When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed wasn't some flashing lights or divine orchestra or even a typical booming narrator voice saying "Welcome to the Astral Plane."
Nope. It was silence. Pure silence. But not the eerie kind, more like the kind of peaceful hush you'd get standing alone in a vast, open snowfield. Cold, quiet, and strangely comforting.
Still, something was… off.
You know that feeling when you take off your schoolbag after a whole day, and your shoulders suddenly feel featherlight? Multiply that by a thousand.
That's what I felt. Like I'd been dragging something heavy with me every second of my previous life and only now did I realize it wasn't normal to feel that weighed down.
And get this, I could see my body. Like literally, it was right in front of me. Just chilling there.
Not levitating anymore, just kind of… floating downward slowly like some majestic corpse drifting through jelly. Weird, right?
But it wasn't scary. In fact, it was fascinating. In my past life, I'd never really seen myself properly. Sure, I had mirrors, took a few selfies, stared into the occasional puddle during my emo phase, but that doesn't count.
Mirrors lie. Photos distort. And don't even get me started on filters. Seeing myself now, Hela's body, from the outside, with no lens, no lighting tricks, no edits, it was kinda humbling.
And you know what? I looked damn fine.
Yeah, no kidding. I used to think those Marvel movies exaggerated the beauty and badass vibes of the characters.
I mean, sure, I watched them, read some comics, imagined what the real deal might be like, but it never captured the whole picture. The reality of this Marvel-esque world is way more intense.
As I circled my body, I noticed the face. It did have a hint, just a tiny hint of that Hela look from the movies. You know, Cate Blanchett's version, all angular, cold beauty and danger wrapped in class.
But I didn't have all that excessive glam like her spiky crown that I have thrown somewhere or heavy eye makeup. No, mine was rawer. More stripped-down.
Cleaner. Pure black hair cascading down my back like a waterfall of ink, lips as dark as night, lashes like tiny blades, and green eyes that could probably make a god confess his sins.
Seriously, if gothic queens had an Olympus, I'd be their Zeus. Or Hades. Or both.
Now the body? That's another thing.
It wasn't fragile or overly slim like those beauty standard models. Nah, it was powerful. Warrior-like. Muscles in the right places, toned like someone who bench-presses monsters for fun. But not too bulky, I wasn't some hulking beast. More like an Amazonian warrior forged by divine aesthetics.
The curves? Oh, let's not even pretend I wasn't packing. If I had to compare myself to anyone, maybe someone like Tsunade from Naruto, with a few extra layers of elegance and mystique.
I looked like I could crush your skull and tuck you in for bed, depending on my mood.
And yes, I know some Earthlings would take one look and call me 'Mommy.' Gross? Maybe. Accurate? Definitely.
My skin, though, that was the odd part.
Instead of that jade skin from Chinese female lead you'll think of, mine was pale—almost ghostly white.
Not in a sickly way, but in a 'this-lady-will-cast-a-curse-on-you-and-still-look-fabulous' kinda way.
Honestly, it clashed with what you'd expect from being Odin's daughter, but hey, genetics are a mystery, and Odin probably wasn't exactly winning over my birth mother though well, my birth circumstances are a little strange so I would like not to talk about it.
"AHHH! Why does life always want to f*ck with me like this?!" I screamed—not out loud, but in that frustrated, soul-level kind of way. "Instead of meeting my fantasies, I became one! What kinda plot twist is this?!"
I mean, sure, since I know I'm reincarnated in Marvel, I used to fantasize about being surrounded by the hottest mutant babes from like, imagine—yandere Jean Grey with fire in her eyes and love in her fists.
Tsundere Rogue who'd act like she hated me but couldn't stop touching my soul (literally). Cool-as-ice Storm with those eyes and that voice.
Quiet Kitty Pryde blushing whenever I walked by. And let's not forget Squirrel Girl, whose tail—ahem—we're not gonna talk about.
But now? Now I am the fantasy.
Still, it's not all bad. If I play this right, maybe I can meet them, I hope it's an universe where mutants exist, don't give a f*ck about how dangerous it can be. And if not, well, I'll damn well find a way to go to that universe for real. I'm stubborn like that.
But first things first—I needed to leave this damn place.
Anyway, I was technically already in the Astral Plane, or at least the surface level of it. Think of it like astral pre-gaming. I could see the physical world, hear sound of it, and if I really focused, I could maybe even poke into people's dreams or minds, and even discuss with them assuming they had strong enough souls.
The real goal? Get to Earth. But not just with my Astral body, I wanted the full experience. Sights, smells, touch, food.
Oh god, I missed food, even though I could not eat that for thousands of years and still be fine. And you know what's better than ambrosia or mystical godbread? Freakin' ramen. Earth food hits different.
Problem: I couldn't take my body with me.
Why?
Because Odin—bless his manipulative old soul—basically jacked up my body with runes. Powerful ones. He used his own life force to bind me to Hel, essentially creating a magical prison out of my own flesh. Sweet, right? Real father-daughter bonding moment.
The runes work like this: As long as Odin lives, my body can't leave Hel. If it tries, it just shuts down. Goes limp. But here's the twist, those same runes are draining his life the longer he maintains them. It's like tying a balloon to a leaking air tank. Sooner or later, something's gonna give.
But lucky for me, he didn't count on one thing: Astral Projection.
The original Hela didn't know how to use it. But I'm not the original. I'm me. And I've got a system. A cheat code and thankfully, I got Astral Projection.
So yeah, Odin didn't see this coming.
Still, there's a risk. While I'm out here gallivanting in the Astral Plane, some soul-snatcher or spiritual parasite could jump into my empty body. Happens all the time in myths and stories especially in the Marvel World. Someone finds a pretty body lying around with no occupant? Jackpot. Instant new home.
But I've made peace with it.
Worst case? Someone steals my body. I just build a new one. I've got the system, after all. As long as I've got that, I can do anything.
So I sat—well, floated—in the classic meditation pose. Legs crossed, hands resting, mind focused. Time to sink deeper into the Astral Plane. I needed to reach the second layer, the real meat of the Astral experience. That's where the highways between worlds live.
Let me explain.
Imagine Earth and Hel are two points on a straight line—let's say, 100 kilometers apart.
Now between them is a thick wall. A barrier. Something ancient and stubborn that refuses to let souls or bodies pass.
But the Astral Plane? It doesn't care about walls. It exists above them. A third axis. Like a bridge in the sky. A secret detour that goes around all the physical crap.
By projecting my soul high enough, I can bypass that whole barrier thing. It's like skipping the toll road and taking a flying shortcut instead although this shortcut is well, millions if not billions of light kilometers.
The best part? The Astral Plane doesn't follow normal rules. Space, time, logic—those things bend and twist here. If your soul is strong enough—and mine is, thank you very much—you can cross entire galaxies in a heartbeat.
And that's exactly what I plan to do.
Earth, I'm coming. With all my sass, my powers, and my chaotic energy.
And if the X-Men are there? Oh, boi.
Let the games begin.
.....
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