Life Vs Death Part 1

Hel stepped forward, her long legs carrying her across the Bifrost with a slow, deliberate grace. The golden spires of Asgard stretched toward the heavens, their gleaming surfaces untouched by time. Yet, to her, they were a reminder of exile, of chains, of stolen birthright. A mixture of nostalgia and venom swirled in her piercing green eyes, twin pools of malice that gleamed under the celestial glow of Yggdrasil's sky.

Her gaze fell upon the trio stationed at the gateway, the makeshift replacements for Heimdall. Fandral the Dashing, Hogun the Grim, and Volstagg the Valiant stood resolute, yet their famed Asgardian bravery wavered beneath her stare. They could feel it, the weight of something ancient and unspeakably cruel pressing down upon them like a suffocating fog.

Swallowing his fear, Fandral stepped forward, forcing his signature grin into place as if to mask his unease. "Well now, what do we have here?" His voice carried the usual charm, though there was an edge to it. "A maiden of such exquisite beauty gracing the Bifrost? Tell me, dear lady, what might you be looking for? Perhaps I, Fandral the Dashing, could be of service?"

He had barely finished speaking when agony lanced through his chest. His eyes widened in shock as he choked on his own breath. A jagged black spike had burst through him from behind, impaling him like a mere insect on a pin. Blood gurgled from his lips as his boots scraped against the Bifrost, his body slowly lifting into the air.

"H—Hakkk!" The sound was raw, ugly. His hands uselessly grasped at the spike as he was dragged, inch by agonizing inch, toward the dark goddess.

Hogun and Volstagg had barely processed the sight before their warrior instincts took hold. Roaring, they charged, but before they could reach her, a storm of obsidian blades materialized around Hel and shot forward like a hellish monsoon. The warriors barely had time to react, their weapons flashing as they deflected what they could, but the sheer number of projectiles forced them backward, keeping them at bay.

Hel, unbothered by their resistance, reached out with a single, elegant hand. Her fingers, cold as the grave, caressed Fandral's face, and instantly, the flesh withered and rotted away. His eyes rolled back as his struggles ceased, his once-handsome features now reduced to bare bone. The Goddess of Death gripped his skull and wrenched it free from his decayed corpse as easily as one might pluck a flower.

Raising the grinning relic high, she declared with a voice that shook the very stones of Asgard, "THE GODDESS OF DEATH RETURNS FOR HER THRONE!" Her words carried on a supernatural wind, reaching every ear within the golden city.

Volstagg and Hogun stared in silent horror, their fists trembling as they gripped their weapons. Grief and fury swirled in their gazes, but Hel had no use for their sentiments. At her command, the lifeless bodies of the Warriors Three twitched, then moved. Their heads lolled unnaturally before they straightened, now bound to their new mistress's will.

As Hel led them forward, the once-glorious defenders of Asgard now walked in perfect formation beside her, their unseeing eyes devoid of all but servitude. The golden city before them would soon drown in shadow.

Screams echoed in the distance as Hel's conquest began.

Aboard his ship, William lay in the warm embrace of several women, their satisfied forms draped lazily across him like silken sheets. The soft glow of the Asgardian night cast ethereal shadows across the chamber, but his peaceful slumber was shattered by an urgent chime.

[Ding! Emergency System Message: Hela's assault on Asgard has begun. With Odin no longer empowering her prison, she has been unleashed. Save Asgard from the undead hordes and defeat Hela!]

William's eyes snapped open, the residual haze of sleep vanishing instantly. His fingers flexed, and with a thought, his double-ended spear materialized in his grasp. As his hand wrapped around Zarielle's hilt, an ephemeral image flashed behind him, an angelic figure bathed in celestial light, its presence as brief as it was profound.

A slow smirk spread across his lips. He had been craving a real challenge.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he rose, his physique chiseled from relentless training and divine lineage. Without a second thought, he strode across the chamber, donning only a pair of Asgardian warrior's pants, his broad chest bare beneath the heavens. As he reached the ship's exit, a faint but familiar pulse of power flickered behind him. He hesitated for a moment but ultimately dismissed it, it was weak, irrelevant for now.

The city was already in chaos when he stepped onto the landing pad. Screams rang out as panicked citizens fled through the streets, their terrified cries carrying the stench of death and despair. From the shadows, figures lurched forward, reanimated corpses, clad in broken armor and rotted flesh, their vacant eyes fixed hungrily on the living.

William exhaled, his breath steady, his aura flaring to life. The air crackled with latent energy as his grip tightened on Zarielle. The spear hummed, responding to his call.

A storm of green lightning danced along its length, coalescing at the tip like a bottled tempest.

With a swift motion, he pointed the spear forward, his voice ringing out with righteous fervor. "Zarielle's Requiem!"

A surge of condensed lightning erupted from the spear, carving a luminous path through the darkness. The green beam surged forth like a divine judgment, obliterating the first wave of the undead in a blinding explosion of energy and crackling fury.

As their ashes scattered to the wind, William smirked. Finally, a real fight.

And he was just getting started.

More zombies rushed into the area, filling the vacuum left by the recently fried undead but slashing horizontally. William sent a sharp wave of condensed lightning toward the first zombies in the wave and caused twenty of them to drop instantly as the ones behind crushed them underfoot.

The horde continued to rush toward the crowd, but before them stood William, who was slightly annoyed at the human wave tactic Hela uses when conquering, and green flames roared to life in his eyes as his muscles tensed and he pointed his spear towards the horde.

"SLKK!" With a mighty swing, William's spear carved its way through the horde, leaving broken and shattered, unmoving bodies in their wake.

The zombies surrounded William and attempted to swarm him from all sides, but when they got too close to his aura, they simply burned on contact, and William was able to use this to his advantage, turning the zombie horde into a blood tornado as he spun Zarielle's lightning coated blades relentlessly.

Soon, the horde was reduced to a few crawling, desperate zombies that William dispatched with a swift stomp of his foot.

William stood there like a God of Slaughter, covered in the blood of hundreds of zombies.

The Asgardian citizens, breathless and trembling, turned toward William, their eyes wide with gratitude. Some clutched their children tightly, others supported the wounded as they gasped out frantic thanks. Yet even as relief washed over them, the undead still lurked in the shadows, their eerie moans echoing through the ravaged streets.

William raised a hand, and in an instant, a translucent green barrier materialized before them, humming with power from his will ring. "It's not safe out here," he commanded, his voice firm yet reassuring. "Take shelter in my ship."

As if responding to his very thoughts, the massive cruiser stationed in the distance rumbled to life. Its colossal hatch whirred open, revealing a well-lit interior, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The gesture was not lost on the terrified civilians, who hesitated only a moment before heeding his words.

"T...Thank you!" a nervous woman stammered, clutching the hands of her two young children. She ushered them forward, her wary eyes darting between William and the horrors in the streets. Soon, others followed, men and women guiding their loved ones toward the awaiting sanctuary.

William watched them disappear inside, his will bending the ship's systems to his command. With a thought, he sealed off any dangerous or restricted areas and activated the onboard guiding system, illuminating a safe path to a series of empty chambers. The doors slid open as the refugees entered, some whispering prayers of gratitude to the gods above.

His work wasn't done yet.

Turning back to the city of Asgard, William ascended into the night sky, his aura crackling with barely restrained power. From above, the city sprawled beneath him, once a gleaming beacon of divinity, now a battlefield of the dead. Undead figures shuffled through the streets, their grotesque forms dragging through golden avenues, their numbers seemingly endless.

He dove into the fray, his double-ended spear humming with raw energy. With every sweep of his weapon, bursts of green lightning obliterated clusters of the undead, their charred remains scattering into the wind. But for every wave he cut down, another emerged from the abyss.

As he continued his onslaught, his keen senses picked up movement in the distance, a familiar golden figure moving with practiced precision, cutting down the undead with effortless grace.

Heimdall.

A rare smile tugged at William's lips as he flew toward him, their paths converging amidst the chaos. The two warriors met, clasping each other's forearms in greeting, their grips firm with unspoken camaraderie.

"William? It's good to see you, friend!" Heimdall's deep voice carried the same unwavering confidence as always, though his golden eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

"Likewise," William replied with a smirk before nodding toward the civilians behind him. "If you and your group need shelter, my ship still has room. It may get cramped, but it's better than death, right?"

Heimdall exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Your kindness is not wasted, my friend. You have my thanks."

With a gesture, he beckoned a young boy forward. The child hesitated at first, his small hands clenching into fists before stepping closer.

"This is my boy, Axl," Heimdall said, his usually stoic features softening with unmistakable pride. He rested a strong hand on the child's head, ruffling his thick hair. "He is my pride and joy."

William's gaze met Axl's, seeing the spark of something familiar, strength yet to be realized, potential waiting to awaken. He smirked. "A warrior in the making, I see. He'll make you proud, Heimdall."

The golden guardian chuckled, his grip tightening protectively on his son's shoulder. "He already does."

But the brief moment of warmth was cut short by the distant echoes of battle. The undead were relentless, and the night was far from over.

William turned his attention back to the battlefield, his grip tightening on Zarielle. "You go get them to safety first. Then, we finish this."

Heimdall gave a firm nod before ushering the not-so-small group of Asgardians toward the docks, where William's massive ship loomed like a guardian sentinel in the distance. As they entered the vessel's protective embrace, the faint murmur of voices reached their ears, chatter from those already inside, a sign that they were not alone. A collective sigh of relief washed over them, but it was fleeting.

A pair of sharp, piercing screams shattered the momentary peace.

Heimdall's muscles tensed, his instincts honed from centuries of vigilance flaring to life. His hand found the hilt of the Bifrost sword, gripping it with white-knuckled intensity as his golden eyes swept the area for danger.

But the disturbance was not of this world.

Beyond Asgard's borders, the vast cosmic expanse stirred. Gargantuan nebulae coiled and expanded, their gaseous tendrils swirling like celestial titans roused from slumber. The very fabric of space trembled as iridescent lightning danced across the void, illuminating the heavens in brilliant arcs of multicolored energy. The cosmos itself seemed to inhale, a silent prelude to something monumental.

And then, two cries rang out.

Newborn wails, raw and filled with untapped divinity, echoed through the ship.

The moment their voices entered existence, the iridescent lightning above surged, cascading down in spiraling torrents. Space convulsed, the distant stars flickering in reverence as though bowing to the arrival of something, no, someone, extraordinary.

Heimdall's eyes widened in sheer astonishment. This… this was a celestial event unlike any other. He had only witnessed such a phenomenon once before, when the birth of an entire pantheon had been recognized by the universe itself. The vast cosmic storm was not mere happenstance; it was an acknowledgment, a divine proclamation.

Inside the ship, within a secluded chamber, two women lay in their beds, their faces glowing with blissful exhaustion as they cradled their newborns. The air thrummed with an unspoken reverence, and every Asgardian who had taken refuge in the ship stood frozen, their eyes widening in wonder at the sheer presence emanating from the infants.

One was a boy, the other a girl.

The boy's small form was bathed in radiant gold, his glow reminiscent of a newborn sun rising over an untouched world, full of boundless potential. The girl, in contrast, shimmered in a calming silver, her light evoking the soft embrace of moonlight upon tranquil waters, steady and unwavering.

Their cries, though innocent, carried the weight of something beyond mortal comprehension. And as the celestial storm above let out one final resounding crack of cosmic thunder, its duty fulfilled, it dissipated into the vast nothingness of space.

The universe had borne witness.

And it had welcomed them.