The sky above Helheim was a choking dense fog of charcoal smoke and sulfur, lit up from beneath by the sickly, rhythmic pulse of subterranean fires. Lightning, green and jagged as broken glass, tore through the haze, casting long, dancing shadows across the jagged peaks of mountains that stretched into an infinite, ominous horizon. Heat, heavy and thick as the heart of a volcano, pressed against the skin, carrying the stench of scorched iron and ancient sorrows.
( I'm using both Helheim and hell itself to write what i believe the realm would like)
KRAKOOM!
Thunder flashed and there Thor stood at the edge of a jagged ridge, his cape snapping violently in a wind that tasted of ash. Beside him, Loki's golden horns caught the emerald glare of the lightning, his green garments fluttering like the wings of a predatory moth. Below them, the realm of the dead lay unveiled in all its terrifying, chaotic glory.
"How many times have I prayed to the All-Father that I should never look upon this realm?" Thor's voice was a low rumble, barely audible over the distant roar of lava rivers carving paths through the blackened earth.
Before them, the architecture of the damned defied the laws of gravity. Bridges of raw, unhewn stone climbed high into the smoke like the infinite steps of a broken staircase. They crossed and recrossed one another in a tangled web of sorrow, and along them, hundreds of thousands of souls—pale, flickering wisps of regret—shuffled in a silent, eternal procession toward the peak.
And at that peak, rising like a jagged tooth from the jaw of the world, sat the throne.
"Always I forget what a busy time the Odin-Sleep is for my daughter," Loki remarked, his voice dripping with a casual, cruel wit. He looked out over the shuffling masses of the dead, his eyes searching the pale faces. "Tell me, brother, dost thou see any newly arrived friends among the throng? Or perhaps a seat reserved for us?"
Thor turned, his eyes flashing with a spark of thunder. "Have a care, Loki, lest thou stay here to find out." He shoved his brother forward, a grunt of exertion escaping his lips as he took flight.
They soared through the ash-choked air, two streaks of gold and green cutting through the gloom toward the towering spires of the palace. The gates stood open—a maw of obsidian and silver that breathed a cold, dead air. They landed with a heavy thud on floors polished to a mirror-like shine, reflecting the flickering green torches that lined the hall.
Hela lay upon her throne.
She was a vision of regal terror, her form lounging with an almost predatory like grace. She was tall—toweringly so—making the princes of Asgard look like children in her presence. Her face was a mystery hidden behind the sharp, black tines of her crown, but her presence filled the room like a physical weight. Her hand rested atop the massive, scarred back of Fenrir. The great wolf lay beside her throne, his breathing a low, wet growl that vibrated through the silver floor.
"Hail, Hela, Goddess of the Dead," Thor announced, his boots clicking rhythmically as he marched toward the dais. "We seek an audience, Mistress of Hel."
As they ascended the steps, Fenrir's head snapped up. The wolf's eyes, yellow and full of ancient hunger, locked onto Thor. A low, vibrating snarl tore from his throat, his hackles rising like a forest of black needles.
Hela reached out, her long fingers patting the wolf's head with a mother's tenderness. "Quiet, my pet," she whispered. The wolf settled, though his eyes never left Thor's throat. Hela shifted her gaze to the brothers. "The sons of Odin risk much by entering my realm uninvited. What business brings the living to the porch of the dead?"
"Asgard is under a siege of madness, Hela," Thor said, his voice grave. "A new Ragnarok is upon us. The Nine Realms are in peril—including thy own. If Asgard falls to the chaos we have unleashed, Helheim shall follow."
Hela let out a soft, cold laugh. "Ragnarok is a story for the living to fear, Thor. Here, it is merely a change in the weather."
"We need the mortal," Thor pressed. "We need Bruce Banner."
At that, Hela stood. She rose and rose, her height dwarfing them as she stepped down from the dais. "The mortal's soul belongs to me, Asgardian. His life was forfeit this very day, and it may well be again. Why should I surrender a prize that the Norns have seen fit to hand me?"
Thor stared at her, horrified. "Thou wouldst risk the collapse of the nine worlds for a single soul? For a mortal?"
"Just as thou wouldst risk thy life for one, Odin's son," she countered, her voice like a blade.
Loki stepped forward then, his hands clasped behind his back, a serpentine smile playing on his lips. "But thou dost not have a soul, daughter. Thou hast but half a soul." He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "Thou hast Bruce Banner, the man of books and sorrows. But the Hulk... the Beast... he is still out there, tearing the gold from thy father's halls. To complete thy prize, to truly own the man, thou must have the monster."
Hela went still. She sat back down upon her throne, the antlered crown tilting as she considered the logic. She gestured with a pale hand, and the air in front of the throne began to ripple.
Out of the grey mist, a soul materialized.
Bruce Banner appeared, falling to his knees. He looked small, fragile, and utterly broken in the vastness of the hall. He was weeping, his hands clutching at the air as if trying to grab a memory.
"Betty?" he screamed, his voice cracking with a desperate, hollow hope. "Betty, where are you? Billy... Billy... Son where are you !..."
( He was under the dream of hel, living the life he wished he had with Betty where they had a son named Billy)
"Bruce Banner," Hela announced, her voice booming from the shadows of her crown. "The world of the living is in need of thee."
Bruce scrambled to his feet, spinning around in terror. He saw the towering Goddess, the skeletal guards, and the massive, snarling wolf. "Who are you?" he shrieked, backing away. "What do you want from me? Where is my family?"
"Not I," Hela said, pointing a finger toward the bottom of the steps. "He."
Bruce turned and saw Thor. He blinked, the recognition slowly filtering through his grief. "Who...What... where am I?"
Thor stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Sir Banner, for the sake of Asgard and all the Nine Realms, thou must become the Hulk once more. We cannot stop the carnage without you to tame the beast."
Bruce's face twisted in agony. He shoved Thor's hand away, his breathing coming in ragged, panicked gasps. "No! No, I won't do it! I was finally at peace! I saw her! I saw Betty! We had a son! It was real! I was happy!"
He looked around the desolate, silver hall, and the reality of his situation began to sink in. The warmth he had felt, the love, the peace—it was a hallucination of the transition. A lie told by the grave.
"It was fake," Bruce whispered, his knees buckling as he collapsed back to the floor. "It was all a lie..." He threw his head back and let out a scream of pure, unadulterated loss. "NOOOOO!"
"Banner, please," Thor pleaded, kneeling beside him. "I know I ask much. I know the burden of the beast is a heavy one. But thou art a hero. Not just to the mortals of Midgard, but to all who draw breath."
Bruce wiped the tears from his eyes, his expression turning cold and hollow. He backed away from Thor, shaking his head. "I don't care about Asgard. I don't care about the Nine Realms. I finally had a moment where the screaming stopped. I won't go back to the anger. I can't. You don't know what you're asking."
Loki rolled his eyes, a sneer twisting his features. "Verily, your time in Hel hath not made thee any less of a worm, mortal."
Meanwhile, in Asgard:
The palace was a choir of screams and shattering stone.
"AAAAAAAH!!"
The Hulk was a mountain of green fury, his hands closing around Sif's waist. He let out a guttural roar and launched her across the plaza like a pebble. Sif hit a marble fountain, the structure exploding into a thousand pieces of shrapnel.
Before the Hulk could move, a black shadow descended from the rafters.
Logan, in his full Werewolf form, slammed into the Hulk's back. He buried his teeth into the thick, leathery muscle of the Hulk's neck, his hot claws raking across the giant's spine.
SNIKT, SNIKT!!!!!!
The adamantium claws carved deep, smoking furrows into the green flesh.
"GROAAAAAAH!!"
The Hulk thrashed, his massive hands reaching back to pull the wolf off, but Logan was too fast, his reflexes allowing him to twist and pivot like a shadow.
"GRAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!" the Hulk bellowed.
BOOM!!!!
A blast of emerald-green magic hit the Hulk square in the chest. Amora the Enchantress stood at the far end of the hall, her hands wreathed in swirling, toxic energy. The force of the blast sent the Hulk stumbling backward, his heels carving deep ruts into the stone floor.
Logan used the momentum to leap away, landing on all fours, his snout dripping with green blood. He let out a low, predatory growl, his yellow eyes tracking the Hulk's every twitch.
Back in Helheim:
"He will not yield, Thor," Loki muttered, watching Bruce Banner huddle on the floor.
Loki turned and walked behind the seated Hela. He leaned down, his voice a silken whisper that tickled the edges of her antlered crown. "Thou are a Queen, are you not? And a Queen's collection should never be incomplete. The Hulk's soul is rightfully thine, daughter. Take it. Bring the monster here, merge the two halves, and claim the ultimate prize. Imagine a beast of such power, serving the Queen of the Dead."
Hela remained silent for a long moment. Then, magic began to surge through her form. It wasn't the green magic of Loki or Amora; it was a cold, white light that seemed to eat the shadows of the room. Her eyes, hidden behind the crown, flashed with a brilliance that made Thor shield his gaze.
She reached out with her mind, peering beyond the veil of her realm, through the layers of the World Tree, to the burning halls of Asgard.
She saw the Hulk, a titan of green rage. But then, her gaze shifted.
She saw his foe.
She saw Logan's soul. It was unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her eons of rule. It was a soul soaked in a river of red—drowned in the blood of a thousand men, a thousand murders, and constant heartbreaks. It was a soul of pure, jagged trauma. And yet...
...above the red, she saw wings. They were purer than any she had ever seen—wings of a protector, of a man who would burn the world to save a single life. It was a paradox. A monster and a saint, two souls fused into a single, unbreakable whole.
Intrigue, cold and sharp, filled her.
"I care not for the Hulk," Hela whispered, her voice vibrating with a new, terrifying hunger. "But the other... the Wolverine. His soul is a prize of agony. I must have it."
She raised her hands, the silver floor of the hall beginning to liquefy into a swirling vortex of emerald and black.
"Bruce Banner!" Hela's voice boomed, shaking the mountains of Hel. "I shall not force thee to forsake the rewards of the afterlife... but thou must be whole!"
"NO!" Bruce screamed, reaching out for a Betty who wasn't there. "I won't! You don't understand!"
WHOOOOOSH.
The air in the hall imploded. Two massive shapes erupted from the vortex, hitting the silver floor with the force of a thunderclap.
The Hulk appeared first, landing in a crouch directly in front of Thor and Loki. He let out a confused, guttural huff, his radioactive eyes darting around the grey, freezing hall.
And beside Hela's throne, a second figure materialized.
Logan, still in his massive, black-furred Werewolf form, skidded across the silver floor. He shook his head, a spray of green blood hitting the dais. He growled, his claws sliding out with a sharp snikt as he scrambled to his feet.
"Where the hell..." Logan's voice was a deep, predatory rasp.
He turned, his yellow eyes scanning the room. He saw the grey smoke, the lava, and the infinite bridges of the dead. Then, he turned and looked up at the woman standing directly behind him.
He saw the towering height. He saw the black, antlered crown. He saw the cold, emerald eyes watching him with a look of terrifying possessiveness.
Logan froze. The animal inside him, the one that never knew fear, went silent.
"No way," Logan whispered, his human mind finally catching up to the nightmare. "It's freaking Hela."
Hela reached down, her pale fingers hovering just inches from his obsidian fur. "Welcome, little wolf," she whispered.