In the original timeline, the Thanos Legion had used the massive gear chariot to lure Wanda Maximoff away, creating an opening for Corvus Glaive to steal Vision. In this altered reality, the task of infiltrating and sabotaging the Sanctum fell to Proxima Midnight.
She moved with caution, her steps silent as she crept through the corridors of the Sanctum. Kamar-Taj's elite sorcerers were engaged in the battle at Brooklyn, leaving behind only a handful of novice practitioners who couldn't even summon a proper portal. Dealing with them had been effortless.
Though Proxima Midnight was loyal to Thanos, she couldn't help but feel bitter about the sacrifices made for his ambitions. Still, she understood her role in this plan. There was no room for failure.
Her infiltration led her to a grand corridor. At its end stood a massive orb etched with intricate magical runes, faintly glowing with power. The object radiated an aura of protection, the core of the Sanctum's defense.
Destroying it would shatter the protective wards surrounding the Earth, allowing Dormammu to descend. In return, Dormammu had promised to relinquish the Time Stone to Thanos—a vital step toward completing the Infinity Gauntlet and initiating his universe-altering snap.
Proxima Midnight approached the orb cautiously. But as she neared, a chill crept down her spine. Something was wrong.
It had been too easy. The defenses were practically nonexistent, and there were no signs of Thor's interference. Knowing the gravity of this place, it was impossible to believe he'd leave it vulnerable without taking precautions. Could it be a trap? The few remaining novice sorcerers could have been dispatched by any competent strike team, let alone her.
She froze, her instincts screaming at her to halt.
"Why stop? Why not continue? Destroy that magic orb, and the Sanctum will collapse," a cold voice echoed from the shadows, icy and menacing, as if it came from the depths of hell.
Proxima Midnight spun around, her weapon raised, her body tense like a startled animal. "Who's there? Show yourself!" she demanded, her voice trembling despite her defiance.
From the darkness, a figure emerged—a tall, slender woman with an aura of death that seemed to suffocate the room. Her black hair cascaded around her, shifting and twisting like living shadows. The power radiating from her was unmistakable.
Proxima Midnight didn't need introductions to know who this was.
The Goddess of Death. Princess of Asgard. Hela.
On the battlefield outside, Tony Stark, Black Panther, and the others were stunned by Thanos' booming laughter.
"It's too late!" Thanos bellowed, his voice dripping with triumph. "Soon, you will know the true meaning of despair! The Asgardians are too preoccupied to save this planet!"
Thor, standing before him, remained unfazed. His expression was calm, almost indifferent. "So, this is your grand plan? To lure me away from the Sanctum so your lackeys can infiltrate it and wreak havoc?"
Thanos' brow furrowed. Thor's reaction was unnervingly composed. Something wasn't right.
Back in the Sanctum, Hela stepped fully into the dim light, her presence overwhelming. Proxima Midnight, though unfamiliar with Hela personally, could feel the weight of her reputation pressing down on her.
The Goddess of Death broke the silence with a single word: "Kneel."
Proxima Midnight sneered, clutching her spear tightly. "I kneel to no one but Lord Thanos."
Hela raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Do you intend to resist me?" she asked, her voice laced with mocking amusement. As she spoke, her flowing hair morphed into sharp, blade-like spikes, gleaming with lethal intent.
Proxima Midnight's mind raced. She couldn't defeat Hela. Even Thanos himself would struggle against the Goddess of Death in a one-on-one confrontation. Desperation clawed at her, and she resorted to manipulation.
"It was Odin who sealed you away," Proxima Midnight began, her tone calculated. "And now, his son has stolen your throne. Do you really wish to sacrifice yourself for him? For the very people who betrayed you?"
She watched closely for a reaction, and, as expected, Hela paused mid-step. Sensing an opportunity, Proxima pressed on. "Why not join us? Lord Thanos seeks balance, not conquest. When his task is complete, the throne of Asgard will be yours."
Hela's lips curled into a cold, mocking smile. "A win-win deal, is it?" she mused.
Proxima Midnight nodded eagerly. "Yes, together—"
Her words were cut short as a sharp pain pierced her chest. She looked down in horror to see a black dagger protruding from her body, its blade slick with her blood. Struggling to lift her gaze, she met Hela's icy stare.
"Do you want to know why?" Hela whispered, leaning closer. "Then think about it in your final moments."
Proxima Midnight's lips trembled, but no words came. Her vision darkened as she crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Hela didn't spare another glance at the fallen warrior. She turned on her heel and strode away, her presence as commanding as ever.
Asgard's politics were far too intricate for outsiders to understand. While Hela harbored ambitions of her own, she had no intention of aligning with Thanos or his forces. Their offer of sparing half the population was laughable—insultingly tame by her standards.
Besides, she had her own reasons for rejecting their so-called alliance. Thanos and his ilk had already caused Ragnarök, and she had yet to settle that score.
Hela's connection to Asgard ran deeper than most realized. For all her ambitions, her loyalty to her homeland burned brighter than any of her grudges. In that respect, her resolve rivaled Thor's, if not surpassed it.