Chapter 1: Awakening in Darkness

Samantha had never considered herself a morning person, but this was different. She awoke not to the gentle chirping of birds outside her apartment window, but to an eerie silence that pressed in on her from all sides. She felt the cold, hard ground beneath her and the sharp tang of metal in the air. Groaning, she pushed herself up, her body protesting with unfamiliar aches and a strange heaviness.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she took in her surroundings. She was in a cavernous, ancient hall, its stone walls etched with runes that pulsed with a faint, ominous glow. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, and the only light came from flickering torches mounted on the walls.

"What the hell...?" Samantha muttered, her voice echoing eerily. She tried to remember how she had gotten here, but her mind was a foggy jumble. The last thing she recalled was falling asleep in her own bed after a long day at work. And now...

A glint of metal caught her eye, and she looked down to see herself clad in a sleek, black armor that clung to her form like a second skin. Her hands—she stared at them, flexing her fingers—were covered in dark gauntlets adorned with intricate designs. She caught sight of her reflection in a shard of broken glass nearby and gasped. Staring back at her was a face she knew from movies and comic books: Hela, the Goddess of Death.

Panic surged through her. This had to be a dream, some kind of twisted nightmare. She stumbled back, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. But the cold of the stone floor, the weight of the armor, and the bizarre sense of power coursing through her veins felt far too real.

"Okay, Sam, get a grip," she told herself, forcing herself to take deep breaths. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

But as she stood there, trying to calm herself, memories began to flood her mind—memories that were not her own. She saw visions of Asgard, of battles fought with terrifying ferocity, of a father—Odin—who had betrayed her, and of a prison of darkness where she had been sealed away for millennia. The flood of images was overwhelming, and she clutched her head, sinking to her knees as she tried to make sense of them.

She was Hela. She had been Hela for thousands of years. The realization was like a punch to the gut. But she was also Samantha, an ordinary girl from Earth. How was this possible?

Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, trying to focus on the here and now. She needed to understand what was happening. She needed to survive.

As she explored the hall, more memories surfaced, and with them, a sense of power she had never known. She could feel the ancient magic of the place responding to her presence. The stone walls seemed to hum with energy, and she realized with a start that she could command it. Tentatively, she reached out a hand, and the shadows around her seemed to coalesce, forming into a sleek, black blade that felt perfectly balanced in her grip.

A thrill of power surged through her. This was real. She was Hela, the Goddess of Death. And despite the fear and confusion, there was also a strange exhilaration. She had power beyond her wildest dreams, power that was hers to command.

But with that power came responsibility. She needed to understand Hela's world, her enemies, her allies. She needed to navigate this new reality if she had any hope of surviving.

For now, she had to focus on the present. There would be time to figure out the how and why later. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode toward the massive doors at the end of the hall. Whatever lay beyond, she would face it head-on. She was Hela, after all, and she was not afraid.

The doors creaked open with a low, ominous groan, revealing a landscape of stark, desolate beauty. The sky was a swirling mass of dark clouds, and the ground was littered with the remnants of ancient battles. But as she stepped into the open air, a fierce determination settled over her. This world was her new reality, and she would conquer it just as Hela had intended.

Samantha—or Hela—smiled grimly. Let the games begin.