hand gently. “But then again, he never truly got the chance to know you.”

Hela’s gaze drifted toward the endless sky. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be known.

Thor, on the other hand, had been much more receptive. After their father had begrudgingly accepted Hela’s lack of ill intent, Thor had made genuine attempts to bond with her.

He asked her about battles, about Midgard, about their time apart.

Hela found it… amusing, if not slightly endearing.

One evening, he had even taken her to the training grounds, insisting on sparring with her.

“Let’s see what my big sister can do,” he had grinned, twirling Mjolnir.

She wiped the floor with him.

Even Odin had watched from the throne room balcony, hiding his surprise behind an unreadable mask as Hela effortlessly disarmed Thor, pinned him, and laughed in his face.

“You fight well,” Thor admitted, breathless, from the ground.

“I was made for it,” she had replied, offering her hand to help him up.

But for all the moments of levity, there was a shadow looming over them.

Loki’s absence.

Hela had never been particularly close with him, but she had seen something of herself in him—the forgotten child, the unwanted heir, the one whose very existence threatened the golden illusion Odin had built.

Loki was gone now.

Frigga grieved him deeply.

Even Odin, in his own way, mourned the son he had misunderstood too late.

And Hela?

She felt something.

Not sadness, not anger… just a hollow space, an emptiness where something should have been.

One night, she stood alone in the halls of Asgard, staring at a portrait of Odin, Thor, and Loki.

Her absence in Asgard’s history was expected.

But Loki’s?

It felt… wrong.

She ran her fingers along the edges of the painting, eyes lingering on Loki’s smirking face. What a trickster.

“You would have made a fine ally,” she murmured.

She turned away, her green cloak billowing behind her as she walked out of the palace.

After weeks in Asgard, Hela knew it was time.

She had spent enough time mending what could be mended. She had no desire to rule Asgard, nor did she want a throne.

She had a life now—a husband, a career, a purpose beyond war.

And so, one morning, she stood before Odin, Thor, and Frigga in the throne room.

“You’re leaving,” Thor guessed.

Hela nodded. “I was never meant to stay.”

Frigga stepped forward, her eyes misty, but she smiled. “You have a home here, Hela. Always.”

Hela nodded but said nothing. She wasn’t sure she believed in ‘home’ anymore.

Odin, to her surprise, did not stop her.

He simply said, “I hope you find peace, Hela.”

She already had.

She opened a portal—a swirling blend of black and green magic—and turned back one last time.

Thor grinned. “Tell Harry I say hello. And next time, don’t let him pick up Mjolnir so casually.”

She smirked. “Oh? You mean like this?”

She lifted her hand, and for a split second, Mjolnir trembled, shaking in Thor’s grasp.

Thor’s eyes widened. “Wait, no—”

She vanished into the portal before he could finish.

When Hela stepped onto the streets of New York, she exhaled deeply, inhaling the scent of Midgardian life—car exhaust, street food, the distant murmur of conversations.

She was home.

And standing at the entrance of Blackheart, arms crossed, an apron tied around his waist, was Harry.

“Took you long enough.”

Hela rolled her eyes. “Miss me?”

Harry smirked. “Of course. The restaurant’s been too peaceful.”

She chuckled.

It was good to be back.

Hela had barely stepped back into her normal life before chaos erupted.

She had just returned from Asgard, barely had a moment to change out of her armor before Tony Stark made headlines again—this time for the disaster unfolding in the middle of New York City.

Ivan Vanko was back.

And this time, he wasn’t just some scientist with an electrified harness—he had an entire armored suit.

The Battle in the Streets of New York

Hela had been sitting in her office, going through some case files, when the news alert flashed on her screen.

❝ BREAKING NEWS: ARMORED ATTACK IN TIMES SQUARE! ❞

The live footage showed Vanko in a massive, upgraded exosuit, complete with electrified whips, wreaking havoc in the streets.

Iron Man was already there, engaging him, but things weren’t going well.

The moment Hela saw civilians getting caught in the crossfire, she cursed Tony under her breath, grabbed her coat, and headed out.

By the time she arrived, the battle had escalated.

Tony was barely holding on.

The Iron Man armor was heavily damaged, sparks flying from his left repulsor. Vanko was relentless, his whips tearing through everything in sight.

A bus had flipped onto its side. Civilians were screaming and running.

Hela had seen enough.

She stepped forward, summoning two Necroswords into her hands, and charged.

Vanko turned, noticing her. His eyes narrowed.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled in a thick Russian accent.

Hela smirked. “Your worst nightmare.”

With a flick of her wrist, she sent one of her swords flying toward him.

Vanko lashed out with his electrified whips, intercepting the attack midair, but Hela was already moving.

She teleported right behind him, dodging his counterattack.

CRACK!

One of his whips lashed at her, but Hela caught it midair with her bare hand.

Vanko's eyes widened as she absorbed the electricity into her palm and crushed the whip like it was a twig.

Tony, still struggling to stay upright, gasped.

"Okay, that was hot."

Hela rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Stark."

Vanko roared in frustration, activating his suit’s secondary weapons—a barrage of missiles aimed directly at her.

Hela didn’t flinch.

She raised a single hand, and with a wave of dark energy, every missile froze midair before imploding in on themselves.

Vanko barely had time to react before Hela closed the distance in a blink, slashing across his chestplate, leaving a deep gash in the armor.

For the first time, fear flashed in his eyes.

"You are not normal," he muttered.

"Neither is Tony, but you picked the wrong people to mess with."

Hela, ever the strategist, knew that with major news channels broadcasting the fight, she couldn’t afford to be seen unmasked. Her position as Stark Industries' legal head was already influential enough, and she didn’t need additional questions raised about why she was wielding swords of pure darkness in battle.

So, with her hood drawn over her face, she fought alongside Tony, deflecting Vanko’s devastating strikes, her Necroswords clashing against the electrified whips.

Despite Tony’s confidence, Hela could tell he was struggling. Vanko had prepared for this fight—his suit was reinforced, his whips were longer and deadlier, and his rage had only grown since their last encounter.

Tony, panting, barely dodging another arc of deadly electricity, shot her a quick glance.

"About time you joined the party!" He dodged left, firing a repulsor blast, which Vanko absorbed with his suit.

"You were handling it so well," she smirked, twirling one of her Necroswords. "Thought I'd let you have fun first."

Vanko snarled, his Russian accent thick with fury. "You both think you are untouchable! But you will learn!"

With a roar, Vanko lashed out at Hela, his whips slicing through the air like a serpent’s strike.

Hela sidestepped effortlessly, the air crackling with energy as the whip barely missed her. She retaliated swiftly, sending a wave of darkness toward Vanko, but his armor absorbed the attack just like Tony’s repulsors.

Tony frowned, scanning the battlefield.

"Alright, new plan. You keep him busy, and I'll—"

BANG!

A shockwave erupted as Vanko slammed his whips into the pavement, sending both Hela and Tony flying backward.

Hela barely managed to land on her feet, sliding backward, while Tony crashed into a taxi, denting its frame.

"I liked that car," Tony groaned, getting up.

"Focus, Stark." Hela’s eyes gleamed dangerously from beneath her hood. "He’s charging something big."

Vanko’s arc reactor hummed with power, and suddenly, eight mechanical whips extended from his suit, all crackling with electricity.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," Tony muttered.

Hela sighed. "Alright. Time to end this."

With a flick of her wrist, her Necroswords vanished, and instead, she summoned twin black chains, wrapping them around her arms.

Tony blinked. "Wait, what’s the new toy?"

"Improvised strategy," Hela replied, then lunged forward at inhuman speed.

She wrapped the chains around Vanko’s arms, yanking him forward, disrupting his balance. Tony took the chance and fired a direct repulsor blast at Vanko’s chest, causing his suit to spark violently.

Vanko tried to lash out again, but Hela was faster.

With a single precise motion, she used her chains to snap one of Vanko’s whips in half, causing it to explode in a burst of electricity.

Tony didn’t miss his opportunity.

"I’ve got the finishing move!"

With a quick boost from his thrusters, Tony flew straight at Vanko, blasting him point-blank with a concentrated unibeam, sending the Russian flying backward, crashing into the wreckage of his own downed drones.

With one final blow, she drove her Necrosword into his suit, slicing straight through the arc reactor powering it.

The lights on Vanko’s suit flickered, then he died.

The battle was over.

But the fight wasn’t the real problem.

Once the battle was over, the government immediately seized the opportunity to make their move.

By the time Tony dragged himself upright, still recovering, a fleet of black SUVs and military personnel had surrounded them.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was there. The U.S. Government was there. And they weren’t happy.

A high-ranking official stepped forward, his expression grim.

"Mr. Stark, this incident is exactly why we need to confiscate the Iron Man suit. It is a threat to national security."

Tony groaned. "Oh, great. Here we go again."

Hela, still standing next to him, crossed her arms.

"And under what legal ground are you making that claim?" she asked, her voice cool and sharp.

The official hesitated. "The Sokovia Accords—"

Hela snorted. "The Accords don’t exist yet. Try again."

The official frowned, clearly annoyed.

"Miss Black, the American people deserve protection from reckless technology—"

"Then maybe you should focus on the fact that a Russian terrorist just attacked civilians in the middle of New York City," Hela shot back. "Instead of trying to steal private property."

Tony grinned. "I love it when you lawyer people, Hela."

The official gritted his teeth. "This isn’t over."

Hela smirked. "Oh, I know. It never is."

With the government breathing down their necks, Hela had a lot of work to do.

She had to settle the damages, file lawsuits against unauthorized attempts to seize Stark’s technology, and prepare for the inevitable legal battles ahead.

And of course, Tony wasn’t making it easier.

"You should really work for me full-time," he joked as he poured himself a drink in his office. "Best legal defense money can buy."

Hela rolled her eyes. "I work for the company, Stark, not your personal problems."

"My personal problems are the company’s problems."

"That’s exactly the problem."

Tony chuckled, but his expression turned serious.

"You really saved my ass out there, you know."

Hela shrugged. "You'd do the same for me."

Tony hesitated. "...Yeah, I would."

For all of his arrogance, there was something genuine in his voice.

And that was the problem with Tony Stark—he made it easy to care.

Hela sighed. "Just try not to get into another mess for at least a week, Stark."

Tony grinned. "No promises."

And just like that, the Whiplash incident was over.

But Hela knew, it was only the beginning of much bigger problems to come.

The next morning, the media was in a frenzy. Every major news channel in the country was broadcasting footage from the battle, analyzing every second, every movement. Tony Stark, of course, was at the center of the attention, but what truly caught the public’s interest was the mysterious woman who had fought alongside him.

"Who is the Hooded Warrior?"

The headlines ranged from "Iron Man’s New Ally?" to "The Shadowed Guardian: A New Superhero in Town?" and even "Is She a Mutant? An Alien? A Goddess?" Speculation was rampant. Some theorists online were already creating elaborate backstories about her origins—some claimed she was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., others suggested she was an Asgardian, and a few even argued she was a rogue military experiment.

The footage showed her fighting with immense skill, her movements deadly yet precise. Unlike Tony, she didn't use any visible technology. No repulsors, no fancy suits. She fought with what appeared to be conjured weapons—blades of pure energy appearing in her hands, vanishing when she no longer needed them. This was something the world had never seen before, and people were desperate for answers.

Hela sat in Tony’s office, arms crossed as she watched the news reports. She had removed her hood, but she was still in her battle attire.

Tony, lounging in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk, smirked. "Well, congratulations, Hela. You’re famous."

Hela rolled her eyes. "This is exactly what I wanted to avoid."

Pepper Potts, standing nearby, was less amused. "This is a problem, Tony. People are asking questions. If someone connects Hela to Stark Industries, things could get complicated."

Tony spun lazily in his chair. "Oh, come on. Who doesn't love a little mystery? Besides, you did save my ass out there. The world deserves to know."

Hela gave him a sharp look. "No, the world doesn’t. I don’t need attention, Tony. I have enough on my plate as it is. The last thing I need is the government poking around my life."

Pepper sighed. "She’s right, Tony. If she gets too much attention, it could make things dangerous for her. We already have the military breathing down our necks because of your armor. Imagine what they’d do if they found out Hela was capable of—" she gestured at the screen showing Hela summoning her necroswords, "—that."

Tony groaned and finally sat up straight. "Alright, alright. So, what’s the plan? You want me to hold a press conference and say, ‘Sorry, folks, no idea who she is, probably just some cosmic warrior passing through?’"

Hela smirked slightly. "Something like that. But let’s not make it so ridiculous."

Later that afternoon, Tony Stark stood before a massive crowd of reporters, cameras flashing, microphones shoved in his direction. The world was waiting for an answer.

"Mr. Stark!" one reporter called. "Who was the mysterious hooded woman who fought alongside you against Whiplash?"

Tony adjusted his sunglasses and gave his signature smirk. "Look, I know you all want answers, but the truth is, I have no idea. She showed up, kicked some serious ass, and left. Very Batman of her, don’t you think?"

A murmur of discussion spread through the crowd.

"Are you saying she’s not connected to Stark Industries?" another journalist asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Did she look like she was wearing a suit of armor? No, she didn’t. So, unless I secretly started manufacturing magic swords and forgot about it, no, she’s not with us."

"Then who is she?"

Tony shrugged dramatically. "I don’t know. Maybe a fan? Maybe a vigilante? Maybe aliens?" He wiggled his fingers for dramatic effect, earning a few chuckles from the crowd.

The reporters kept pressing, but Tony stuck to his story—he had no idea who the hooded warrior was. Eventually, the conference wrapped up, and while the media still buzzed with speculation, they had no real leads.