60 Hela

[7th server: Helheim]

Deep within the dark and rather dreary landscape sat an old and abandoned castle, towering battlements tarnished and towers diminished with rot and overgrown plant life—a perfect place for an overseer of death.

'But not a god; still not a god,' Hela thought to herself, exhaling her bitterness while getting dressed properly for the day. Glancing out the window while browsing through the holographic clothing menu the System had provided, she noted the grey fields of wheat, the black roads of soot, the heavy gray clouds that were burdened by rain.

'I expect it will rain again,' and just as she had supposed, droplets began to fall from the clouds, rushing down the intact glass windows and stone of the castle. She observed their movement, the rush and haste, the stops and the build up before the fall.

'How beautiful it is, to live and die. And what a shame it is that I can only watch from below...'

"You look lovely today as well, Hela~" a voice that was sugary sweet and nauseating to her ears greeted her contemplation, a frown coming to her face before she forced a smile across her features.

Turning around, there lay a languid woman on her bed, with caramel skin, grey eyes and red hair and if it were not for the blanket she laid beneath, she would have been exposed in her entirety. Freckles popped from her bare shoulders, her chest almost indecently exposed while she attempted to smile seductively.

'How irritating.'

"System, how kind of you to visit me."

The woman smile, pleased that the higher being that had caught her eye responded so favorably towards her. Blushing like a school girl, System morphed into a beautiful, yet androgynous man with white hair, sunset eyes, and pale skin.

"Your siblings are coming soon; Khonsu sent notice of their travel and bargain. A foreign god payed a lot of divinity to insure their arrival here—I do hope the meeting will go as we've discussed?" she giggled, the giddy expression and blush on her brother's face entirely foreign from the quiet, emotionless figure he was.

Repulsion pulsed through Hela at not just her brother's designated image being used in such a sickening and unnatural way, but at the quiet air of superiority around the real god as opposed to her, an overseer; disgust at herself, her lineage, her inner demons and the god before her almost ruined her smile and pleasant expression.

Almost.

But not enough.

"...Might I inquire reasoning behind your interference in my families personal affairs?" she inquired suavely, selecting an outfit from the menu before clicking it into existence. As she pulled on her undergarments and blouse first, the System replied with an unexpected question.

"Do you know where gods come from—what fundamentally makes them up, gives them power, and a timeless soul?"

Hela paused as she pulled up her skirt to her waist; fastened the clasps with steady yet quick hands; turned to face the System warily, her smile gone—much to the System's dismay.

However, the System continued to smile, rising from the bed and morphing into a pale, freckled, red-headed, green eyes boy, clothes forming around him as he continued very importantly, as if he was a superior that was about to bestow magnanimous and incredible knowledge upon an ignorant peasant.

"What makes up gods are their stories, the myths and mysticism that surround them—they are built from stories, forged from sentences and poems, limericks and folklore; a god that has no stories, no myths, no legends and epics and poetry, is a god with no purpose. A false god—an overseer over a concept, at most. The difference between you and other gods is the set up of your story, and the lack of incredible importance you possess—your younger brothers are far more important than you despite having few stories, due to their colossal significance in your mythology.

"You, Hela," he tilted her chin up to his beaming face, "do not have the stories worthy of godhood. But if you join me, and follow the play I have in store," he wrapped his arms around her tightly—ensnaring her, persuading her, shackling her—and leaned in close, "then you will be a queen, a god, no one can forget. Is that understood, my dark goddess?"

Save for the rain, a stuffy quiet muffled the world around she who lay trapped within this creature's embrace—too maniacal and too terrifying to be a god—and she contemplated her scarcely available options.

There was no need for a verbal answer; both knew what she, the fool, had chosen.

'...I'm sorry, darling...'