Chapter 43 - Chapter 43: Scientists Hela? Hel Nah

(It's the big loss to the science world that I chose to be a writer🤧)

To be brutally honest, most of the so-called 'rewards' I've collected over the past year were about as useful as a parachute on a submarine.

Sure, some of them looked cool on paper—shiny, quirky, even mildly functional—but when it came down to actual utility, they added about as much value to my life as a chocolate teapot.

If I had a nickel for every underwhelming item I've gotten, I'd still be broke, but I'd be surrounded by a museum's worth of useless trinkets and "potential."

But that's finally going to change. At least, it better. I mean, I did just piss off probably half this universe with my little vacation to Earth—offended enough people to form my own villain-of-the-month club.

Some of them are strong enough to make even me sweat a little, and I don't think I would sweat unless someone was threatening to make a movie about me with a sewn mouth.

So, after absorbing this latest bundle of rewards—which felt more like digesting a spicy cosmic burrito than anything else—I felt it. A shift. And the stranger thing? It was all thanks to Archive Magic from the Fairy Tail world.

I have very strong control over this body. It's to a level where even if dust touches me or if I breathe anything other than air, I would know.

Most of the time, I even have to restrict myself. Still, I'm morbidly curious what sex feels like in this body—purely academic interest, of course.

Back to the main point: I felt the big change that happened in my body because I literally had something added out of nowhere.

Apparently, I now have what people in the Fairy Tail world call a *"Container"—*a fancy little ethereal battery to store Ethernano. How do I know this? Because Archive Magic comes with a free download of the system's Wikipedia, ad-free and fully updated. Origins, mechanisms, compatibility—the whole magical instruction manual about Archive Magic is in my head.

Now, in theory, Ethernano shouldn't even exist in my dimension—or on Earth, for that matter. But the system decided to flex its divine cheat-code muscles and made it work.

Somehow, whether it's the energy from my Hel dimensions or the Space Stone, it converted it all into functional Ethernano as long as it entered the Container. Science? Magic? Who cares? Laws of the Fairy Tail world were most definitely violated in the process. But well, is there even law in the first place in the Marvel world?

That said, I quickly realized the Container's absorption limit isn't quite on par with what Jean's body pulled from the Space Stone. Bit of a bummer, but maybe I can upgrade it later.

Now, about Balmung—I didn't get any fancy Magic Circuits, no Dragon Core, nothing special to wield it properly. But it turns out I don't need them. As long as I feed it my Hel dimension energy, it works like a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on which side of the sword you're standing.

Of course, I had to test it. So, I cranked the energy to the max it could take and swung it. The result?

A crater big enough to fit all of New York and still have space for tourist attractions. It's not a Noble Phantasm—it's the real damn Balmung from the Type-Moon world. Beautiful. Devastating. Slightly overkill.

Still, as flashy as that was, my Necrosword packs a heavier punch in most scenarios. It's not about the size of the explosion—it's about the poetic way the blade whispers death into the bones of cosmic horrors.

I'm hoping it works on those damn Symbiotic Dragons. If it does, that'll change the game entirely. If not… well, nothing.

Anyway, onto the next so-called "treasure." Is it really funny to receive an album of that man as a reward? An actual album of him. Seriously, do I need to do a D-party next?

If it had been a hardstyle album from before my transmigration, we might be talking, but this? Straight to the flames. Good riddance.

I also got the knowledge to transfer Devil Fruits into inanimate objects. Great concept, terrible execution—I don't have the equipment. Not yet. Still, the thought of Scientist Hela fiddling with tech might be enough to give Odin a stroke. Actually… yeah, I'm keeping that on the list.

In the meantime, I think I'll gift the previous Devil Fruit I have to little Rocky. He's earned it after tagging along with me for a whole year. Loyal, quiet, never asked questions even when I did things that would make eldritch horrors blink. That's rare.

Skipped over the wine collection entirely—because it didn't have any effect on me. If I remember correctly from the movies, Thor did drink Earth wine. Did it make him drunk? If so, that would be funny—and weak.

Now, for the big decision: what to summon. If I had two tickets, I'd have summoned Tom & Jerry without a second thought. That chaotic duo was my childhood.

Bringing them to Hel would practically guarantee eternal entertainment. Between the constant cat-and-mouse warfare and slapstick reality-breaking antics, Hel would be more lively than ever.

Plus, I really want to test if they can casually violate the laws of physics here like they did back in the cartoon. If they can? That makes them among the most powerful beings in existence. Not even joking. Toon Force is one hell of a drug.

After finishing my little experiment with the system rewards—which, by the way, nearly turned the landscape into abstract art—I stood over the newly forged crater, unimpressed.

A hole in the ground. Great. In any other world, this might've raised eyebrows or sparked a geological panic. But this is Hel. And in Hel, I've got something better than tectonic plates and soil erosion—I've got the Helforce.

Yeah, the Helforce. Sounds like a bad metal band, but it's actually the native energy source of this charming dimension.

It's basically the same as whatever eldritch nonsense powers Mephisto's twisted realm, or Hades' gloomy kingdom. They just slap different names on it to feel special, like insecure Hell-Lords at a cosmic ego contest.

Everything here—land, sky, even the weird air that smells like roasted sulfur and poor life choices—is made of this Helforce.

Even the "earth," if you can call crunchy ash and blood-colored rock that. So when I caused the crater, I didn't panic.

I just poured more Helforce into it, like patching a hole in drywall with demonic glue. The land healed itself. Self-repairing terrain—eat your heart out, Earth.

But that brings us to the next delightful puzzle: how do I make this hellhole actually livable?

Like, for real people. You can't expect crops to grow on the metaphysical equivalent of rage and dead souls. There's no soil, no water, no sunshine—just vibes. And those vibes are… well, demonic.

I briefly considered just yoinking an island from Earth, making it float in the sky like some anime fever dream. "Sky Island: Hel Edition." But it's a temporary fix, not a foundation. This isn't Minecraft creative mode—I need infrastructure.

The first settlers of my soon-to-be kingdom will be mutants and humans. Poor bastards. Imagine leaving Earth just to end up in a dimension with gravity set to "crush your spine," no natural sunlight, air that tastes like burnt copper, and no oceans unless you count rivers of boiling blood.

Adjusting won't be easy. I need to give them more than just dramatic scenery.

And don't get me started on the sun situation. No sun means no warmth, no photosynthesis, no "nice weather."

Just an eternal red twilight like a moody teen's bedroom. Honestly, if Jean had already bonded with the Phoenix Force, I could've piggybacked off that cosmic birdlight. But nope. So I'm left with the illusion of a sun—basically a big, warm lightbulb with none of the benefits.

If only I had scientific "knowledgeance"— yeah, I know that's not a word, sue me—like Tony Stark. Wait. Actually… why not take his knowledge?

Mind-reading isn't illegal by me, and it's not like Earth's greatest minds have any psychic firewalls yet. So I took a little ten-minute stroll back on Earth—just a casual mental smash-and-grab—and came back with the mental data of Stark, Banner, Reed Richards, Doom, and a few other brainiacs.

I may not have their flair or inventive madness, but I've got their raw knowledge now. It's like cramming for the ultimate science exam by absorbing Wikipedia's top contributors.

Poor Tony's still tinkering with the first Iron Man suit, stuck in his cave arc. He didn't even notice as I copied his entire mental drive. Honestly, I felt a little bad. Not bad enough to stop, though.

Back in Hel, in my body again, I glanced at Jean's body. Lucky daughter of Phoenix—having the ability to mentally download the life's work of geniuses in minutes? That sure is one of the reasons humans don't like mutants, even without that bacteria man.

Sure, I might lack their inspiration, but I've got their everything—their formulas and mental shortcuts. That's enough to start turning this dimension into something resembling a functioning realm.

As for the sun? I've brainstormed a few options, each more reckless than the last.

Option one: open a portal to the actual sun. Simple, direct, and potentially catastrophic. I mean, sure, it'd provide light and warmth—but also radiation, solar flares, and the small matter of maybe accidentally frying Earth if I misalign the portal. Oops.

Option two: teleport a small star here. You know, just casually move a nuclear furnace across dimensions. Of course, that would require insane levels of energy control and something like the Power Stone just to stabilize it. Otherwise, I'm playing dodgeball with supernovae. Not ideal.

Those methods aside, I finally settled for what I considered the better idea: a Fusion-Based Artificial Sun.

Something like constructing a large-scale artificial sun using stable fusion reactions—like an advanced, floating, self-sustaining Tokamak reactor.

Think of it as combining Stark tech with Doom's dimensional energy control and Reed's containment tech, although the latter two haven't yet reached the level in knowledgeance, but I have.

Instead of relying on limited fuels, I can draw energy from the Hel dimension itself or, better, from the Space Stone, converting it into plasma or using it as a containment stabilizer.

I can encase it in vibranium or maybe a reinforced magical-tech hybrid shell like the Uru. Although hard to find, this 'sun' would be placed in orbit or in a fixed position in Hel's sky, then providing continuous light, heat, and solar radiation (filtered for habitability).

The emitted light can be tailored for optimal photosynthesis and human comfort without any risk. It also won't destroy the dimension or risk Earth like a real sun portal, and the best part is I can turn it off, lower its intensity, or weaponize it if needed.

The biggest problem is that I don't have enough time. Like, not only the sun, but I need to render this Hel livable in a week.

To be honest, it doesn't make me feel like it's troublesome or something like that; if anything, this kinda makes me excited to do.

It's like in the game I played where I could customize my own realm in my previous life. I would make everything to my liking—it's too enjoyable even.

I was so excited that I couldn't wait to start. I used Archive Magic, invested most of the knowledgeance I have. Like the name indicates, Archive Magic is quite literally an archive where knowledge is stored and one can access it at any moment.

It's just that I was confident I would be able to tinker it into something like a chat group, you know, by modifying the retrieval function to allow live updates.

There are many things that I can tweak and know with the knowledge of Earth scientists—I know how to.

No, I didn't waste time after adding all the knowledgeance, apart, of course, from those from my previous life like the secret that this world is a comic and all, because what if someone managed to access it by some miracle?

I then studied and re-studied Archive Magic, changed it to what I wanted in about ten hours. I added many things about Chat Function like projecting things, making myself be the host point so that it can exist as long as I'm in the universe.

I didn't feel tired in the slightest afterward and started the big project, aka 'Sòl Artificial Project', creating the sun. Through Archive Magic, I visualized the structure in 3D space and simulated all variables like radiation, gravity, temperature.

Naturally, I started designing the sun's specs. First of all was the core composition, which is the Synthetic Plasma Core.

"The core composition—no hydrogen. Too unstable. No straight-up plasma either unless I want to recreate Ragnarok and show the old man live how it looks like."

Thinking about the energy I have access to, it's my Helforce, the Ethernano, which is very polyvalent.

It was basically used for any kind of magic that appeared in the anime, meaning it could be transformed into anything—although unfortunately, I can only use Archive Magic with it.

It's just regrettable that I can't produce enough Ethernano to actually sustain an artificial sun—at least not until I find a way.

Plus, Tony's Arc Reactor was actually made using energy from the Space Stone, so yeah—it means that kind of energy can indeed be used that way.

Then I started calculating the optimal mass and settled on one-thousandth of Sol. The final radius should be at least as big as Earth, but for now, I should opt for something more controllable—like 100 km. I can gradually expand it as I become more powerful and as Hel gains more people.

Now, about the gravitational imbalance—hence… artificial gravity shell. Wrap it in a spatial anchor so it floats exactly where I want it. Maybe above the capital. It can double as a sun and a giant middle finger to anyone who looks up.

Next, light. Visible spectrum: 380 to 740 nanometers. Enough for crops, not enough to fry people. UV tuned to assist photosynthesis. Infrared... balanced. I don't need sweaty mutants whining about heat stroke.

But that's not enough. People need rhythm. Day. Night. Time to kiss, time to kill. So—light modulation system. Artificial dusk shutters. Let's make this bitch blink on command.

Containment next. Magical shielding, magnetic fields, Doom-style failsafes. If this thing even twitches the wrong way, I want it frozen, sealed, and ejected into the Void in under 0.3 seconds.

Finally, aesthetics. Let it burn like gold, with flares like dragons—something that makes people stop and say: 'God lives here.'

With a snap of my fingers, I finalized the specs and watched the simulated sun ignite in the sky of her projected Hel.

It didn't explode.

It was singing 'Another One Bites the Dust.'

....

I don't know how in f*ck's sake I found myself talking about science, something I literally have zero knowledgeance but found myself doing physique, sorry 😅 Don't forget to vote please, we regressed back to 16th place in the ranking