Chapter 50: The Phoenix Host, The Chaos Host and The Goddess of Death, Just A Picnic

"Wow," Jean breathed out, back in her body and blinking around like she'd just walked into a sci-fi fever dream. "I mean, I've never seen a place this… extraordinary."

Extraordinary? Extraordinary?? Girl, that word felt like a lukewarm compliment wrapped in a discount Hallmark card. I didn't say anything, though.

I let it slide—barely. Not everyone is born with a functioning fashion sense and taste in aesthetics. And let's be honest, anyone still calling herself Marvel Girl clearly lost the branding war to herself.

Wanda, at least, had the appropriate reaction. She was gawking like a kid in a candy store the size of Jupiter. Her jaw was practically on the floor. She'd completely forgotten about her little crush-in-a-bag waiting for her.

"Welcome to Hel," I said, arms out like I was about to drop a new album. "My kingdom. Bigger than your precious Planet Earth and—of course—your future home."

We were standing in Krakoa at the time, which honestly felt like showing someone the parking lot before the main event.

Yes, it's mutant-historic and all that jazz—Apocalypse's Airbnb, and probably a botanical Tinder hotspot for future mutant drama—but it's got nothing on the actual sights.

I'd considered teleporting them straight to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, where I'd be lounging like a death goddess should: throne made of obsidian, Witch-King's crown on my head, dramatic lighting—the whole glam-goth package.

But no. That would've been too much, too soon. Like handing someone a three-tier chocolate cake when they haven't even had the appetizer.

I wanted them to savor Hel. Experience its grandeur layer by layer. Like fine wine. Or a very dramatic skincare reveal video.

Only after I finished my very queenly welcome did Jean actually process that I was back in my real body—the one she'd never seen before—and no longer just an astral projection.

Poor thing was lagging harder than a '90s computer trying to run Cyberpunk.

Not really her fault—I had just let her back into her body a moment ago. A body pumped full of Space Stone energy residue and sprinkled with a few of my leftover memories for good measure—like how to control her powers.

Honestly, she was doing alright for someone with a psychic hangover.

"So this is where you've been living?" she asked, voice all cautious, like she didn't want to imply I'd been locked in a dungeon or something. Probably not wanting to appear offensive.

I flashed her my best regal smile. "Yep. Been living here for around 2,500 years alone after my little fiesta with Odin."

"And by the way, this place? Not originally habitable. No breathable air, gravity had issues, and guess what? No sun. That big glowing thing in the sky? Artificial. Made it myself. Also the reason I disappeared for four days. Not because I ghosted anyone—just, you know… building a sun. I needed to make it livable for humans."

I said it super casually, like I wasn't bragging (I totally was). Because honestly, if you can't drop a flex while talking about engineering a literal star, what's the point of being a goddess?

Jean's mouth fell open like I'd just told her I crocheted the universe.

"You… built an artificial sun… in four days?"

Did I answer? No. I teleported us. Because dramatics.

Now we stood at Kami's Lookout—where the sun I created was shining like a diva in full spotlight. Even the artificial clouds seemed impressed.

"Technically, yes," I said, waving like a game show host. "But here's the twist—I've got a special room. One day outside equals one year inside. So I spent about four years on this and a few other minor projects."

Jean blinked. "Wait. You have… a time dilation chamber? And from your perspective, it's been four years since we last saw each other? And in that time you created… a freaking sun?"

She looked like she was doing mental gymnastics without a mat.

I shrugged. "Welcome to the real universe, girlie. The real section of existence. Where time bends, suns are built, and everything and anything is possible."

Wanda stood there quietly, watching our interaction like a kid caught between divorced parents. She didn't interfere—probably didn't know how to act around me. Honestly? Same here.

It's not that I dislike humans. I just… don't really know how to be around them anymore. I was human, once upon a very mortal time.

Grew up clinging to that idealistic little fantasy that everyone was equal. Spoiler alert: they're not. Life isn't fair—until you realize that maybe it is in its own twisted way. For everything you gain, something else gets ripped away. Fair trade, cosmic edition.

That realization hit like a punch to the gut, and it changed me. I stopped trying to make life harder for people, sure—but I also stopped getting too close.

Most people walk around thinking their pain is the center of the universe, while completely blind to what others might be carrying. So I stepped back. Grew distant. Call it self-defense.

Then, boom. Now I'm Hela. Full-on goddess mode. Not just some random divine cosplay either—I've got Odin's blood in my veins and literal Death as my mom. That's not a metaphor. That's Tuesday.

So yeah, I am above humans. Not in the 'I'm better than you, peasants' kind of way (well… maybe just a little), but in the 'I physically, cosmically am different' kind of way. And that messes with me.

Because even if I know it's true, a part of me still resists. I don't want to look down on them—but I also don't want to be underestimated. I'm the freaking Goddess of Death. I can't exactly show up acting like your friendly neighborhood barista.

Which brings me to a big question I've been chewing on: when people come to my kingdom, should I be their Goddess or their Queen?

If I choose 'Goddess,' I'll always be above them—never one of them. But if I go with 'Queen'… I rule, sure, but in essence I'm still with them. Not above. Not untouchable.

Tough call.

I glance over at Jean, who's clearly still struggling to digest everything about reality. Poor girl. I wrap an arm around her shoulder, giving her a small squeeze. "Don't overthink it. Sounds complicated, but it's not. You'll understand it one day."

I think she blushed. Hard to tell—no concrete proof, sadly. But she pulled away a little too fast for it to be nothing.

"Don't worry," she said, trying to cover it up with a brave smile. "I'm not that fragile. I mean, I'm talking to the literal Goddess of Death. What could possibly top that?"

Oh, honey. If only you knew. Like, your entire reality is basically the fever dream of a comic book writer with too much caffeine and unresolved trauma.

I could tell her that—just to see her face—but nah. That kind of truth bomb has consequences, and I'm not in the mood to deal with the fallout.

Instead, I just smirked. "Trust me, there's way weirder stuff out there."

While I unpacked the bag, my mind wandered. What story should I tell them first?

The Zombie Universe crossed my mind, but… nah. Too dark. Wanda might have some serious power and training, but she's still a kid. No need to traumatize her yet.

But they do need to learn. This world—all worlds—aren't as shiny as they look. Trust the wrong person, and you'll end up with a knife in your back. Or worse.

"Here," I said, tossing a bottle of chocolate toward Wanda, who'd been eyeing it like a hawk. "This one's for you. I know, I know—greasy food, bad for you, blah blah. But life's about pleasure too. You want something? Try it. Don't live like some Asgardian musclehead on a strict broccoli diet."

I could practically hear Thor snoring on a mountain of ale somewhere, getting fat off his 'training drinks.' Man's got the metabolism of a neutron star and still manages to bloat. Hilarious.

Jean, surprisingly, didn't protest. No lectures on health or sugar content. Instead, she just asked, "So… how are we supposed to cook all this?"

I grinned not replying. This is Kami's Temple. They've got a whole high-tech kitchen tucked away here—straight out of Dragon Ball. Honestly? From what I've seen, it's more advanced than Earth was before my death.

"Don't worry, this place is a temple from someone who was once Earth's Guardian in another reality. Their Earth at that time was more technologically advanced than yours," I said, teleporting all the tools I needed.

I also realized my mistake at this time—I should have bought some meat and all, because a barbecue would really fit this situation unfortunately, it wasn't in my plans.

We were just there in plain space with a cool-looking golden sun—and the open space looks like one of those tournament stages in the Dragon Ball world.

After we sat down, Jean asked, "You know, I'm a little curious—when you talk about different realities, like before, you said you can see different futures, and now, you said this 'place' is from another reality."

"Good question. You know the theory about parallel worlds, right?" I asked her. I'm very sure of it—at least all the scientists that I have memory of, even those specialized in biology, know about this. She can't be worse than them, right? She did nod, which was according to my expectation.

"In fact, it's not a theory but reality. The multiverse does exist—like, every choice, event, or divergence spawns an alternate universe. Not just about your humans, but about all the creatures out there. It's boundless and not something you can understand the concept of right now."

In fact, if I remember correctly, there's even mention of the Omniverse in Marvel, which includes not just all Marvel realities but also fictional universes from other companies (like DC or Image) and real-world Earths.

Jean nodded, not rebutting me, saying that she wasn't yet ready to understand this. I did like her reaction and continued, "I have some kind of knowledgeance—not exactly an ability, but I just know what happened in certain realities."

"Let me talk to you about what should have happened in one of them—one I think would very likely happen without my intervention."

I originally wanted to talk to them about the Civil War.

After all, it's something that would make them reflect on themselves—the good and bad choices—making them understand how complicated simple things can be. But I decided on something more related to mutants.

"You remember the island that I teleported you to earlier?" I'm of course talking about Krakoa. Its story is very good for them—at least for Jean, so she can understand how bad Charles can be.

She nodded. In fact, the island could be seen from above where we were sitting right now. Nonetheless, I continued, "In fact, this wasn't a simple island, but a living being. It was originally from Earth."

The two of them gasped—and here Jean was bragging about what could surprise her. She was like, "Wait, what exactly do you mean by living being? The kind like the trees and all, or the kind that can literally talk?"

"Of course, living like you. It can talk—although in an ancient language that you wouldn't be able to understand. In fact, this island has a pretty big relationship with your mutant race."

....

How should I put it, I feel like something is wrong with my writing like, it's not as interesting as before, or the story isn't as funny as before, I don't really know what is wrong and how should I fix it, I just kinda feel it.