Raising Hel, in Danmachi.

[Common]

Helena heaved an annoyed sigh, hefting the massive scythe over her shoulder with ease. Muscle memory, honed over countless eons, made the motion effortless.

"He fell funny," she murmured, surveying the field as she glanced at the corpse that was now without a head.

Millennia as Master of Death, centuries hopping worlds for Lady Death, and Helena had grown weary of the endless grind. The same motions. The same judgments. The same monotony.

A soft, chilling voice drifted through the void—the Entity known only as Death.

"You tire, Helena," it said, neither accusing nor consoling. Just… observing.

Helena's brow arched. "And you're stating the obvious," she replied dryly. "I've been doing this longer than some of your lesser minions have existed. I'd like a vacation."

"You could've retired 5 centuries ago, you know," Lady Death says as she appears behind Helena.

Helena didn't flinch at Lady Death's sudden presence. She merely tilted her head. "A vacation is just fine."

Lady Death's ethereal form shimmered, faintly amused. "I offered before, but you refused. Your pride—or stubbornness—kept you tied to the work."

"And yet, here we are," Helena replied, shifting the scythe on her shoulder. "Still standing, still cutting, still bored out of my mind. What's changed?"

"I have a new proposal," Lady Death said, voice soft yet carrying that weight only the immortal could summon. "A true retirement."

Helena's eyes narrowed. "Define 'true'."

"You will be reborn in a world not your own," Lady Death continued. "A place where gods walk openly among mortals, where life is vibrant and dangerous, where dungeons teem with monsters and heroes rise… and you will take on a new mantle. Not as my servant, but as one in your own right."

"This sounds like I am about to be thrown into another world-ending level prophecy again," Helena states.

"Oh, there is one but that is not your problem to solve my Helena. I feel that you could just use some rest for a few centuries, maybe a millennium or two, and I believe you would enjoy this place. You could let that inner Maruader out again, an not need to file the paperwork that you end up causing this time."

Helena blinked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in faint amusement. "You're offering me early retirement and a playground? Either you've gone soft, or you're trying to get rid of me."

Lady Death's lips curved into that inscrutable, knowing smile. "Perhaps both. You've done your duty, Helena. Far longer than any mortal should have endured. Even Death owes her Master a kindness."

Helena turned away, gaze sweeping across the silent field littered with bodies — remnants of whatever doomed conflict she had just overseen. "You know, when I agreed to your offer all those centuries ago, I didn't expect monotony to be what broke me."

"You broke nothing," Lady Death said. "You endured. And that is why you deserve this."

Helena adjusted the scythe on her shoulder. "And what, exactly, will I be this time? Some mortal again, fated to trip into another mess of gods and monsters?"

Lady Death chuckled, the sound like bells ringing in a graveyard. "No, my dear. You'll be divine. Hel, Goddess of Death."

"Eh, why not. Sounds fun." Helena states before even bothering to get more information.

===

Helena suddenly appeared before what could only be described as a titan in human form.

"Ah, welcome to Gekai… goddess?" the figure rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "I've seen you around before, but I don't believe we've spoken."

Helena blinked once, taking in the sheer presence of the being before her. Recognition flickered in her eyes. "That would make sense, Titan Ouranos. We're of different pantheons, after all. And I've always been a bit… distant from mine."

Ouranos inclined his head slightly. "Then this is your first descent to the Lower World?"

"Yes," Helena said evenly. "I am Hel, Goddess of Death."

There was a brief silence—heavy, but not hostile. Ouranos studied her carefully, eyes narrowing with quiet scrutiny.

"Death, you say. That is not a domain many would claim lightly."

Helena smiled faintly. "It's not a claim. Merely a fact. But don't worry—I've no intention of upsetting your balance or starting trouble. I came here for rest."

Ouranos regarded her for a long moment before nodding once. "Then you are welcome in Orario, Lady Hel. So long as you abide by the laws of this city, you will find no opposition from the Guild."

Helena tilted her head slightly. "And what are these laws, exactly? I'd rather not step on anyone's divine toes by accident."

"The rules are simple," Ouranos replied, his tone calm but absolute. "You may not directly use your divine power upon mortals. You may not enter the Dungeon in your divine form. Conflicts among gods must remain within limits—no war, no open destruction. And any god who descends must form their Familia through the Guild's proper channels."

Helena listened carefully, expression thoughtful. "So no smiting, no playing hero, no collapsing cities. Reasonable. If one were to use skills an powers that were not divine in nature, would that break the rules?"

Ouranos shook his head slightly. "No. That would be like asking a war god not to practice his martial arts, or demanding a god seal away a passive ability—like our innate lie detection. The restrictions apply only to divine intervention, not personal skill."

"That makes sense…" Helena nodded slowly, then glanced up at him. "Loki has descended, correct?"

"Yes," Ouranos replied. "She has a rather strong Familia as well."

"She, hm?" Helena murmured, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Ah—one of those phases again. That tracks." She straightened, resting her hands behind her back. "Would you happen to know where her home is? I imagine she'd be willing to offer me a place to stay until I can get settled."

Ouranos regarded her for a moment, then gave a short nod. "The Loki Familia resides in Twilight Manor, in the Northwest District. You'll recognize it easily—it's… difficult to miss."

Helena inclined her head with a graceful bow. "Much appreciated, Ouranos. I'll be sure to introduce myself properly once I've unpacked and ensured your city hasn't spontaneously combusted."

That earned her the faintest flicker of amusement from the ancient god. "Welcome to Orario, Lady Hel. May your stay be peaceful."

"No promises," Helena said lightly, turning toward the temple doors. "But I'll try."

====

The familiar map of the Dungeon spread across the table, marked with notes and small figurines representing teams. Beyond the 38th floor, intel was sparse, but the Loki Familia had done this before. What remained was coordination: who goes where, when, and with what supplies.

Finn traced a finger along the path to the 59th floor. "We know the general layout, but the specifics are unpredictable. Timing and coordination are going to be critical."

Riveria tapped her notes. "Teams need to be staggered. We can't have everyone moving at once; the narrow passages of the labyrinth will bottleneck us.

Gareth leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against his sword hilt. "So, first team goes in, second team covers the rear and handles unexpected fights?"

"I talked to Hephy, an quite a few smiths are coming," Loki said, stretching lazily on the edge of a chair.

Finn frowned slightly. "We also need to factor in Ais. She wants to take on Balor on the 49th floor to push for a level up. That will impact the timing of the first team."

Riveria nodded. "I'll coordinate signals. If Ais encounters Balor, the rest of the team will pause, maintain safe distance, and continue only once she signals success. With any luck our potion caches on the 50th floor are untouched. We'll have to leave the rearguard team with a few high level adventures there while we push for the 59th in rotating shifts."

"Yeah, I'm just happy I've gotten better at cartography so the maps should be significantly better this time." Gareth admits

A sharp knock echoed through the strategy room.

Finn glanced toward the door. "Who's interrupting at this hour?"

Riveria tilted her head. "Likely a messenger,"

Loki, lounging lazily with her legs draped over a chair, raised an eyebrow. "Open it. Let's see who it is."

One of the Familia's junior members stepped in, bowing quickly. "Loki-sama, a guest has arrived. A goddess. She requests to meet you."

Loki's gaze sharpened slightly, though her grin remained. "A goddess, huh? Very well. Keep the 59th-floor plans simmering, Finn. Let's see what she wants."

The messenger nodded and departed.

Riveria muttered, "Another god, then. Shouldn't disrupt things too much…"

That was when a raven-haired goddess suddenly appeared in the room, materializing seemingly out of nowhere. Helena had used ability Death's cloak to slip past unnoticed.

"Father!" she announced, her voice carrying easily over the table. "I have finally descended to Gekai, and I was hoping to stay with you until I get my feet on the ground."

Loki's eyes widened, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a quiet, "Hel?"

"Yes, Father?" Helena asked, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"Father?" Riveria echoed, tilting her head in confusion.

Gareth blinked, clearly trying to follow along. "Uh… she called Loki 'Father'?"

Loki shot them a sharp look, panic flickering behind her composed mask. Do not explain, do not explain, she thought frantically, while Helena's grin only widened.

"Yes, I call mother father because she is flat." Hel state wickedly

"You little—!" Loki's composure shattered as she shot out of her chair, lunging across the table.

Helena only laughed, easily sidestepping as Loki swiped at her. "Careful now, Father, you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of your subordinates, would you?"

Loki's face went crimson. "Oh, I am so going to make you regret that!"

Riveria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Children. Actual children."

Finn, suppressing a grin, leaned toward Gareth. "So… new family member, then?"

Gareth snorted. "If she survives that tackle, yeah."

Helena twirled her cloak teasingly, smirking as Loki nearly toppled a chair in her pursuit. "You've missed me, admit it!"

Loki growled, "I'll admit it when you stop calling me Father!"

"Never!" Hel shouted back gleefully, this time not even bothering to dodge.

Loki tackled her outright, the two goddesses tumbling in an undignified heap while the executives looked on—half-amused, half-resigned.


Riveria sighed. "Children. Divine children."

Finn simply folded his arms, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. "At least they seem… compatible."

Gareth laughed outright. "We're doomed."

 

[Common]

This story is part of the Sunday Special stories, each week, the users in the Discord get to vote for which story gets chapters on sunday.

https://discord.gg/9MnPukU

Also, omake's and reader-written chapters are more than welcome. I enjoy comments and those help me write more chapters aswell usually giving me great ideas.

 

[Common]

The Hostess of Fertility was louder than usual tonight. The place always got rowdy when the Loki Familia took it over, but this… this was something else.


Jorren wiped the foam from his mug and leaned toward his friend across the table. "You hear who the guest of honor is?"


His buddy, a burly spearman named Varek, grunted. "Some new goddess. Another one of Loki's drinking buddies, maybe."


Jorren snorted. "Doubt it. Word's she descended today. Straight from Tenkai."


Varek scoffed, about to retort—then the room shifted.

The warmth didn't fade, not exactly, but something colder settled over it. Like a breeze from a crypt had brushed across the hearthfire.


Every conversation quieted just a fraction. Enough for Jorren to notice.


And then he saw her.


The new goddess sat beside Loki, laughing at something Tiona said, her hand resting lightly on a mug that hadn't yet lost a drop of its ale despite her constant movements. She was beautiful in a way that wasn't quite human—too still, too sharp. Her eyes were the green of a deep forest after rain… but when the light hit them, he swore they flashed silver, like moonlight on a blade.


"Who… is that?" Varek muttered.


"Hel," someone answered nearby. "They say she's a goddess of death."


That earned a few nervous glances. Even among adventurers, who laughed in the face of monsters, that kind of title wasn't tossed around lightly.


Hel's smile didn't help. It was warm enough, polite enough—but when her gaze passed over Jorren, he felt his heartbeat skip. Just once. Like it had forgotten what it was supposed to do.


Loki, on the other hand, seemed delighted, chatting and teasing as usual—though Jorren noticed how often she refilled her own mug.


The other gods that frequented Orario could feel odd sometimes—like fire, or storms, or trickery. But this one… she felt like endings. Not cruel ones, not violent, but quiet, inevitable ones.

The tavern roared again, tension dissolving into laughter and music. Adventurers went back to drinking and boasting, though every so often, eyes still drifted toward the new goddess sitting among them.


Hel didn't seem to notice—or maybe she didn't care. Her expression shifted easily between amusement and thoughtfulness, offering the occasional dry quip that had even Bete snorting into his drink.


But Loki noticed everything.


The way Riveria's posture was too rigid, the way Finn kept studying Hel with that strategic gleam of his, and the way every mortal who came too close to her shivered slightly before backing off.


Hel fit in too easily—and that, more than anything, made Loki's skin crawl.


"Alright, alright!" Loki said suddenly, standing up and clapping her hands. "That's enough gawking! Let the new goddess breathe, yeah? Party's for fun, not for an interrogation."


There were laughs and playful groans, and soon the attention drifted away. As chatter resumed, Loki leaned down, grabbing Hel gently by the wrist.


"Walk with me for a bit, kid," she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

"Whatever you say Pops," Hel responds, setting down her drink and getting up.

Outside the Hostess of Fertility


The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of ale and woodsmoke from the tavern behind them. Music still drifted faintly from within, but the two goddesses had long since stepped into the quiet alley beside the building.


Loki leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching the other goddess with sharp eyes.


"Alright," she said, her voice low but edged with something uncertain. "Drop the act. What are you doing here, Hel?"


Hel tilted her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. "Can't a daughter come to visit her father?"


Loki's smirk faltered. For a heartbeat, something older—something raw—flickered in her crimson eyes.


"You died," Loki said finally, the words barely above a whisper. "A long time ago. I felt it. I watched the whole damn pantheon tear itself apart after…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "After, Fen ate Odin… Freya still hasn't forgiven me, and she is constantly searching for my father's reincarnation."

Hel's smile softened, and for once, it wasn't the sharp, teasing grin she wore inside the tavern. "I did die. Several times, in fact. Death tends to have a sense of humor."

Loki exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders shifting from sharp alarm to something heavier, older. "So… you really are her. My little Hel. The girl who ruled the dead and made even the Valkyries nervous."


"I suppose," Hel said softly, brushing a strand of black hair from her face. "Though these days, I've had a lot of time to think. To… grow past what I was."


Loki snorted faintly. "Past being the terror of Asgard? Or past being the only one of my children who didn't scare me?"


Hel's lips curved. "Both. Although I will confirm I have a love of pranking now."




Loki stared, the truth slowly settling in. "You… didn't just become a goddess of death."


"No," Hel admitted quietly. "I was death's servant for a very long time. Centuries. Millennia, maybe—I lost count after the first few apocalypses. But she released me. Said I'd earned my peace."


"And peace means dropping into my lap?" Loki muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose.


Hel chuckled softly. "Always you the most entertaining option."

 

[Common]

The manor was quiet. Even Loki slept, for once — sprawled across her bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets, half a bottle of wine still on the nightstand.

Hel sat on the balcony outside her borrowed room, the wind tugging gently at her dark hair. Below, Orario breathed — the heartbeat of a city alive with dreams and danger.

She exhaled softly, eyes half-lidded.

When she let her awareness slip, the veil between life and death grew thin. She could hear the souls passing — faint echoes of joy, of sorrow, of stories ending in flame or blood or peace. Most moved on, guided by the threads of fate toward their next resting place.

But not all.

Tonight, one voice lingered.

It was soft — young, almost painfully earnest. A girl's voice, trembling but resolute.

"If this is the end… then I'll make it count."

The world around Hel dissolved into shadow and snow.

She stood in a dying world — sky fractured by red light, ground scorched black. A girl in a red cloak knelt at the center of it all, her silver eyes dimming as she reached for a broken weapon.
That was when here eyes lit up brilliantly covering the area in silver light.

Hel watched in silence. Not as Death's servant, but a silent observer.

Hordes of black creatures turned to ash a single petal drifted down from nowhere, landing in the girl's bloodstained hand.

"You're not ready to rest yet, are you?" Hel whispered.

The girl didn't answer — couldn't. Her heartbeat was fading, her light slipping away.

Hel's hand rose, fingers glowing faintly with silver light — then she hesitated.

"…No," she murmured. "Not yet. Not here."

The vision fractured — the snow, the girl, the dying world all dissolving like mist.

Hel's eyes opened to the quiet night once more. The moon hung full above Orario, serene and unknowing.

For the first time in centuries, Hel's chest ached.
"That was new." Hel murmured.
===
Morning light spilled over Orario, washing the stone streets in soft gold. Merchants shouted from the plaza, adventurers hurried toward Babel's towering shadow, and the scent of fresh bread drifted from every corner bakery.
Hel moved through it all like a ghost in silk. Hood drawn, steps measured. The city's noise rolled around her, but never quite touched her.

Her destination loomed ahead — the white, rounded building of the Guild headquarters, its marble gleaming under the sun.

Inside, the atmosphere was as lively as ever: arguments over dungeon quotas, parchment being stamped, and the occasional newbie adventurer trying to look braver than they felt.

The clerk at the front desk — an elf with tired eyes and a permanent professional smile — looked up as Hel approached.

"Welcome to the Guild," she said. "Are you here to register, report, or request—"

"Register," Hel said softly.

The elf blinked. "For an adventurer's license?"

Hel shook her head. "For a Familia."

That got attention. Two nearby clerks paused mid-sentence. A couple of adventurers in line turned to stare. Gods descending to form new Familias weren't exactly rare in Orario, but it always made waves — especially when it was someone they didn't recognize.

"Understood," the elf said after a beat, posture straightening. "May I have your divine name, Lady…?"
"Hel," she replied simply.

The elf's quill hesitated mid-stroke. "…Ah."

Hel smiled faintly. "Yes. That one."

"…Right," the elf said carefully. "We'll just, ah, process that." She shuffled a few papers, trying not to look unnerved. "Do you have a place of residence, initial funds, or a sponsor listed?"

"Loki will cover the costs," Hel said without hesitation.

The clerk actually blinked twice. "Loki… of the Loki Familia?"

"Yes." Hel's tone was calm. "She insisted."

Somewhere across town, Loki probably sneezed into her wine, although she should know morning drinking is bad.
Hel placed a neatly folded pouch of coins on the desk, purely ceremonial. She wasn't concerned about the money, but it helped smooth over the procedural formalities.

Next came a stack of forms — standard Guild bureaucracy: mission liability, member limits, recruitment guidelines, and a signature line for the sponsor. Hel filled them out with her elegant, precise script. There was no rush, yet everything was done with flawless efficiency, the movements too deliberate to be hurried.

The clerk scanned each form, her eyes widening at Hel's clear and decisive writing. "Everything seems to be in order, Lady Hel. Your Familia registration is complete. Officially recorded as… Hel Familia."

Hel inclined her head slightly, retrieving the paperwork. "Thank you. Please inform Lady Loki that her generosity has been noted."

The clerks exchanged nervous glances as she turned and walked calmly toward the door. Even in the mundane paperwork, there was a presence that hinted at something else — centuries of authority distilled into a quiet, deadly grace.

Outside, the sun gleamed off the Guild steps. The city moved as usual around her — merchants, adventurers, pigeons, and stray children — oblivious to the goddess who had just formalized her return to their world.

Hel allowed herself a small smile. The first step was done.

===
Loki blinked groggily, rubbing one eye as she stumbled out of her office in her pajamas — one slipper missing, hair sticking out in all directions. She yawned, looked at the sealed envelope on her desk, and muttered,
"Ugh, paperwork already? What did I sign this time…"

She tore the Guild seal open, still half-asleep — and froze.

"Notice of Familial Sponsorship: Lady Hel, newly descended goddess, has listed Lady Loki as financial guarantor and reference."

Loki blinked.
Read it again.
Then a third time, slower.

Her eyes went wide. "She. Did. WHAT!?"

The shout echoed through the manor. Somewhere downstairs, Tiona dropped a dumbbell and shouted back, "What happened!?"

Loki stormed into the hall, waving the paper like a battle standard. "That little gremlin just registered a Familia — under my tab!"

Finn peeked out of his office, calm as ever. "So… you're a patron now?"

Riveria sighed. "I told you she'd cause chaos before lunch."

"I thought she meant breakfast chaos!" Loki snapped. "Not — not financially binding chaos!"

She looked at the paper again, groaning. "Oh, the Guild's gonna think we're co-funding her death cult. Great. Just great."

 

[Common]

Hel stepped out of the Guild and let the warm morning sun wash over her. The papers in her hand were official now, stamped and signed, the weight of bureaucracy almost amusing compared to the millennia of death she'd witnessed.

Yet her thoughts drifted back to last night, to the flicker of something familiar — a presence she had sensed at the Hostess of Fertility. The silver-haired waitress, moving among the crowd with quiet efficiency, carrying mugs and listening more than she spoke.

The memory stirred something she hadn't expected: curiosity.

Why does she feel… different?

Hel adjusted her cloak and moved through the streets of Orario with purpose. Even among the morning bustle, she was a shadow, almost slipping past the notice of the city's inhabitants. Merchants hawked their goods, adventurers hustled toward Babel's shadow, and children ran, playing tag around her cloak's hem.

The Hostess of Fertility came into view, warm light spilling from its windows despite the hour. Hel pushed the door open and inhaled the familiar scent of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, and faint traces of ale and magic.

The room was quiet at this hour, the regular patrons still trickling in. Behind the counter, the silver-haired waitress moved with practiced grace, wiping down mugs and humming softly.

Hel approached, her presence unnoticed at first. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, almost gentle.

"Good morning," Hel said.

The waitress looked up, startled. For a moment her green eyes — so alert, so alive — met Hel's. Then she relaxed, offering a polite smile.

"Good morning," the waitress replied. "Can I help you with something?"

Hel tilted her head, studying her. "I'll be straightforward… I don't want to ruin your fun, but you feel familiar to me. I can see souls, so I could check — but I would rather just talk with you if you are who I think you are."

The waitress froze mid-motion. For a heartbeat, the cheerful mask of Syr Flova faltered — the faintest tremor in her smile, the tiniest stilling of her fingers around the rag she held.

Hel didn't need to look deeper; she already knew. The soul beneath the mortal façade shimmered like starlight wrapped in silk — ancient, radiant, divine.

Freya.

"I see," Syr said softly, regaining her composure almost too quickly. Her expression settled into a careful smile. "What can I help you with, Granddaughter… and who have you told?"

Hel blinked, slightly off guard. "Thank you for confirming it."

Syr's — or rather, Freya's — careful smile didn't falter, but her eyes flickered with a faint warning. "And… who have you told?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper meant only for Hel.

Hel tilted her head, studying her grandmother thoughtfully. "No one. Your secret is safe. I have no desire to disrupt your mortal life… or the persona you've built. I had an inkling. Your presence… it feels different. Even through mortal disguise, I just… knew it was you."

Freya's gaze flicked toward the door, ensuring no wandering adventurer or curious guild clerk could overhear. "Exactly why I must remain Syr Flova publicly. My mortal persona is my peace, my freedom from the scrutiny of gods and mortals alike. If anyone discovered the truth…" She trailed off, frustration briefly crossing her features. "I would be very upset."

Hel's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Then consider it protected. For now, I simply wished to speak with you. Hug?"

Freya blinked — genuinely startled for the first time in centuries. Of all the things she had expected from the goddess of death — distant, composed, cold — that wasn't one of them.

"A… hug?" she repeated, her voice caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

Hel shrugged lightly, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. "It's been… a very long time since I've seen you. And I know you're still upset over what my older brother Fen did to Grandpa Odin… I thought it might help."
Syr hesitated for only a heartbeat before accepting the gesture, wrapping her arms around Hel in a careful, almost tentative hug.

For a moment, the world outside the tavern seemed to vanish — no chatter, no clinking mugs, no bustling adventurers — just the warmth of family bridging centuries of distance.

Then, almost instantly, realization flashed across Freya's eyes. She pulled back slightly, her green gaze wide with a mix of shock and fear.

"If… if you are still alive," she whispered, her voice trembling, "then… my Odin?"

"He… survived. His soul was damaged and forced to undergo reincarnation. In his last cycle, he was known as Jason the Argonaut. As of now, he exists as a mortal. If he were to theoretically reach level 10, he should ascend again — though it would take a millennium or two to fully regain his former power."
Freya's breath caught, a mixture of awe, disbelief, and hope flickering across her features.

Even though Hel had no idea who this Bell Cranel character was, she already felt a pang of sympathy for the boy whose story she would one day witness.