At the same time, with a casual flick of her fingers, Hela threw up a space barrier around the audience.
Not because she thought they were that fragile—okay, maybe a little—but mostly to stop any stray chaos from flying their way. Honestly, she figured the Ancient One could babysit reality just fine, but hey, better safe than bored.
"Alright, the stage is set. Show me what you've got, boys," Hela said, cracking her knuckles with a smirk, eyes locked on the incoming Hell-Lords. Not the least bit intimidated—if anything, she looked madly excited.
Blackheart, who had never seen her real power (because lucky him, he wasn't around when she went full apocalypse mode), decided to go first.
He launched himself forward like a missile, using brute strength and exactly zero brain cells. The man really thought flinging himself like an angry cannonball would impress her.
Hela had thousands of ways to counter that kind of caveman-level attack. She could've used the Space Stone and teleported, created a space barrier, and many other ways to end it. But no, she just raised one hand and caught him mid-strike like she was plucking a potato out of the air.
Blackheart didn't even look shocked. If anything, he grinned. Like, finally, someone who could take a hit. Honestly, if that punch had actually worked, he would've probably cried from disappointment.
See, he'd always wanted a real fight—a no-holding-back, blood-pumping, face-smashing kind of battle. But Mephisto? Untouchable in his own reality-warping realm. And catching him outside that realm? That was even harder.
So yeah, this was one of those rare, delicious chances. And the excitement was written all over his smug little demon face. Which, by the way, Hela found incredibly punchable. Like Akainu-from-One-Piece levels of punchable. And Hela? She wasn't the type to hold back.
With a grin, she pulled her arm back and decked him. Hard. Like, so hard the dude became an unwilling space tourist, only stopping when he slammed into her space barrier with a boom.
And she wasn't even trying.
She didn't use the Space Stone, didn't channel any divine rage. If she had, his face would've been dust—and that would've been too easy. No fun in that.
Blackheart, clearly dazed, stumbled up, looking at her like he'd just gotten smacked with a planet. Hela tilted her head, not even winded. "That's it? All that talk earlier, and you hit like a ten-year-old Asgardian baby drunk?"
The crowd, mostly mutants and humans, hadn't even seen what happened. One second Blackheart was jumping, next second—bam—he was face-first in the dirt. The whole thing happened faster than sound. Reaction, movement, impact—all a blur.
Mephisto watched with a scowl. Yeah, in the strength department, Hela had the upper hand. Asgardians weren't just strong—they were stupid strong. The only real hope was through magic because Hela only knew the basics. She'd always preferred smashing to spellcasting.
But Mephisto felt it now. That not only had their connection to this realm been severed, but with every passing second, they were being weakened.
To Hela, this wasn't a battle. It was theater. A divine stage show for the peasants—humans, mutants, mortals, and immortals alike.
Whether they stood inside the spectator seats in the hanging gardens or were tuning in from the comfort of their pathetic little living rooms, watching everything through the projection she hadn't cut earlier, they had to learn about her surface power.
Of course, she couldn't just end it with one dramatic sword swing. That would be boring. And Hela? She didn't do boring. No, no—that would make Mephisto and the others look weak. Instead, she needed to show their ability to make her eventual victory seem even more unfathomable.
Then she would defeat them instantly—like finishing everything and saying, "Okay, end of the warm-up."
So she finally decided to do that thing she'd been planning with Magneto earlier—the kind of thing that makes gods gulp and demons wet themselves.
She summoned a Necrosword, sleek and pulsing with death, then cranked it full of Helfire—her own brand of spiritual TNT. Then, with a wicked grin and the same force the original Hela used to turn a planet into confetti, she hurled it like a javelin from hell.
...
Meanwhile, deep underground, Tony Stark was exactly where you'd expect him to be—in his lab, surrounded by billion-dollar tech, half-finished suits, and a growing sense of existential dread.
"JARVIS, tell me you're recording this circus," Tony muttered, eyes locked onto the holographic screen as Hela's bloodbath unfolded like the worst VR game ever made.
[Affirmative, Mr. Stark.]
Pepper sat beside him, her arm draped over his shoulder. Not out of romance, mind you—more like an instinctual survival reflex. When literal gods and demons start appearing on Earth like it was the center of the universe.
Tony didn't say anything at first. Just stared at the screen as the Necrosword hit its mark.
The resulting explosion wasn't just big—it was nuclear. As in, 'this-was-definitely-illegal-even-in-Siberia' nuclear. At least his instincts thought so.
And yet…
As the smoke cleared, not a single body was in pieces. Hela stood tall, as smug as ever. That red demon guy—Mephisto, apparently—had somehow thrown up a barrier like it was a damn umbrella, shielding them from the impact of the attack and the explosion.
"This is unscientific," Tony whispered, for the third time in a week. His sense of reality had officially given up and filed for retirement in the Bahamas.
Pepper, numb and glassy-eyed, just nodded. She didn't know when she'd put her arm around him. She was operating on primal instinct now. Comfort the genius. Pray the goth goddess doesn't pay her a visit.
And they weren't alone. Across the globe, millions were watching. Most didn't want to believe it. Denial's a hell of a drug. Since earlier, many were convincing themselves: "It's a scam," some said. "Just mutants with fancy tricks," others muttered. Because admitting that someone could wipe out your existence with a thought was a little too sobering for a Thursday afternoon.
...
Back inside Hela's 'arena,' the fight had escalated into an R-rated fireworks display. Demons were exploding. Limbs were flying. At one point, a three-headed beast did a cartwheel. It was glorious.
Only one problem: no one could see a damn thing.
Tony squinted at the feed. "Is she... is she using motion blur?" he asked incredulously, while knowing they were probably surpassing the speed of sound casually.
Hela could've easily projected a slowed-down, movie-style version for the masses. Y'know, give them that anime experience where the fight is light-speed level but shown in slow motion. But did she?
Of course not. She wasn't a babysitter.
Let them squint.
She was too busy feeling alive.
Every punch, every exchange of force—it was ecstasy. A full-body massage made of violence.
Her body grew stronger with every hit, her resistance evolving mid-fight. Her rage found its rhythm, her fists their poetry. For the first time since coming into this world, she had worthy punching bags that wouldn't turn into paste after one hit.
Oh, the sound—the delightful sound—when bone cracked and demons screeched? Music. Absolute music.
In that moment, Hela was more than the Goddess of Death.
She was the headliner of the apocalypse.
And the crowd? Whether they knew it or not, they were already screaming for an encore. After all, humanity may act civilized, but their gene for violence is older than their entire civilization.
During the fight, Hela wasn't even trying seriously. She was straight-up experimenting mid-battle—combining Ethernano with Helforce, seeing how her body reacted and adapted.
At one point, she even mixed in some of the Space Stone's energy with her own. It was wild. To her, this was just playtime. A warm-up.
Sidelines, in the audience seats, the Ancient One watched everything like a hawk. Calm, composed, but taking in every detail. She was one of the only people present who could actually follow what was happening in real time.
And honestly? She had to admit—Hela had completely blown past her expectations.
If they ever ended up fighting, there was a real chance Hela might win.
But that wasn't even the most interesting part. What really caught her attention was that strange, new kind of energy Hela was using. It wasn't Helforce, and it definitely wasn't just from the Space Stone either.
The Ancient One had never seen anything like it. It didn't have a clear signature or attribute like other known forces—Darkforce with its shadowy chaos, or Helforce with that pure destruction vibe.
Nope. This stuff felt different.
It was like it had every attribute. Life and death, light and darkness, fire, thunder—even stuff she couldn't fully identify. It could be shaped into anything, molded into any form—it was completely broken in terms of logic.
That alone shattered a lot of what she thought she knew.
And for someone like her, who had studied the multiverse for decades, that was saying something.
For the first time in a long, long while, she felt an honest impulse—just a raw urge to pause everything, walk down to the battlefield, and straight-up ask Hela what the hell that energy was. Of course, she had no idea if Hela would actually tell her anything... but still.
Luckily (or unluckily), the fight seemed to be winding down anyway. Hela was getting bored.
On the battlefield, most of the so-called Hell-Lords were either dead or playing dead. Only Mephisto was still standing, and he looked like a messy cat pretending it had nothing to do with the fire that destroyed the house.
Blackheart was still alive, but barely. Hela definitely hadn't left him alive on purpose—to mess with him later and to keep him as a punching bag for future stress relief and to try out many creative ideas in her head. A few others were spared too—probably because she thought they might be useful cannon fodder.
Then she looked around at the survivors, her face full of that confidence. Calm. Sharp. Cool as hell.
She gave them all a look and said casually, like she was talking down to children, "And just what made you think we were on the same level? Just because we all have the title 'Hell-Lord'?"
She flicked her fingers, like brushing dirt off her shoulder.
"From today onward—there's only one ruler of Hel."
She smirked.
"Me."
.....
Sorry for the lateness, I just wasn't feeling writing the fight but forced myself for you while making sure it is at least 20% realistic after all, I don't want a fight that would extend to 5 chapters nor making it short but yeah, I just don't like writing fighting scene when characters have so many abilities, but I seem no bad at it (well going around), what do you think and don't forget to vote.