Deep within Odin's vault, the most treasured relics had always been those seized in conquest across the Nine Realms.
Hela knew every one of them by heart. Among them rested the Tesseract the Space Stone.
Once, even Odin himself sought to master its power. He had learned of six singularities of unimaginable might: the Infinity Stones.
He even forged a gauntlet capable of wielding them all. But few truly understood their nature. To most, they were curiosities hidden inside vessels, powerful but never recognized for what they truly were. No one had ever succeeded in uniting all six.
Odin, for his part, knew of only two for certain the Space Stone and the Reality Stone. The Tesseract, duplicating the functions of the Bifrost, was of little use to him, so he locked it away.
Never did he imagine that a Midgardian sorcerer would not only claim it but wield it with perfect mastery.
Now, that very sorcerer Nolan used the Space Stone's rule-bending might to counter Hela's death-born magic. Her black tendrils of decay were swallowed into rifts and shunted across dimensions, unable to touch him.
Hela frowned. "Why do you only defend? No counterstrike?"
Nolan's voice was calm, deliberate. "Because I don't need to destroy you. I only need you contained."
He wasn't about to risk Hela's influence over Hel itself. Better to bind her here, away from her dominion at least long enough for Wanda to complete her mission.
Hel – The Realm of the Dead
Scarlet light ripped open the sky. Wanda Maximoff descended into the bleak wasteland, her presence like a flame in a frozen abyss. Death's chill pressed against her skin, trying to worm into her very soul, but she resisted.
She whispered to herself, repeating Nolan's teachings:
"You and Pietro are twins. Your souls are linked. Use that bond. Let it guide you."
Her hands glowed with chaotic scarlet power as she spoke an incantation of soul magic. Rings of energy rippled outward like waves in a black ocean, searching seeking.
Nolan's words echoed in her mind: "The world itself bends to your will, Wanda. You are its chosen. You can make the impossible real."
Eyes closed, she expanded her senses wider, wider still. Countless shades drifted through Hel warriors, kings, peasants, every soul that had not been chosen for Valhalla. Each bore the emptiness of death.
Her power swept further, her heart sinking. Had he already been reborn? If Pietro's soul had passed into the cycle, his memories would be gone. She could find his essence but would it still be him?
Just as despair tightened her chest, Wanda gasped. A spark familiar, beloved flared in the distance. Pietro. Her eyes flew open, brimming with tears.
She shot across the gray sky like a comet, racing toward that bond.
On the plains of Hel, a phantom figure sprinted faster than the wind. Pietro Maximoff's soul, still restless, darted over hills and rivers, fleeing pursuit.
Behind him, skeletal mages in black armor floated, staff in hand. Once sorcerers in life, they had been claimed by Hela in death. Now, they were enforcers of her will.
"Stop running!" one bellowed. "To be chosen for the Queen's legion is an honor. Resist, and your soul will be shattered beyond rebirth!"
Pietro didn't even look back. His incorporeal form blurred, faster, faster.
"Kill him!" the lead mage snarled. "We'll find another vessel if we must!"
But before their magic could strike, a new voice cut through the gloom—sharp and merciless:
"You dare threaten him?"
Scarlet light ignited the wasteland. Wanda descended, her chaos energy lashing into a blazing whip. With a single crack, the scarlet lash tore through the skeletal mages, shattering their bones and ripping their souls free in screams of agony.
They barely had time to realize they were undone.
Pietro skidded to a halt, wide-eyed. Wanda hovered before him, her aura blazing like a crimson star.
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