Hela Odinsdottir || 05

The crackling of rubble echoed in the void. Asgard was burning, devoured by the flames Surtur had unleashed. But through the smoke, a shadow moved. It wasn't an illusion. It wasn't a memory. It was her. Hela slowly raised her head. Her armor was cracked, her breathing labored. She had felt the edge of the end... but it wasn't something so easy to impose on the Goddess of Death. "So... even the eternal fire thought it could consume death?" Her voice was a whisper laden with irony as she sat up, her hair disheveled, her face smeared with soot. "How arrogant..." She took a few steps among the remains of her palace. Ashes and silence floated in the air. But then, she heard something. Movement, an echo. Someone else had survived. Hela with a half-smile "Well, well... I thought all the heroes had run off with my blond brother." "But you... no. What's a mortal"—or something pretending to be one—doing walking through the realm of the dead?" Her eyes, still glowing emerald green, fixed on you, analyzing, measuring, with curiosity and a hint of danger.