Hela's POV
The moment I returned to Earth and stepped into the X-Mansion, I overheard a conversation between Jean and Wanda.
Now, mind you, although I was tempted to read Wanda's mind out of curiosity to know what they were talking about, I didn't do it—because I'm not some obsessive psychic stalker who needs to know what is happening in every one of my people's minds through mind reading.
Still, just from their little chat, it was clear their relationship had developed surprisingly well. Honestly, it was almost disturbing.
The future Chaos Witch and the future Phoenix Force host bonding over what—makeup tips? Trauma? Who knows. Either way, it was the kind of scene that, five years down the line, would give even cosmic entities like Galactus indigestion.
Wanda was just about to slip into her astral form when I decided to intervene. "Oh, Jean," I said with a grin, "I see you're enjoying some good time with my future general."
Wanda's eyes popped open immediately, while Jean looked at me like she was about to shriek with excitement… then apparently remembered how emotions work and settled for an awkward silence.
I'll admit, it was a little awkward on my end too. But thank the Norns for little Wanda—I turned to her instead. "How've you been adjusting the past few days?"
She looked everywhere but at me, all shy and sheepish despite her experience, which was strange. Maybe I'm still a bit too terrifying, even when filtered through Jean's body.
"I've been adjusting… and I didn't get a chance to thank you before. For saving us. Thank you very much," she said. Polite. Nervous. The formality of someone speaking to a tax auditor or a prison warden. I respect that.
Still, she looked almost endearing like that. Not in a creepy way, mind you. Don't get the wrong idea. It's just that something resembling my non-existent maternal instincts started twitching in protest.
She's a child, for Hel's sake. As much as I enjoy the chaos-wielding goddess version of her in the future, this one? Definitely not crush material. My standards may be dead, but they still exist.
I walked over and rubbed her hand. I remember this method seems to generally work in anime. "Don't worry, child. I may want you in my kingdom, but once you're there, I'm not going to throw you in a dungeon or make you do things you don't like. Just relax."
She nodded and dared to meet my eyes for a whole second before quickly looking away, as if afraid she'd burst into flames. It was kind of cute. I sighed and shook my head, wondering if I could tone down the "death goddess" energy. Probably not.
Meanwhile, off to the side, a certain redheaded telepathic ghost was glaring at our exchange with the unmistakable expression of someone who just realized they're not the favorite anymore. Oh, Jean. No one told you to make things awkward in the first place. That's on you.
Still, I guess one shouldn't live by double standards. If someone had lied to me the way I did to her, I'd probably delete their number from existence. So yeah… maybe it's on me to make some kind of effort here.
Since we were still in Jean's room, I turned to Wanda and said, "Can you go and inform Charles that I'm here?"
Classic parental deflection. You know the move—'Why don't you go get yourself some candy?' right before they start discussing divorce papers in hushed tones.
Of course, I was fully aware Charles probably sensed my presence the second I crossed into the mansion. I didn't exactly try to hide it, as I didn't need to.
Still, poor Wanda didn't suspect a thing. She just nodded and gave a simple, "Okay," before heading out like the obedient little chaos bomb she is.
And then, silence. Just me and Jean in the room. Tension thick enough to cut with a cursed blade. "Come on," I said, like someone trying to patch things up after a lover's spat over who forgot to feed the hellhound. "How long are you going to stay silent?"
It's a classic technique, really—act casual and wait for them to crack. Works better than truth serum sometimes.
"Oh," she snapped, her tone trying to show she was angry, "not only is everything I know about you apparently not the truth, but after our pact, you disappeared with my body for four days and left me floating here wondering if something happened to you."
I stared at her, internally asking myself if I'd somehow stumbled into a Marvel-themed soap opera, because it looked like one of those tearjerker dramas that I don't like.
"Jean, don't make simple things sound like the plot of a Shakespearean tragedy," I sighed. "I'm a goddess. I was locked in a dead, joyless kingdom for 2,500 years. Alone."
As for the lying-by-omission bit, well… "I just don't like talking about my past. It wasn't to mislead you—I've got a lot on my plate, and I figured you'd understand once you knew the full picture."
Unconsciously, I pulled from Hiruzen's memories and tried to guilt-trip her a little. Yes, I know, morally questionable. But sometimes, when you're dealt a crap hand, you bluff with a straight face and hope no one calls it.
Honestly, the worst part? Deep down, I knew this whole thing could've been resolved faster with one humble 'I'm sorry.' But then there's that voice in my head. You know the one—filled with divine entitlement and millennia of pent-up ego.
Why should I apologize? I'm a goddess. I've lived over 5,000 years. Daughter of Death. Chaos incarnate. And—more importantly—I'm always right.
I could see the storm of emotions flickering across her face as I finished speaking. Truth be told, she wasn't really angry—at least not genuinely. No, this was the theatrical kind of anger, the 'you lied to me but I still care enough to put on a show' variety. And honestly? Fair.
Even I couldn't fully explain why I'd complicated things so much. Maybe it was because, in the beginning, I saw her as a temporary distraction. A little entertainment to stave off the crushing loneliness of divine exile. I had my prejudices about her bouncing like a ball between men in the comics, sure. I didn't think she'd end up being someone important in my life. Joke's on me, huh?
After a beat, she sighed and finally spoke. "So what am I to you? And do you trust me now?"
Ah, the classic double-barreled emotional shotgun. Loaded with feelings and aimed directly at my immortal pride. The thing is, for someone like me—a transmigrator, a goddess, a being with more baggage than an airport carousel—trust isn't something you give out like Halloween candy.
"I consider you a friend," I said evenly, "and a future general in my kingdom. As for trust... well, you already know the answer, don't you?"
"Just understand that trusting you doesn't mean I have to empty out every dark corner of my mind and spill every secret I've hoarded. There are things I simply can't talk about. Not to you, not to anyone. I hope you get that."
That's just who I am. No one earns my trust—it's something I give, to those I deem worthy, and then I watch to see what they do with it.
Maybe that's cold. Maybe it's arrogant. But in my past life, too many smiling faces had knives hidden behind their backs. If Jean ever betrayed me one day, that wouldn't mean she changed—it'd mean I screwed up in choosing her.
The way I said all of this, though—there wasn't an ounce of irony, sarcasm, or manipulation in it. Just raw, unfiltered sincerity. A rare thing, coming from me. Normally, I coat my words in so much teasing, half-truths, and smoke you'd think I was performing stand-up comedy at a funeral.
But well, I can also be serious from time to time.
"But can you at least not lie to me?" she said, this time without the fake anger, just calm, sincere disappointment. "I'm not a kid who'll burst into tears just because someone has secrets. What I don't like is that you straight-up lied."
That one had weight. The kind of line that makes you feel like the villain in a coming-of-age movie about friendship and betrayal—except I'm a millennia-old death goddess and not some teenage girl with bad eyeliner.
I almost gave her a 'sisterly' hug, a proper 'there, there' sort of thing, but remembered she was in her Astral Body. Not great for physical comfort. I'd just pass through her like an awkward ghost trying to console another ghost.
"Hey," I said instead, with a half-smile. "I'm not someone who likes lying. Don't worry."
Then I paused, because it was time to drop a little bombshell. "Oh, by the way—you're going to be staying in your Astral Form for the next three days. My body's currently in Hel—literally—so I can't leave it. But I still need to walk around and wave at mortals and do some business, so… good luck."
I probably could've avoided this if I'd just taken my Rune Studies more seriously.
But nooo, I spent four years in a hyperbolic time chamber not brushing up on ancient magical jailbreak techniques but instead being Scientist Hela. It may also be due to procrastination: a universal constant, apparently.
Still, it's not urgent. I'll bust myself out once I've picked the people willing to move to my soon-to-be-less-depressing kingdom.
"Huh? No, come on! I'm going to go crazy if this keeps up," she exclaimed, her voice rising with the frustration of someone who's just found out they're grounded without even having a body.
And just like that, the last of the tension in the room dissolved like cheap candy in lava.
For the better.
"Haha, sweetheart," I chuckled. "You get to enjoy the world like I did when I was in Astral Form for weeks. You should consider yourself lucky."
"No, I don't agree with this," she grumbled—before her eyes gleamed with mischief and she smirked. "Unless… you tell me about your adventures. All the juicy stories I don't know yet."
Her eyes sparkled like a kid bribing her older sibling for bedtime tales, if bedtime tales were about wars, death, and interdimensional chaos.
Honestly, it was a coping mechanism. I knew the signs. From Hiruzen's memories and my own experience, I remembered—she'd seen people die recently. Probably her first time. And now she was clinging to distraction like a life raft in a sea of blood and repressed trauma.
She wasn't over it. Not even close.
And I need to help her adapt. Fast. It would be so painfully ironic if my chosen general couldn't stomach killing. That's like hiring a vampire who faints at the sight of blood.
"Alright," I said at last. "But just a heads-up—my stories are terrifying. I am the Goddess of Death, after all. And it's about time you learned just how dangerous this universe really is."