(Ophelia's POV)
I always hated birthdays, especially mine.
April 3rd, 1974, that was the day the universe decided to drop me into this lovely pile of garbage we call Earth.
I was born in some unnamed hole-in-the-wall country buried deep in Eastern Europe, the kind of place where dictators grow like weeds and orphans like me get fed to the wolves.
No parents, no photos, no toys, just smoke, blood, and the scent of rebellion in the air. I don't even remember the people who were present in my life during that period of time.
All I remember is growing up in an orphanage that smelled like cabbage and despair. The other kids called me 'Scarface' before I even had a scar, which, rude.
But hey, kids are jerks.
Then came the fire in 1981. I was seven, rocking pigtails and a questionable fashion sense (plaid skirts were a choice).
I'm sneaking into the kitchen to steal stale bread, orphan life hack: dip it in water, boom, 'bread soup' when BAM.
Smoke, screaming, and chaos.
I tripped over a nun (yes, a nun, this place was 'grimy') and a burning beam fell on me. The right side of my face melted.
Enter Hydra, rolled up in black SUVs like they were angels in sleek leather and sharp suits. They took one look at my half-melted face and said, 'We can fix that'.
And they did, later, though I don't doubt they may have been the cause of that fire.
They had a lab full of shady serums that fixed my face. Sort of. Now, I'm beautiful.
Then came the real fun: training.
Imagine a school where the curriculum includes poisons, espionage, martial arts, and psychological warfare. Also, your classmates might try to kill you in your sleep.
No recess, no hugs, and of course no 'good job, teacher.' Just pain and the cold mechanical voices of instructors who genuinely enjoyed watching children cry.
They called us 'the Seeds.' Dozens of us, all under ten, each one trained to be the perfect Hydra weapon.
We learned everything—disguise, seduction, interrogation, tactics, every way to kill a person using a pen or a high heel.
And when we turned fifteen?
We learned:
Poison Brewing 101: 'Add arsenic until it tastes like regret!'
Espionage for Toddlers: 'Lie to your friends! Then stab them!'
Advanced Sass: Mandatory class. I aced it.
My classmates were… unique. There was Boris, who could pick locks with his toes (don't ask), and Annie, who once ate a live spider to prove a point.
Our dorm was a concrete box with bunk beds and a poster that said Hail Hydra!
The best part was the cafeteria. The food was so bad, we used it as bait during explosives training.
But I thrived. By 17, I could:
Disarm a nuke (probably).
Forge a president's signature (definitely).
Win a staring contest with a literal statue (Hydra tested this).
They called me 'Viper' because I was 'sneaky and venomous.' I called myself 'Viper' because it sounded more intimidating than 'Ophelia'.
My teen years were basically puberty but with more assassinations.
At the same 17, Hydra sent me on my first solo mission: infiltrate a Swiss boarding school and steal a briefcase full of 'important stuff.' Turns out to be a test, the 'stuff' was a billionaire's collection of Captain America figurines.
Hydra's a weird client to be killed by, probably.
By 19, I'd climbed Hydra's ranks faster than a squirrel on espresso.
They gave me a fancy title (Madame Hydra), a fancy coat (leather, obviously), and a fancy mission (steal a nuclear submarine).
I did it, and then I painted 'Viper Was Here' on the periscope. Hydra was pissed, but it was worth it.
Madame Hydra, if you're nasty.
Now at twenty, I'm one of Hydra's top operatives. I don't just carry out missions, I run them. Assassinations, global manipulations, economic sabotage, you name it, I've probably signed off on it.
Some say I'm ruthless while others say I'm ambitious. I say, why not both?
But you know what? Even that got boring.
Which brings us to now. 1994. I'm almost 21, baby! Old enough to rent a car, young enough to make terrible life choices.
So when I found the book, it felt like fate.
Power is addictive, like chocolate or stabbing people who interrupt you mid-sentence. And I wanted more.
I didn't want to be one of Hydra's core members anymore. I wanted Hydra. I wanted the world. I wanted to have the power that probably no humans or those freak mutants would dare to contradict me.
Anyway, the book that I was speaking of is pretty unique. I found it in Hydra's vault labeled 'DOOM'. The cover had a snake eating its own tail, which is either deep symbolism or bad art.
Everyone else who touched it screamed. One guy clawed his eyes out and another just straight up combusted. I picked it up like it was a purse I found on sale.
Not even a tingle. Guess Hydra ace training has its perks or I'm destiny?
Back in my private lair, yes, I have one, it's got a fireplace, leopard-print pillows, and six different wine cellars, I started flipping through the book.
The language was some unholy cocktail of Latin, ancient Greek, and madness, but I understood it.
The book was about contracts. You could trade anything: your essence, your memories, your name, and in return, you could get power, eternal youth, knowledge that melts mortal brains...
There were many beings that one could contact, as there was even a list of recommended ones, but one of them attracted my attention the most: Chthon.
It was because his name sounds to me like Satan. The book said he was one of the original beings, older than gods, older than time.
You couldn't summon him by phone call, you needed a ritual. One that involved a full moon, blood from someone you loved (whoops), and a lot of symbols that probably violated every religious rule ever written.
Naturally, I said, "Let's do this."
Tonight, the moon was perfect. My lair was dimmed to just the right dramatic hue. Candles everywhere, glowing red. A pentagram that took me three hours to draw—look, precision matters, okay?
I wore my favorite green outfit. Skin-tight, because if I was going to meet a godlike entity, I wasn't doing it in pajamas.
Confidence is key. Also, heels. Always heels.
I stood in the center of the circle, blood dripping from the dagger in my hand. No, I didn't kill someone I loved, I don't love anyone more than myself, but hey, Hydra clones are very convincing. And um, close enough.
The book was open in front of me. My voice echoed in the silence as I spoke the words.
"I call upon the elder, the sleeping god, the forgotten master of the dark. I offer my soul. I offer my will. I offer everything—"
I took a deep breath.
"I invoke—"
"Oh darling, if I were you, I wouldn't want to do it."
I was shocked when a voice appeared whispering in my ears which interrupted the ritual. I just needed to speak the name of the god I wanted to sign the contract with and everything would be over, but alas.
°°°
(Hela's POV)
"Oh darling, if I were you, I wouldn't want to do it."
When I said that, I swear I felt the girl's soul almost leave her body. Like it did a full 180, said 'nope,' and tried to climb into the astral plane.
I'd say it was hilarious if I wasn't the one causing it.
Anyway, joke aside, I actually managed to reach Earth.
Finally.
After floating goddess-knows how many light-years of distance and the many dimensional drifts, here I am, standing—or rather floating—on this tiny blue planet that's supposed to be the center of all the trouble in the universe.
Earth, it smells different (can't sense in Astral Body), feels different (doesn't have physical feeling in Astral Body).
It was like something's always brewing.
Wars, secrets, gods hiding in shadows, superheroes with drama issues, and of course, humans doing stupid shit every five minutes.
Gotta love it.
Right now, I'm in New York. City of noise, filth, and weirdness, but also kinda cool in a chaotic sort of way.
I saw the date in a newspaper, 1994. Honestly, I expected something more… ancient, not as advanced as it looked. I was picturing horses and swords still, but apparently, they've moved on to cable TV, fast food, and something called 'Friends.'
Whatever that is.
From the original Hela's memories, the last time she set foot on Midgard was, what, 2500 years ago?
She came with Daddy Dearest Odin and a bunch of Asgardian muscleheads to conquer the place. Back then, she thought Midgard would be a quick job.
Easy invasion, burn some temples, slaughter a few tribal kings, get worshipped.
Standard Asgardian afternoon.
But nooo. Odin pulled a fast one.
Instead of doing what they'd always done—slash and conquer—he went all political. Signed a treaty or something, called it a 'submission of Earth,' and claimed it as his territory without lifting a sword.
Hela was not happy about that. She wanted blood, fire, screams. You know, the usual war goddess stuff.
And honestly, after digging through her memories, I kinda get it now. Not the whole 'murder everyone' part, but the confusion.
I mean, Odin always taught her war was the way. Then suddenly he does a 180 and acts like a diplomat? Talk about sending mixed signals.
But then again, Earth back then wasn't your typical dirtball planet. It was indeed stacked. The Eternals had just arrived, Egyptian gods were still showing off with pyramids and curses.
Atlantis wasn't underwater yet and was still flashing its tech around like it owned the place. Mutants were already popping up, some real freaks, like Apocalypse, who made Thanos look like a toddler with a glow stick in some continuity.
And don't even get started on the supernatural side. You could take a walk in the forest and casually run into Chthon or Mephisto or some old pantheon dude like Zeus or freaking Amaterasu just chilling in a hot spring somewhere.
So yeah, Odin wasn't stupid. He knew going full war mode on Earth was asking for a divine slap across the face. He probably saw the mess and thought, 'Y'know what? Let's not.'
Hela, of course, didn't see it that way. All she saw was betrayal. All those years of training, of war, of father-daughter genocide bonding… tossed aside for some ink on a scroll.
She had issues, big ones. But can you blame her? Odin raised her like a weapon, then tried to toss her aside the second she followed orders too well.
Anyway, back to the present—or 1994 to be exact. I've been drifting around Earth for about ten minutes now.
I've mostly been observing. TV, radio, newspapers, the occasional random psychic who accidentally tuned into my frequency and thought I was his dead mother. Really, New York.
It's been fun.
So, how did I meet Ms. Viper? Good question. I was chilling, happy to be on Earth again, floating over some buildings when I saw something on TV that caught my eye.
World Cup, quarterfinals, Netherlands vs Brazil, in California.
Oh hell yes.
Do you know how long it's been since I saw a good game? From Hela's memories, Asgard doesn't do football. They do 'bash-your-head-in-ball.' Very different vibe.
So obviously, I had to go.
I mean, I'm literally a few seconds away at most thanks to my lovely astral body. I figured I'd grab the best seat in the stadium. Sidelines or floating above the goalkeeper, mine to choose.
But just as I was preparing to teleport over, I felt something. A disturbance, like someone a few kilometers away was trying to poke a hole into another dimension. Sloppy work, too.
Like a toddler trying to break into a liquor cabinet.
So naturally, I got curious. I followed the source, and surprise surprise, it's Viper. Madame freaking Hydra trying to summon an eldritch god.
With a circle drawn in what I hope is pig's blood and a dagger that looks like it came from a discount demon-hunting kit.
She was mid-ritual, knife raised, blood about to spill, mumbling some half-baked incantation that sounded like she Googled it off the back of a cereal box.
And that's when I dropped in.
She froze when I spoke. Like a deer caught in a magical semi-truck. Her eyes snapped to mine, dagger pausing mid-air. The glow around her circle was shaky, off-brand demonic energy at best. Definitely not the premium stuff.
Then she did the most adorable and American thing: she pulled a gun.
Like I hadn't seen that before. I couldn't help but shudder from the inside thinking about my death.
"Who the hell are you?" she spat, gun aimed dead center. Her voice had that perfect mix of anger, confusion, and mild constipation.
I almost laughed. "Oh little girl, if I were you, I wouldn't dare point that thing at a god. Weren't you just trying to summon one?"
And only then did she actually see me, like really saw me. Floating, glowing slightly, and radiating pure divine power.
To her credit, she didn't drop the gun. Hydra agents, man. Gotta respect the training.
But her aura was shaking. She was barely keeping her soul from jumping ship.
"You can call me Hela," I added, floating a bit closer just to mess with her head. "Though I'm sure you've heard of me, or maybe not. You mortals forget fast."
I paused, watching her eyes dart around the room like she was trying to figure out how the hell I even got in here.
Before signing the deal with an eldritch god, she'd opened her perception during the ceremony, allowing her to see and speak with high-level gods, let alone an Astral Body.
Poor girl probably expected a writhing tentacle beast or a flaming eyeball or some cliché demon with horns. Not a snarky, floating goddess in green.
"What?" I teased. "You're ready to sell your soul but can't handle a face-to-face with a real deity?"
She scowled. "I wasn't expecting—"
"Exactly," I cut in. "You never are. That's why you people always end up dead, insane, or both."
She lowered the gun, just a little, though I don't completely understand the reason she did so. "Why are you here?"
"Oh, I was on my way to watch the World Cup," I said casually, inspecting her ritual circle like it was a kindergarten drawing. "But then I felt this little tantrum of yours and got curious. Honestly, I really don't understand what gave you the courage to want to contact someone who can erase your soul without consequences."
Viper bristled at that. "I'm prepared. You don't even know—"
"Sweetheart," I interrupted, smiling just a bit, "In front of a god, you should never talk about knowledge because it's easy for us to know what you would have for breakfast tomorrow. And coincidentally, I'm a goddess, the strongest goddess you'll ever see."
(END OF THE CHAPTER)