The air grew thick with death.
Helheim stretched before him like an endless abyss, the very ground whispering with the cries of the damned. Shadows twisted unnaturally, and the cold was something beyond physical—it was a spiritual decay, an eternal suffering that seeped into the very bones of those who entered.
And at the heart of this forsaken realm… she waited.
Hela.
The Goddess of Death sat upon her blackened throne, her emerald eyes glowing with cold amusement as the Monarch approached.
"You have nerve, shadow king," she mused, her voice like silk laced with venom. "To enter my realm uninvited."
The Monarch stepped forward, undeterred. "I do not need an invitation."
Hela rose, her form shifting like a living specter, blades forming in her hands. "Then you must be here to die."
She struck.
Blades sharper than any mortal metal cut through the air. The ground split apart under her onslaught, waves of dark energy crashing toward the Monarch like an unrelenting storm.
But he did not move.
He let the storm come.
And when the dust settled, he still stood.
Unscathed.
Hela's eyes narrowed. She had never met someone who simply endured her power like it was nothing.
"Impressive," she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of genuine interest. "But let us see if you can bleed."
She lunged again, her movements fluid, lethal.
The Monarch smirked.
"Show me what you have," he said with a teasing tone.
He let her strike. Each blow, each slash, came with the ferocity of a goddess, yet with every passing moment, he easily dodged and parried, his movements fluid and effortless. Hela's attacks were fast and strong, but they felt almost like child's play to him, as if she were testing him rather than fully unleashing her power.
"Faster." The Monarch's voice was light, playful.
Hela gritted her teeth, frustration mounting. "You mock me, but you cannot outrun me forever."
She spun, striking with a flurry of deadly blades. Each attack was faster, sharper, more precise. The air around them crackled with her power.
Yet, the Monarch did not break a sweat. His smile never faded. His every movement was a dance of control—he controlled the pace, not her. Every time she thought she had him cornered, he was already two steps ahead.
Finally, after one particularly brutal slash that would have cleaved any mortal in half, he simply stepped aside, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gesture so soft it almost seemed mocking.
"I thought you were supposed to be a goddess," he teased. "Is this all you have?"
Hela's eyes burned with fury. "You will regret this."
She summoned a massive wave of dark energy, a vortex so powerful it seemed capable of swallowing the very fabric of reality itself. The ground cracked beneath them, the skies above shuddering.
But the Monarch merely raised a hand. Shadows surged from the ground, coiling around him, thickening until the vortex hit them head-on and was absorbed into the abyss of his power.
The world seemed to still.
Hela gasped, the last vestiges of her strength evaporating. She stood before him, panting, sweat glistening on her brow. Her emerald eyes flashed with a mix of admiration and frustration.
"You think you can control me?" she hissed.
The Monarch tilted his head, stepping forward. He was mere inches from her now, his presence overwhelming, suffocating.
"I don't think you understand, Hela. I am not here to fight you. I am here to claim you."
Hela's eyes narrowed, fury burning in her chest.
"I do not need your submission," the Shadow Monarch said, his voice calm and unyielding. "I need your power."
With a cruel twist of his hand, the shadows began to surge through her, feeding on her essence. The feeling was agonizing, but she could do nothing to stop it. Her eyes, once filled with the fire of a god, now began to dim as the Shadow Monarch drew from her what made her powerful.
As the darkness consumed her, the once proud and defiant goddess crumbled to her knees, her defiance fading into an eerie, unnatural stillness.