The skeletal wraiths hissed at Wanda, their hollow eyes burning with deathly fire.
"Who dares strike us? We serve the Goddess of Death, Hela herself!"
But Pietro froze mid-step, staring in disbelief at the crimson figure hovering above. His voice trembled:
"...Wanda? My sister? Did you… Did you die too?"
Since arriving in Hel, Pietro had learned enough to understand where he was the afterlife, the land of souls. If Wanda were here, surely it meant she had perished as well.
"I'm not dead." Her eyes burned with determination. "I came to bring you back."
Scarlet energy flared around her as she turned to the spectral mages. "Why are you hunting my brother?"
"Foolish sorceress," one sneered. "This is Hela's domain. Defy her, and you will suffer her wrath. The Queen will return, and when she does—"
"She won't be returning anytime soon." Wanda cut him off coldly. The scarlet whip of Cyttorak cracked through the gloom, slicing the death-mist dragons apart and shattering the wraiths in an instant.
Pietro blinked. He had seen horrors in Hel, warriors and beasts falling in moments to these mages.
Even with his fleeting bursts of speed, survival had been a miracle. Yet Wanda had obliterated them effortlessly. His chest tightened with awe and gratitude.
She landed beside him, tears welling in her eyes. "I found you, Pietro. I promised I would."
He smiled faintly, voice soft. "You've been through hell for me… literally."
"Don't worry. We're going home." Wanda conjured a glowing scarlet portal. "Nolan is keeping Hela busy."
Pietro's brows furrowed. "Nolan? And he's… fighting the Goddess of Death?"
Even here, Hela's name carried terror.
"You'll see soon enough," Wanda said firmly, guiding him through the portal.
They emerged in a sterile chamber of glass and steel. Pietro's spectral form hovered uncertainly, glancing around. He had expected Stark's tech, Avengers gear but these faces were strangers.
Connors studied him with fascination.
"So this is the soul…" He gestured to a capsule nearby. Inside lay a perfectly crafted body, familiar yet new.
"Is that supposed to be me?" Pietro asked, uneasy.
"Yes," Wanda said gently. "Your original body was gone. Cremated. I thought I'd lost you forever… but Nolan found another way. This body was grown in the Cradle—it can hold you."
"Uh… so I've been dug up from my own grave?" Pietro muttered, half-horror, half-amused. "Guess that makes me a recycled brother."
"Don't joke," Wanda whispered. "Just… trust me."
He nodded, resolve in his eyes. "If it brings me back to you, I'll trust you."
His spirit merged into the vessel. Wanda began to chant.
The Darkhold unfolded before her, its pages rustling like a storm. Scarlet particles rained into Pietro's vessel, knitting soul and flesh together. Chaos magic surged, rewriting reality itself.
The lifeless construct bent, reshaped until it became Pietro Maximoff's body, as if death had never claimed it.
Nolan's teachings echoed in her mind: "You can't rewrite the past, but you can reshape the present."
Wanda's voice broke into a plea, her magic pouring out. "Rise again, my brother… come back to me."
The chamber is filled with light. Pietro's chest heaved lungs filled, heart thundered, senses ignited. His eyes opened, color returning to the world.
He gasped, staring at Wanda. "I… I'm back."
Joy surged in her chest until the smile froze on her lips.
Before her eyes, Pietro's body began to wither. Flesh aged, hair grayed, muscles collapsed. The resurrection was unraveling, his body decaying at unnatural speed.
"No—no, please! Not !" Wanda screamed, rushing to hold him as his new body crumbled against her arms.
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