She-Hulk: Gamma Gavel by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/She-Hulk-Gamma-Gavel-1302197696?file=1

She-Hulk: Gamma Gavel ANIMATION

The Malachite Liturgy

Emerald heels clicked against a sidewalk made of petrified tongues. Jennifer Walters, the She-Hulk, did not move with her usual grace; her gait was heavy, burdened by the realization that the gravity of this New York was thicker, curdled by the weight of a billion unspoken prayers. Above her, the sky was not black, but the color of a fresh bruise—a deep, sickly purple shot through with veins of pulsing gold. There were no stars, only "The Watchers," lidless eyes the size of moons that stared down with a terrifying, indifferent affection.

She adjusted the lapels of her tattered suit jacket, the fabric strained by her seven-foot frame. Her skin, usually a vibrant, healthy jade, had taken on a terrifying luster, like polished malachite. She could feel the gamma radiation within her shifting, calcifying. In this realm, anger didn’t just make her stronger; it made her more brittle, more beautiful, and more like the statues that lined the Spine of Fifth Avenue.

Those statues had once been her friends. She passed a monument of polished obsidian that had once been the Invincible Iron Man. He was frozen in a pose of eternal supplication, his armor weeping a steady stream of mercury. Further down, a marble Captain America held a shield made of frozen screams. They hadn't been defeated by violence, but by "The Adoration"—a psychic tide of absolute, suffocating love from a world that had decided its heroes were gods and, in doing so, had entombed them in the stillness of divinity.

"You really should stop walking, Jennifer," a voice purred from the shadows of a collapsed skyscraper. "The friction of your movement is causing the air to bleed. It’s quite uncharitable of you."

Jennifer stopped. She didn't turn around immediately. She felt the muscles in her neck creak like old leather. "I’ve never been much for charity, Alistair. I’m a litigator. I prefer a fair exchange, or better yet, a settlement in my favor."

A man stepped out of the gloom. He was dressed in a suit of spun glass, his face a shifting mosaic of everyone Jennifer had ever lost. He was The Gilded Attorney, the bailiff of this nightmare reality. He didn't walk so much as slide through the dimensions of the air, his presence accompanied by the smell of lilies and formaldehyde.

"Look at you," he whispered, circling her. He reached out a translucent hand, stopping just inches from her green cheek. "You are the last jagged edge in a world that has been sanded smooth. Why persist? The Adoration is so much kinder than the rage. Don't you want to be adored? Don't you want to be perfect?"

Jennifer turned her head, her eyes burning with a green fire that seemed to lick the oxygen from the air. "I spent my life trying to find a balance between the mousy lawyer and the jade giantess. Perfection is just another word for 'finished,' and I’m nowhere near done. Now, where is the Silence? I know you're hiding it."

The Gilded Attorney laughed, a sound like breaking crystal. "The Silence isn't a place, darling. It’s a verdict. And you’ve been found guilty of existing."

He gestured toward the horizon, where a massive cathedral made of ivory ribs rose into the bruised sky. "The Master is waiting in the Chancel of Echoes. He wants to offer you a plea bargain. One last chance to lay down the burden of your strength before it turns you into a very pretty, very still paperweight."

"Lead the way," Jennifer said, her voice a low rumble that shook the teeth in the Attorney’s mosaic face. "But if you try to touch me again, I’ll file a motion for discovery in your chest cavity."

They walked in a rhythmic silence through the ruins of a civilization that had been loved to death. The streetlights were cages containing captured lightning bugs the size of vultures. Every few blocks, Jennifer saw the "Devotees"—the remnants of humanity. They were pale, featureless things that spent their days polishing the statues of the fallen heroes with their own hair. They didn't look up as she passed; they were too busy worshipping the stillness.

"It’s a masterpiece, isn't it?" the Attorney asked, his voice dripping with an oily seduction. "No war. No hunger. No conflict. Just the eternal gratitude of the flock. All we ask is that the shepherds stay very, very still so we can admire them."

"A shepherd who doesn't move is just a decorative post," Jennifer snapped. "And the sheep are starving while they pray."

"Beauty requires sacrifice, Jennifer. You of all people should know that. How many hours did
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