I fell in Marvel with Essence Gacha but I’ve never heard of Marvel

It began as an ordinary Monday.

Of course, that depended somewhat on where in the world one happened to be. In some countries the day had already progressed into the afternoon, while others were only beginning to wake, but for New York the morning had arrived as it always did. The city was already alive with the familiar chaos of millions of people moving through streets, stations, offices, restaurants, and stores, while enormous screens mounted across the sides of skyscrapers played advertisements to anyone willing to look up. Among the advertisements for clothing, food, automobiles, and financial services, the faces of Vought's greatest heroes appeared again and again, their polished smiles and carefully designed slogans woven into the ordinary rhythm of the city.

The Seven were practically impossible to escape.

Their faces covered billboards above Times Square, advertisements played across buses as they passed through crowded intersections, and smaller displays promoted everything from charitable campaigns to merchandise bearing the likenesses of America's most famous superheroes. For most people, it was simply part of life. Supes were celebrities, heroes were brands, and Vought had become exceptionally good at making sure the public never forgot either fact.

One particular story had been attracting more attention than usual over the past few days. With Lamplighter's retirement leaving an empty position among the Seven, Vought had begun teasing the selection of his replacement, carefully feeding the public just enough information to keep them interested while promising that America's newest greatest hero would soon be revealed. Morning news programs debated potential candidates, social media was filled with speculation, and people argued over which rising Supe deserved the coveted position as though they were discussing the next winner of some popular talent competition.

For ordinary people, it was simply another piece of celebrity news to discuss over breakfast.

For Vought, it was the beginning of another carefully orchestrated spectacle.

Nobody expected that by the end of the morning, almost nobody on Earth would care about the Seven's newest member.

Because today was going to change everything.

It began without warning.

Every person on Earth heard a voice.

It did not come from a television, a radio, a telephone, or any other device. It simply appeared inside their minds, clear enough that there could be no confusion about whether they had imagined it. Those who were sleeping abruptly opened their eyes, while people who had been sitting at breakfast suddenly froze with utensils halfway to their mouths. Even individuals who had spent years trapped in comas suddenly stirred, their eyes opening as the unfamiliar voice resonated within minds that had been silent for years.

It was heard in whatever language the listener understood, as though the speaker herself possessed no need to translate anything.

There was no static, no distortion, and no indication of distance.

The voice simply existed.

“I am Hela, Goddess of Death. I lay claim to this planet. Those who refuse to acknowledge my claim, those who refuse to kneel before their new Queen, shall be executed by my hand. If anyone wishes to challenge my claim, I welcome you to meet your death at Times Square.”

The announcement ended as abruptly as it had begun, leaving billions of people staring blankly at whatever happened to be in front of them.

For several seconds, much of the world simply stopped.

Then the reactions began.

Some people screamed. Others immediately reached for their phones, convinced that some kind of mass emergency broadcast had occurred. A few dropped to their knees without consciously deciding to do so, their bodies reacting to the overwhelming authority carried within Hela's words before their rational minds could catch up. Others remained standing, shaken but defiant, while those who had been around Supes long enough immediately wondered whether this was some unprecedented new power.

Nobody knew what had happened.

But everyone understood the threat.

Meanwhile, something impossible had appeared in the middle of Times Square.

Where only moments earlier there had been nothing unusual, an enormous throne now stood amid the city's towering buildings and flashing advertisements. Its dark-green surface appeared to have been constructed from blackened bones intertwined with emerald flames, the unnatural fire curling upward without producing either smoke or heat. Green light spilled across the pavement around it, giving the surrounding buildings an eerie appearance that clashed violently with the colorful advertisements still playing across their screens.

People nearby needed no further explanation.

Panic spread through the crowd almost immediately.

Pedestrians turned and ran, abandoning shopping bags, dropping phones, and shoving through one another as they desperately attempted to put as much distance between themselves and the throne as possible. Some screamed that a new Supe had appeared, others shouted about terrorists, while several simply ran without knowing what they were running from. For a brief moment, the sheer number of people attempting to escape threatened to turn the evacuation into a stampede, but emergency responders were already beginning to arrive and direct people away from the area.

Then the sky changed.

A woman descended from above.

She moved without hurry, descending through the air as though gravity were merely an optional suggestion. Her dark green and black attire shifted around her as she approached the throne, while the enormous black-green projections rising behind her head curved outward like the antlers of some ancient creature. Her pale features remained completely calm, and the luminous green of her eyes seemed almost brighter against the chaos unfolding below.

She didn't look frightened.

She didn't look excited.

She didn't even appear particularly interested in the people fleeing around her.

She simply landed before the throne and walked toward it with the confidence of someone returning to a place that had always belonged to her.

Hela sat down.

She crossed one leg over the other and rested her hands casually upon the armrests, her posture relaxed despite the army of cameras that were already beginning to point in her direction. Her luminous eyes slowly surveyed the surrounding city, moving across the towering buildings, the endless traffic, the distant skyscrapers and the thousands of people being evacuated from the area.

There was no hesitation in her expression.

As far as Hela was concerned, New York was already hers.

Within minutes, cameras appeared everywhere.

People who had fled the area stopped at safer distances and began recording with their phones. Others filmed through windows from surrounding buildings, while news helicopters cautiously approached from farther away. Police vehicles established barricades around the surrounding streets, and emergency personnel repeatedly ordered civilians to continue moving away from Times Square, but none of that stopped the footage from spreading.

The world had been given an impossible event, and humanity's first instinct was to watch.

Within minutes, Hela's image was being broadcast across television networks and uploaded to social media platforms around the world. People who had never heard of her before were now staring at the woman sitting calmly upon an impossible throne in the center of New York, while commentators struggled to describe what they were seeing without sounding ridiculous.

A woman claiming to be the Goddess of Death had appeared in Times Square.

And she had just declared the planet hers.

The local authorities eventually succeeded in completely clearing the immediate area, but by then it no longer mattered. The event had already escaped New York.

Phone calls began racing across the world.

Government leaders demanded information from their intelligence agencies. Military commanders requested everything that could possibly be known about the woman. Intelligence organizations began searching databases, satellite imagery, classified reports, and every known record of superhuman activity in an attempt to determine whether Hela had appeared somewhere before.

Scientists immediately began asking how she had transmitted her voice into the minds of billions of people simultaneously.

Religious scholars were dragged into emergency discussions.

Historians were called away from whatever they had been doing and asked a question that initially sounded almost absurd.

Who was Hela?

The answer seemed obvious.

Norse mythology.

Universities began pulling ancient texts from archives. Museums contacted specialists in Scandinavian history. Researchers searched through translations and surviving records, comparing descriptions of the mythical figure with the woman currently sitting in Times Square.

The old stories described Hela as a ruler of the realm of the dead, a daughter of Loki and a being associated with those who died outside the glory of battle. Yet none of the historical accounts offered anything remotely resembling a useful explanation for the woman currently sitting beneath the New York skyline.

Was she merely using the name?

Was she a Supe with an elaborate gimmick?

Was she some unknown supernatural entity?

Nobody knew.

Vought certainly didn't.

Within the company, analysts were already attempting to determine whether Hela could somehow be categorized as another superhuman. Their first instinct was to search for connections to Compound V, but there was nothing in their records that explained how someone could appear from nowhere, speak directly into the minds of billions, create an apparently impossible throne, and then calmly announce her intention to conquer the planet.

For once, even Vought had no carefully prepared marketing strategy.

The world had spent decades learning how to understand superheroes.

It understood powers.

It understood corporations.

It understood Supes.

It understood celebrity heroes and supervillains.

But it did not understand a goddess who had simply arrived and declared that the planet belonged to her.

And as far as humanity knew, Hela was supposed to be nothing more than a myth.

Yet myths weren't supposed to conquer New York.

While America was still trying to determine how to respond to the unprecedented declaration, Vought was facing a rather different problem. Their analysts had already begun tearing through every database they could access, trying to determine where the strange woman had come from, what kind of powers she possessed, and whether she was simply another previously unknown Supe. They had very little information to work with, but one thing was already obvious from the footage: she could fly, she could communicate telepathically with an entire planet, and she had somehow appeared in the middle of Times Square without warning. Nobody at Vought was particularly eager to discover what else she could do, but someone had to test her eventually.

The question was simply who would be sacrificed for the information.

“Send Shockwave,” one of the executives finally suggested after several minutes of discussion. “He's been trying to get the position of A-Train, hasn't he? Give him the opportunity. If he wins, we get the woman alive and can find out exactly what she is. If he loses, we get something almost as valuable: information about her capabilities.”

Nobody in the room objected.

Shockwave was expendable.

That didn't mean Vought expected him to win. They had already considered the possibility that the mysterious woman might be considerably stronger than an ordinary Supe, particularly after seeing her declaration and the supernatural circumstances surrounding her appearance. However, her physical body still appeared humanoid, and speed had always been one of the easiest ways to deal with physically powerful opponents. If Shockwave could build up enough momentum before striking, even someone tremendously strong would have difficulty surviving the impact, especially if they couldn't perceive him coming.

There was always the possibility that she could dodge.

There was also the possibility that she possessed some kind of enhanced perception.

But that was exactly why Shockwave was being sent.

If he succeeded, Vought gained a potential new asset and the information necessary to study her. If he failed, they would learn how fast she was, how durable she was, whether she could perceive a speedster, and perhaps several other things besides. Either outcome would give Vought something they could use.

The media operation was organized almost as quickly as the decision itself. Cameras were brought into position, broadcasting equipment was prepared, advertising slots were purchased, and news networks eagerly accepted the opportunity to transmit the encounter live. Millions of people were already watching Hela sitting upon her throne, and Vought had no intention of allowing someone else to control the narrative if one of their own Supes was about to confront her.

Shockwave received his instructions shortly afterward.

Vought had prepared practically everything for him.

What to say.

What not to say.

How to respond if she threatened him.

How to present himself for the cameras.

Even the timing of his attack had been discussed.

The script had been prepared in a hurry, but that didn't make it any less polished. Vought knew how to manufacture a superhero moment, and if this went according to plan, Shockwave would become the man brave enough to stand against the woman who had threatened the entire planet.

Shockwave himself knew better than to believe all of that.

Mishaka was afraid.

There was no point pretending otherwise.

Standing outside the police perimeter and looking toward the woman sitting calmly upon her throne, he could feel fear settling heavily in his stomach. He had never faced anything like her before, and the fact that she had just announced herself as the Goddess of Death certainly didn't help. Yet beneath the fear was something else, something that kept him moving forward despite every instinct telling him that approaching her might be the worst decision he had ever made.

This was his chance.

If he defeated her, even if Vought had only intended to use him as a test, there was no way they could deny him the position among the Seven afterward.

So he stepped through the barricade.

The cameras immediately focused on him.

Across the world, millions watched as Shockwave approached the throne, his expression carefully arranged into the confident smile Vought had instructed him to wear. A tiny microphone had been attached to his collar, ensuring that every word he spoke would be captured clearly for the broadcast, and somewhere behind the cameras Vought's producers were undoubtedly already preparing headlines for whatever happened next.

Shockwave stopped several dozen meters away from Hela.

She didn't move.

She didn't even look at him.

He swallowed and began reciting the words he had been given.

“You dare claim the Earth as yours? Let alone the Earth, while the Seven are standing, they wouldn't even let you claim this city. And even before them, every Supe is standing in your way, because we are—”

He raised his voice as instructed.

“—AMERICA!”

The final word echoed through the surrounding streets, amplified by the microphone and broadcast across the world.

Hela didn't respond.

She didn't turn her head.

She didn't even acknowledge that someone had spoken.

Her attention remained upon the city before her, as though Shockwave hadn't entered her field of awareness at all.

Behind the cameras, several Vought employees exchanged glances, but nobody panicked. This wasn't entirely unexpected. Their instructions had accounted for the possibility that she might refuse to engage verbally, and Shockwave had already been told exactly what to do in that situation.

If the woman didn't respond, attack.

Shockwave lowered his stance.

His muscles tightened as he prepared to run.

He had one advantage that almost every opponent struggled against: momentum. He didn't need to stand in front of someone and trade punches with them. He could run around them, build his speed until he was moving faster than their eyes could comfortably follow, and then strike from an angle they weren't expecting.

So he ran.

Not toward Hela.

Around her.

His footsteps rapidly became a blur as he circled the throne, accelerating with every lap. The world stretched into streaks of motion around him, distant sounds becoming distorted and the cameras struggling to keep him within their view. His breathing remained controlled as he pushed himself faster, building momentum until he reached the speed at which his attacks became genuinely dangerous even to other Supes.

Yet something bothered him.

Hela still hadn't moved.

Shockwave completed another circuit around the throne, watching her from the corner of his vision.

She hadn't turned her head.

She hadn't followed him with her eyes.

But he had the distinct and increasingly uncomfortable feeling that she knew exactly where he was.

His confidence faltered for only a fraction of a second before he forced himself to ignore it. He was already moving too quickly for an ordinary human to perceive, and if she truly could see him, there was only one way to find out.

He changed direction.

Rather than attacking from behind, where the throne itself complicated the angle, he swept around to Hela's side and accelerated into the final approach. His entire body became a weapon as he drove himself toward her, his fist pulled back and ready to strike directly into her face.

The high-speed cameras barely managed to capture him.

To the spectators watching from behind the barricades, there was almost nothing to see beyond a sudden blur.

Shockwave closed the distance.

Ten meters.

Five.

Two.

His fist was less than a foot from Hela's face.

Only then did she move.

Hela calmly turned her head.

Her luminous green eyes met his.

Shockwave's heart seemed to stop.

Before he could change direction, Hela's hand rose from the armrest with almost insulting casualness. Her gloved fingers closed around his fist just before it reached her face, stopping the entire force of his charge in an instant.

The sound that escaped Shockwave was not one of triumph.

It was a scream.

His momentum had gone from hundreds of meters per second to zero in the span of a single movement, and his arm simply couldn't withstand the transition. Bones cracked throughout his hand and forearm, the force tearing through his wrist and ripping into his elbow before traveling into his shoulder. He felt something give deep inside the joint as Hela's grip crushed his attack to a complete halt, leaving his entire arm hanging uselessly from her hand.

Across the world, viewers heard his scream through the broadcast.

For a moment, nobody at Vought said anything.

They had expected him to lose.

That wasn't the shocking part.

What they hadn't expected was for Hela to remain seated throughout the entire attack.

She hadn't dodged.

She hadn't stood.

She hadn't even needed to move her body.

She had simply turned her head at the last possible moment, reached out one hand, and stopped a speedster's full-speed punch as casually as someone catching a ball.

Shockwave barely had time to understand what had happened before Hela finally moved her arm.

She swung him away.

There was no dramatic effort behind it, no visible strain, and certainly no indication that she considered what she was doing particularly important. Shockwave was simply thrown aside as though Hela had decided that something irritating had gotten too close to her throne and needed to be removed.

His body shot across the empty street.

He struck the pavement, bounced once, then again, before tumbling violently through the intersection and disappearing behind one of the abandoned vehicles.

The cameras remained fixed on Hela.

She calmly returned her hand to the armrest.

Then she resumed looking over New York as though nothing had happened.

For several seconds, the only sound on the live broadcast was the distant noise of emergency vehicles and the stunned voices of commentators who seemed incapable of deciding what they were supposed to say.

Inside Vought's control room, nobody celebrated.

Nobody even spoke.

They had sent Shockwave expecting to learn how powerful Hela was.

Instead, they had learned something much simpler.

She hadn't even needed to stand up.