Marvel: NIHILITY

The night had settled deeper, and the air around the stronghold was thick with the faint sound of distant thunder. The fire crackled in the center of the courtyard, casting an orange glow that flickered across the stone walls. Wen Wu and David sat at a low stone table, the remnants of their drinks scattered before them. They exchanged stories, as they often did, but their eyes occasionally darted toward the figure sitting at the fire's edge—Hela.

The night was thick with tension, the distant rumble of thunder low and menacing. The stronghold's courtyard lay cloaked in an uneasy quiet, the crackling fire in the center its only source of warmth. Shadows danced along the weathered stone walls, their flickering forms mirroring the restless unease in the air.

David and Wen Wu sat at a low stone table, the remnants of their drinks scattered before them. Wen Wu's practiced patience gave him a calm air, while David's smirk betrayed his penchant for stirring the pot. Their conversation, though lively, often strayed toward the silent figure seated near the fire's edge—Hela, the Goddess of Death.

She sat rigid, arms crossed, her black cloak pooling around her as if the shadows themselves sought refuge in her presence. Her gaze was distant, her lips a tight line. The flicker of the flames caught the faint sheen in her dark eyes, but her expression remained unreadable. There was a heaviness to her silence, the kind born from burdens unspoken.

David leaned back in his chair, the edge of a grin playing on his lips. His fingers drummed idly against the side of his glass as he studied her. "You know," he said, his tone light, "we could try to lighten her mood. A drink, maybe? Break the ice?"

Wen Wu chuckled softly, swirling the last of his wine in his cup. "Hela? Drinking with us?" He raised an eyebrow. "She strikes me as the kind who'd sooner throw the glass at your head than share a toast."

David grinned. "Ah, but that's part of the fun, isn't it? Besides, I'm curious—does the Goddess of Death drink like a mortal or a god?"

Wen Wu smiled knowingly. "You enjoy tempting fate, David. Go ahead. I'll observe from a safe distance."

Rising with a flourish, David approached Hela, his steps casual yet deliberate. He leaned against a stone column near her, offering her a small, disarming smile.

"Hey, Hela," he began, his voice smooth but not without an edge of mischief. "Care for a drink? You look like you could use something stronger than your thoughts."

Hela didn't move at first, her gaze locked on the fire. When she finally turned to him, her eyes were sharp, cold as a blade's edge. "What makes you think I need anything from you?" Her voice was low, a hiss of disdain. "I don't need your pity, and I certainly don't need your shitty wine. I am Hela, the Goddess of Death, not some pathetic mortal to drown my sorrows."

David tilted his head, undeterred. "Who said anything about pity? Think of it as hospitality. You're here, after all. Might as well make the most of it."

Hela's glare intensified, and for a moment, David felt the weight of her power pressing down on him. But he didn't back away. Instead, he held her gaze, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

Wen Wu's voice carried from the table, calm and amused. "He's persistent, Hela. You might as well indulge him. One drink can't hurt, can it?"

Hela's jaw tightened as her gaze flicked to Wen Wu, her pride sparking like flint against steel. "You think I need your approval?" she snapped. "I am not some child to be placated."

David raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough. No one's forcing you. But the offer stands. I'll leave you alone—unless, of course, you're curious."

For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Then, with a sharp sigh, Hela rose to her feet, her dark cloak sweeping behind her. She stepped closer to David, her eyes never leaving his.

"Fine," she said, her voice clipped. "I'll take your drink. But don't think for a moment that this means anything."

David grinned, gesturing toward Wen Wu, who was already pouring another cup of wine. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Hela took the offered cup with a huff, downing it in one fluid motion. The firelight reflected in her eyes as she slammed the cup back onto the table, her gaze daring David to say something.

"Happy now?" she asked, her tone venomous.

"Very," David replied, unfazed.

The night had settled deeper, and the air around the stronghold was thick with the faint sound of distant thunder. The fire crackled in the center of the courtyard, casting an orange glow that flickered across the stone walls.

Wen Wu and David sat at a low stone table, the remnants of their drinks scattered before them. They exchanged stories, as they often did, but their eyes occasionally darted toward the figure sitting at the fire's edge—Hela.

She sat still, her eyes dark and brooding, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. Her posture screamed defiance, but there was an unmistakable weight to her silence, something unspoken that hung in the air like a storm cloud. David, ever the observer, smirked as he watched her.

Wen Wu seemed more patient, perhaps accustomed to dealing with people of power and pride, but even he had to admit that Hela was an enigma. Her strength, her fury—it was hard to ignore.

As the evening wore on, Hela's initial sharpness began to soften, her icy demeanor thawing with each drink. Though she maintained her stoic posture, her guarded expressions began to crack. David, ever the provocateur, found himself intrigued by the glimpses of vulnerability peeking through.

As the evening wore on, the air between them grew less tense. Hela took another drink, then another. Her initial resistance began to soften, though her pride was still sharp. David found himself amused by her struggle to maintain her stoic composure, while Wen Wu sat back, silently enjoying the unfolding drama.

After several more rounds, Hela's posture began to slacken. The hard edge in her eyes had dulled, her speech becoming slower, more slurred. Her words started to lose their venom, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

"I..." she slurred, her eyes glistening with an unfamiliar sheen. "I hate this place." She motioned vaguely at the walls and the moonlit sky above them.

"Earth... It's not my home. It's... it's nothing. My father... my father cast me here, like I was some tool to be used. Like I was nothing but a weapon of conquest." Her voice cracked slightly, and she gripped her cup tightly.

David, who had been watching her with mild amusement, suddenly felt a shift. There was something more to her words than he'd anticipated. This wasn't the cold, unfeeling goddess he had seen earlier. This was someone broken, lost—someone who had been betrayed.

He leaned in slightly, his expression softening as he reached out to gently place a hand on her shoulder. "Hela... I don't know what it's like to be in your shoes. But I get it. You've been through a lot, and it's not easy. But you're not alone anymore."

Hela's eyes flickered up at him, her gaze both sharp and vulnerable. "He used me, David. I was his weapon. His tool. When I was of use, he showered me with praise. When I wasn't, he cast me away, like a worthless thing."

David's smirk faded, replaced by a look of quiet understanding. "That's a heavy weight to carry," he said softly. "I can't imagine what that's like."

Hela's laugh was sharp, humorless. "You wouldn't understand. I was a weapon, David. A tool for conquest. When I outlived my usefulness, he threw me away, erased me from history." Her voice cracked slightly, her grip on the cup tightening.

David, unsure of how to respond, awkwardly patted her head. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or the genuine emotion behind her words, but something made him soften. "You know, I think Odin might've been a little bit of a jerk. But hey, it's not all bad, right? You've got us now."

David hesitated before reaching out, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "You're not just a weapon," he said. "And you're not disposable. Whatever he made you feel, that's on him—not you."

Hela's gaze snapped to his, her expression conflicted. She didn't push him away, though the thought of doing so flickered in her eyes.

For a moment, the fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something raw and unguarded. "Why are you being kind to me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

David smiled faintly. "Because I've been a lot of shit. Not exactly the same as yours, but close enough. And I know what it's like to need someone to remind you that you're more than your scars."

Hela stared at him, her defenses faltering, her expression unreadable, before she broke into a humorless laugh. It was a sound that held more sadness than mirth, but it was also the first sign of warmth she had shown.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. The sudden gesture caught David off guard, but he didn't pull away. 

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Before David could respond, Hela pulled back abruptly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She glanced toward the table, where Wen Wu sat watching with a bemused expression.

Without another word, Hela turned and strode away, her cloak billowing behind her. David watched her go, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Wen Wu chuckled, raising his cup in a mock toast. "Well done, Brother. I can't believe you've just melted the heart of the Goddess of Death. Should we be preparing a wedding soon?"

David sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not unless you want Odin to crash the wedding. She's got a long way to go. But… maybe this is a start."

The fire crackled softly, its embers glowing against the encroaching darkness. In the quiet of the night, there was a fragile sense of something shifting—a storm beginning to calm, if only for a moment.