The moment Hela took the Scarlet King's hand, something ancient stirred.
From the roots of Yggdrasil to the black void beyond the stars, the multiverse trembled. It wasn't merely that Hel had changed—it was that death itself had shifted, reordered, made sovereign once more by a force older than the pantheons that tried to claim dominion over it.
Doctor Strange awoke from a trance with sweat beading on his brow, his fingers twitching. "Something has moved," he whispered to Clea. "Not just magic... death."
Clea's eyes narrowed. "That realm is no longer hers alone, is it?"
Strange shook his head slowly. "No. The Scarlet King has claimed what even Mephisto fears."
---
In Wakanda, Shuri stared at vibranium screens depicting energy patterns from Antarctica. "These frequencies," she muttered. "They mimic the death-field... but controlled. Personalized."
"Not natural," Okoye said beside her. "Not even alien. It feels... ancient."
Shuri nodded. "Or worse—foundational."
---
Mephisto, from the deepest pit of his infernal dominion, slammed his fist into his obsidian throne. Flames recoiled, devils scurried.
"She was contained," he hissed. "Hel was locked in. I had my grasp on the borders."
A red mist swirled beside him. "Not anymore," came Dormammu's voice, amused. "The Scarlet King reshapes the underworld. Even you don't own death anymore."
Mephisto bared his teeth. "Then we'll see who truly rules the damned."
---
But none of them understood.
Not yet.
Not until she began to move.
---
In the space between realities—where color dies and silence is born—Death stirred.
Not the grim, skeletal parody spoken of by mortals. No, this was Death eternal. Cloaked in nothingness, her face pale as moonlight, her eyes voids of absolute stillness.
She stood at the edge of her realm, where souls flowed like rivers into her embrace. And she watched the shifting storm over Antarctica.
"He rises again," she said softly. Not with fear. Not with wonder.
With longing.
In her hand appeared a single black rose, thorned and bleeding.
She let it fall.
And then she walked.
---
In Hel, the winds died.
The Scarlet King stood beside his court—Wanda, chaos incarnate; Jean, fire born anew; and Hela, sovereign of the forgotten dead.
Their power pulsed together, stabilizing the transformed realm. No longer a place of decay, Hel began to shift into something else—a kingdom not of punishment, but of finality. Of order within oblivion.
Then came the stillness.
Wanda looked up. "Something's wrong."
Jean frowned. "No. Not wrong. Just... different."
Hela's face turned ashen. "She comes."
And then she was there.
The mists parted without sound. The air thickened as though holding its breath. The souls ceased their endless drifting. The realm paused.
Death stepped into the chamber.
Her bare feet touched bone and it turned to polished obsidian. Her cloak flowed behind her like a living eclipse. Her presence was not heavy, but final.
The Scarlet King's eyes softened for the first time in eons.
"You came," he said.
She tilted her head. "Of course. I always do."
Wanda stepped back instinctively. Jean watched, her hands crackling with cautious flame. Hela's expression was unreadable.
Death looked at the women, and then at the King.
"You move toward balance," she said. "Not destruction."
"I've never sought ruin. Only completion."
"And your court?"
"Each represents what I am not. So I may be whole."
She walked to him. Every step echoed not just in Hel, but across the multiverse. In her wake, universes slowed for a heartbeat.
When she stood before him, she reached out a hand—not to take, but to connect.
He accepted it.
Their touch did not cause an explosion of energy. It caused stillness.
Everywhere.
---
On Earth, Strange fell to his knees.
"They've united," he gasped.
In Latveria, Doom ceased all experiments, the sigil of the Scarlet King glowing briefly over his hand—an unspoken confirmation of his role.
Emma Frost dropped her wine glass in the Hellfire Club, her diamond form flickering as the same symbol flared behind her eyes. Both felt the call. Both accepted.
The Eternals halted their eternal debates. The Celestials marked the moment with silent nods in the void.
Galactus stirred.
And the Living Tribunal blinked.
---
Hela watched the two silently.
"You've returned to him," she said.
Death turned her gaze to the Queen of Hel. "I never left. Only waited."
"Will you serve him?"
"No. I walk beside him."
Wanda finally spoke. "You're not afraid of what he's becoming?"
Death looked at her. "He's becoming what he was meant to be."
The Scarlet King turned to his gathered court.
"The time has come. We no longer lurk in shadows. Let the realms see. Let them know. Death walks with me. Chaos. Flame. Hel herself. We do not come to destroy. We come to restore."
Jean nodded. Wanda raised her chin. Hela gave a cold, amused smirk. Death said nothing, but stood by his side.
Above, the skies of Hel darkened once more, then bled red.
And across the multiverse, gods and monsters alike understood:
This was not a new war.
It was a new reign.
The Court of the Scarlet King was no longer forming.
It had arrived.