Of course, by know you're all aware that sometimes the plot-bunnies kind of clog my veins, and I have to let them out. Worsening things there is the fact that I'm in the last arc of Revolution, and the last Arc (of the first book) of the Age of Men, while most of my other main stories (Meddling Giant, With the Eyes of God, Thor: Dead God, Yamamoto's Infinity War) are already plotted out: so my souls feels like there is not enough on my plate.

So there we go: this fic is a somewhat peculiar, but as you all know and I hope appreciate, mythology is something that I simply cannot leave well enough alone. I hope you enjoy this one, and while the title kind of gives away the ending of the first couple of arcs (which will be relatively short ones), tell me what you think in a review!

When Death Bowed

Around one red sun in a random stretch of the universe, a planet revolved with its rotation perfectly in synch, so that one side was constantly dark, and one constantly under the light of the main star. This planet had two moons, two moons that never eclipsed the far greater light that shone so close to the orbit of that particular ball of water and dirt.

The two poles of the planet of course stretched themselves towards the dark side, as the vast expanses of ice were battered by the never-setting sun on one side, and almost as if drawn my a child's hand, the main landmass that enjoyed sunlight was small, surrounded on all sides by an ocean that reached beyond the horizon.

That continent, that for many years had been known as the only land gifted by the red star, worshipped of course as the Only True God, that blessed the planet with its attention, enjoyed volcanoes, fertile plains, and deep reservoirs of water that were replenished by the seasonal rain and ocean's water filtered by the unique molecular configuration of that world's sand.

The continent that stretched itself almost from one pole to another on the dark side was on the other hand a volcanic chain with islands borne out of that world's equivalent of basalt. Under the changing lights of the distant stars, which were of course the eyes of the local people's ancestors, and the soft, welcoming eyes of that were the two moons that waxed and waned above the sky, the humanoid, sapient species that rose to prominence lived thanks to intensive fishing, and thanks to a particular kind of moss that turned the unforgiving, black basalt into a soft blessing. Of course, the existence of that moss was only another of the many miracles gifted to the locals by the gods shining in the otherwise dark sky.

Fishermen as they were, the locals had learned to travel with the stars guiding them, and some attempts had been made during the years to cross the horizon, towards the wall of fire that promised only the same death and ruin present in the bellies of the volcanoes: none ever returned.

Years and decades and centuries and millennia passed on that world, people were born, they built, they died. Civilizations rose and fell, on both sides of the world, and neither the sea nor the sky ever cared. Until the two sapient races that had tamed their continents managed to grow sure enough in their travels to the point that they met each other. And the differences of course, were too many to count.

The humanoid creatures with pale white skin and black eyes that weren't as important as their hearing, that had developed on the Dark Side, feared the blazing lights carried by the fiery monsters that crossed the horizon that was cast in eternal dawn.

Their counterpart, who had developed dark skins capable of withstanding the harsh, never-setting sun, and wide eyes meant to peer across long distances, feared the demons coming from the darkness, and their sky so terrifyingly empty.

With fear came hate, and civilizations that would have risen and fallen with time, persisted united against the common enemy: the monsters that resided beyond the horizon. The god that was the sun hadn't always fought the darkness, gifting life everywhere his gaze landed? And didn't the stars and moons grant the needed light to not fall in the many precipices of the continent that so often quacked because of the volcanic activity? Didn't the Moons grant only the light needed to recognize each other, forcing their people to learn to recognize the faintest tremor from the earth?

Century after century, the two civilizations warped themselves, becoming each a militaristic monster focused only on the rightful extermination of the demons, of the aliens, that lived beyond the sight of the gods that lived in the Sky.

Children were raised for warfare: technology had only the purpose to destroy, and food was carefully collected to grant the best nutrients needed to either those who fought on the frontlines, or those that remained home, and planned the future.

War had come to define the two people that maybe had once had a common ancestor. And each of the two populations knew exactly that the other one was evil incarnate. They felt with certainty that as different as they were, the only way they could ensure survival was by exterminating the others, the aliens.

And so decades turned into centuries, and the war would have ended only with the destruction of the planet. Maybe then the absentee gods whose worship had pushed the locals to endless war, would have found in themselves to care and maybe to intervene. Still, neither the sky nor the sea that linked the two main continents, ever gave a fuck.

Until the true aliens came.

They came from the moonlit sky in never seen before vessels that shone with inner light, and their armors glinted omniously in the darkness, and their eyes blazed with unmatched might as the lands were torn apart, spoiled of their riches. The memory of two sets of eyes would have been seared into the racial memory of that people, on the same level that they had learned to fear fire, they would have learned to fear one humongous pair of green eyes set above a deadly maw, and the smaller pair that shone with unholy glee over a smile that showed too much teeth to be anything but an eternal threat.

At first, the people of the sun had thought that the people of the Eternal Night were finally lagging behind, that their forces finally had been torn asunder by the fiery light. Then the aliens crossed the horizon cast in an eternal sunset, and joy turned into terror, and relief into hopelessness.

It should have been impossible, and yet, reality defied fantasy: from the Eternal Night came vessels over the sea, vessels that carried golden-clad warriors, with armors and weapons that glinted under the red sun.

When they made land, the barriers put in place crumbled and shattered. The forts and the high walls were destroyed, the mighty soldiers that had been bred for war died in droves, and the tacticians who had studied for their whole lives methods that had evolved through the centuries found every option inapplicable when the invasion simply did not stop.

At the head of this new enemy, there was a pair that surely embodied all that should have been impossible: a giant, black wolf howled and snarled and tore bloody grooves through anything in its path. And on its back, or sometimes by its side, or even more often alone, with her army following at a safe distance, there was the true demon.

Her eyes blazed with a deep, murky green that was matched by her green and black armor with golden accents, her pitch-black hair cascaded straight over her back from under a helm that had antlers made of a sharp, dark metal. And in her hand, something that did not make sense: a hammer. It was, or it should have been, an insignificant weapon: a strip of leather securing it to the wrist of the she-demon leading the army of monsters, it had a short handle that ended with an enormous head of grey metal.

A being that small had no business brandishing such might, and yet, when her hammer struck, the earth quaked. Soldiers were reduced to smears on the ground by the battalion, and fortifications of any sort exploded as if struck by the sun itself. She moved, and death heralded her: no defense could hold her back, no attack could surpass her own martial skills.

And with contemptuous ease, she led an army charged with bloodlust and the unique kind of joy that can be found by an aggressor that only knows victory.

The Head Priest that was chiefly responsible for guiding the souls of the Tacticians, a being whose only purpose in life had been to upkeep the teachings necessary for the proper worship of the Red Sun, the Only One Who Held Back the Dark, saw her approach across the lands in days. Her army could not be stopped, her might could not be contested, and her giant wolf could not be captured, or lured into the traps that beasts were prone to falling to.

It wasn't until the end that he understood: that the pieces fell together in a way that could be comprehended by the bright mind of the Head Priest, and the element that had allowed him that epiphany had been the army following that she-demon.

An army that chanted with a religious fervor that the Head Priest knew well, for it was something that he had observed and cultivated in the eyes of countless Warriors and Tacticians of his people. With the irregular rumble caused by the strikes of her hammer, among the cries of the dying and the chaos of his world ending, the Head Priest heard: "Hela, Hela, Hela, Hela..."

He heard the army praise she who led them, and he understood: she was their goddess. And while the Red Sun hadn't descended to fight for his people, she led hers. Given the way taht her army carved up the entire world in a matter of weeks, it wasn't inconceivable, that they all were gods. That on a world that had grown without their guide, their presence, the people who had turned towards false gods were now being slaughtered. Perhaps it was that these invaders were the true masters of the planet, but the Head Priest would never know.

When she destroyed the last holdout of his people, when she strode slaughtering with that alien smile on her face, he could feel it in his bones. He knew with the certainty of the martyrs, with the surety of the sun shining above him: she was the goddess of death, and where she went, the end followed.

The Head Priest died like all the others, unable to share his revelation before the unmatched might of Hela, Goddess of Death, claimed him too.

Days later, an Asgardian vessel descended from the sky: it was shaped like a sailing ship, with the hull made of burnt gold metal and raised sails capable of harnessing the solar winds. It docked in one of the many temporary harbors that had been erected to host the army as the planet was deprived of its riches. As the rightful conquerors, the warriors under Hela's command were organizing the transport of many treasures back to their home, the Eternally Golden Realm.

Odin Allfather descended from his ship with all the martial and kingly grace that he always displayed, his lone eye as piercing as his infamous spear, Gungnir, who thumped loudly against the ground with every step he took. Two ravens had flown ahead of him, only to double back and whisper new information to his ears: so Old One Eye didn't stop to ask for directions, accepting with a distracted, noble flair the salutations he received from the many soldiers that were still singing of the conquest of this last ball of dirt under the guide of his only daughter.

The harbor he had docked in had been set among the perennial ice of the poles, at a latitude and longitude that kept everything under eternal dawn: he could appreciate the sight, even if his mind was focused on what he was about to do, on what he needed to do. Immovable in the sky, the red sun barely poked above the horizon, and the night above it was painted with breathtaking purples and pinks, which glittered and shone above the stretches of ice and snow.

It would have almost looked like Jotunheim, if not for the much higher temperatures, and the calm winds that didn't bite deep with their fangs of freezing, paralyzing hunger.

Odin moved quietly as he followed the indications delivered by Huginn and Muninn, the ravens that were his eyes and ears across the realms, and soon he reached an imposing tent that sported a tall banner of deep green and black with a wolf staring straight ahead in the middle of it.

He walked by the bored guards that bowed their heads as they recognized him, and he entered. It wasn't as if he couldn't understand the reason of their boredom: as the crown princess, Hela of course had something of an honor guard, but being tasked with protecting her, when she herself was far beyond anything that the universe had been able to throw at her until now rightfully felt somewhat meaningless.

Still, Odin didn't miss the general atmosphere of pride that oozed off the Asgardian forces responsible for taking this meaningless planet. Each of those soldiers dreamed of distinguishing himself in battle, enough to earn the favor of Hela, each of those men and women admired the impossible strength of the princess, and they followed her not only because of orders, but out of a loyalty born of the countless battles that she had led them through.

Hela was Odin's Right Red Hand, his Bloodied Glove. She was Asgard's Hammer, and the warriors loved her for it.

She was hunched over a long table, and her pale features were lit by the sowly changing lights that stretched over the flat surface: it held the schematics of the sector of the universe the army was in at the moment, and her ever-hungry green eyes sought the next target with the single-mindedness of the hunter about to down its prey.

"Father," she greeted him without rising her eyes from the holographic surface of the table, "you're late for this campaign, but you haven't lost anything, truly, it was incredibly dull."

Odin moved about until he too could peer where his daughter's attention was now pointing at: "Not much glory in slaughtering helpless mortals that haven't even mastered interstellar travel, is there?"

She huffed while her fingers manipulated the hologram under her eyes, tracing possible routes to several possible targets in a pattern that the King knew well: he had been the one to teach it to her after all. When the silence stretched for a handful of seconds, Odin walked into the tent, his hand never leaving his spear while he observed that even without her armor, which surely was being thoroughly washed to purge it from the grime of war, Hela kept Mjolnir secured to her side. "I haven't seen your wolf."

"Fenris?" she asked distractedly, her green eyes skittering over the map of the cosmos surrounding them as if she couldn't do anything but "He'll be around, hunting something, you know how antsy he gets when we have to stay put in one place after a victory."

That was something less to worry about, at least, and with that information, Odin adjusted his hold on his spear, finally beginning the argument that he had crossed the known universe to face: "There were no signs that pointed at this world as a possible repository of one of the Gems, Hela."

"I grew bored with the wait, so I found myself a planet to murder." she chuckled unrepentantly, "No empire or interstellar force has them, or they'd have turned them against us by now, of that I'm sure, this leaves us with looking through each meaningless ball of dirt."

"It matters not." Odin sighed, and his lone eye pierced the ones of his daughter as she finally rose her head to observe the King: he could see immediately the darkness that hung about her, just beyond mundane sight. A heavy cloak of death hung about her shoulders, a power that grew with each world she slaughtered, with each strike of Mjolnir upon the much frailer creatures she met.

Still, confusion appeared briefly on her face: "What do you mean, it matters not?" the elation appeared on her visage as she jumped to a conclusion, and it was impossible to miss the hungry fluttering of her power, nor the way that her fingers closed lovingly around the handle of her hammer, "You found one?!"

"No." the curt answer returned the confusion on the face of his daughter, and before he could allow himself to hesitate once more, he spoke: "I have decided to stop our quest."

Silence hung in the air for a second while Hela blinked owlishly, the words registering her mind but their meaning simply unable to be parsed.

Then she threw her head back and laughed.

It was a cruel, harsh sound that reminded him of the cutting winds of Jotunheim, it made his scars briefly flare with a pain that had long been forgotten, and something that could only be described as unholy.

"This is no jest, daughter." the seriousness in his voice managed to cut through the inappropriate hilarity, and from one instant to the next, he was being regarded as if he was a stranger.

"What is this?" she tilted her head, her hand now firmly closed on Mjolnir's handle, "Some sort of test? Father, we've barely begun..."

Gunginr thumped loudly on the ground, and it was her King who answered, not the father: "This is no test, but an order that you will follow."

Her face went blank for a second, only to turn into a vicious sneer: "Is it though? I would of course follow an order from my King, but why is it that I only hear the voice of Frigga when you open your mouth?"

"Hold your forked tongue daughter, lest I rip it from your mouth!" the King stepped forward, and for the first time, Hela took notice of how tightly he was holding upon his spear, "I am Odin Allfather, and I shall be obeyed!"

The sneer didn't leave his daughter's face, but she took a step back while she freed Mjolnir from her belt: "You're willing to stop our mighty quest for a mere woman..."

"That woman will soon be queen of Asgard, bringing peace between our respective realms."

"And since when has Asgard needed to bargain for peace?" Hela hissed back, her green eyes flashing maliciously while her power stirred and a faint howl could be heard in the distance, "Since when do we need anything more than the might of our arms to impose our will?"

Odin's temper made him grit his teeth while his lone eye pinned his only daughter in place: "There will be other wars, Hela, necessary ones. This campaign brings us nothing but oceans of blood upon our hands."

"How is it that finding the Gems of Infinity is no longer necessary when they could be used against Asgard?"

"I have my reasons." Odin spoke, and the ret went unsaid. I don't have to explain myself to you. "Now, will you obey your King?" Gungnir shifted in the hands of the Allfather, and it was clear that he was ready for battle.

"You'd strike me down?" Hela asked with a strange combination of expectation and worry in her tone, Mjolnir shifting in her grip as if about to be thrown, "Your own daughter?"

"If I must."

A smile appeared then on the visage of the goddess of death, and it was a ghastly thing that for a split second made her head look like a skull with two green embers blazing in otherwise empty sockets: "Then there is still something of my father under the veils that Frigga ensnared you with."

Mjolnir returned to Hela's belt, and she gave a shallow bow: "Of course, your will is my command."

AN

Okay, of course I'm working referencing the MCU so that I don't have to waste too much time on building up the groundwork: in the movies, Hela was imprisoned by Odin when he decided to become a 'good guy', this fic starts with this divergence, and I hope I managed to describe the general tone of the war across the cosmos led by Hela and Odin without wasting too many words.

Canonically, Hela refused to obey Odin when he decided to stop his cosmic conquest, this fic is a 'what if' based on Hela listening to the Allfather and returning with him to Asgard. Given that her past isn't truly explained in detail, I decided to start things in medias res.

Opinions, hopes?