"Leaving already?"
The voice, sharp as a jagged bolt, cut through the bustle of the hall. Zeus.
I paused. One eyebrow twitched—an involuntary movement, but one that did not go unnoticed. I turned slowly, letting the faint shadow of irritation creep over my expression.
"Yes?" I asked, voice measured. My tone was calm, even though every instinct screamed that there was a storm coming.
Zeus's gaze pinned me, the golden haze of his eyes sparking with fury—or perhaps expectation. "Show some respect, Hades."
Respect. The word landed like a stone in my chest, heavy and hot. I grit my teeth. My jaw flexed, muscles tensing as I forced more… respectful greeting. "My king," I intoned, my voice low, almost reluctantly deferential, "what is it you desire?"
Zeus stepped closer, and I felt the heat of the storm wrap around him like a living thing. His eyes narrowed, leaning in just enough for me to smell the ozone in the air, a warning and a threat combined.
"I want to know," he said, voice quiet but lethal, "more about your meeting with Neptune."
I exhaled slowly, keeping my tone even as my inner temper bristled. "I already told you everything. He tried to persuade me to join Typhon. I refused. That is the sum of it. There is no other important information you are missing."
Zeus's lips pressed into a thin line. He leaned even closer, the storm in his aura flaring like a tidal wave ready to crash. "Do not think you can play games with me, brother. If you betray Olympus," he hissed, voice tight with a dangerous edge, "I will not think twice about taking both of my brothers' lives."
The words struck with precision. I felt the echo of their weight, like a hammer against stone. I did not flinch. Not outwardly. Inside, a flicker of calculation ran through my mind. Threats from Zeus were never idle, yet they were always predictable—a storm warning before the lightning hit.
I straightened my shoulders, letting the shadows around me pulse faintly, a subtle reminder that I was not just any god to be toyed with. "Noted," I said softly. "You'll have no need to worry."
Lightning cracked in the air behind him, and with a sudden flash, he vanished. Just like that—Zeus and his thunder, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone and the faint, brittle echo of authority.
I remained for a heartbeat, the shadows around me thickening. Then I let them swallow me whole, a darkness more complete than any mortal night. By the time I opened my eyes again, I was seated upon my throne in the Underworld. The familiar chill of the throne pressed against my legs.
I exhaled, the weight of Olympus and the storm left behind—or at least deferred. My hands clenched briefly in my lap. I would not rush. Not yet.
"Hecate." My voice carried across the throne room, echoing softly.
From the shadows of her office, she emerged, robes flowing around her legs. Cerberus padded beside her, three heads tilting in perfect synchrony as the pup's eyes glimmered with recognition. She bowed deeply, the gesture a practiced formality, though her eyes betrayed curiosity.
"Yes, my lord?" she asked. Her voice, calm and measured, betrayed no surprise at my sudden appearance.
"Gather everyone. I have something important to say," I said. The shadows around me shifted subtly, flickering in anticipation—or perhaps in warning. Hecate nodded, eyes steady, lips pressing into a thin line.
"Immediately," she replied, bowing again before retreating down the hall to relay the message.
I remained seated, Cerberus settling his massive body at my feet with a soft, pleased growl. The silence was deafening.
When Hecate returned, she brought with her the others. They trailed in behind her quietly as they made their way into the throne room.
Thanatos was first as he was followed by Moros and Keresthys who both walked on either one of his sides. The three were wearing matching black cloaks and unique marble demon masks. They moved to quickly remove their masks as they stored them in their cloaks as they bowed their heads in my direction.
Charon shuffled in after the reapers, unlike his brothers and sister he wore a simple hooded black robe as he yawned as he leaned against his oar.
Then came Oizys, followed by Nemesis, her shoulders squared, the sword Ikakalaka strapped across her back. Her gaze swept the room like a predator assessing her hunting grounds, and when her eyes met mine, there was no bow, no flourish—just a curt acknowledgment. The Furies followed shortly after.
Then came the Hecatoncheires, massive even in their "four-armed" forms. Briareus's bulk made the stone floor groan beneath him, Cottus's four fists clenched and unclenched in restless anticipation, Aegaeon's deep-set eyes watched everything without blinking, and Gyges simply grinned like a man who hoped war was coming.
The Cyclopes followed next. Brontes's grin was wide and easy, his hands already fiddling with a small metallic contraption. Arges's single eye flickered with a strange internal light, scanning the room as though calculating how many weapons could fit into it. Steropes was quieter, though the hammer at his side spoke loudly enough about his intentions.
Prometheus strode in next, he looked a lot more exhausted. It seems that Brontes and his brothers have been pushing Prometheus to the brink. It will do the Titan some good to keep himself busy.
And then—Nyx and Erebus. Nyx gave me a faint smile that could have meant anything. Erebus, on the other hand, simply folded his arms and scanned the gathering like an overprotective father looking for trouble.
I rose from my throne, my voice carrying through the chamber. "My friends. My family. My… occasionally tolerated acquaintances." That earned a snort from Brontes and a smirk from Nemesis. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I will not waste your time. You know why we are here."
They all waited. No one moved.
"We have minimal time to prepare for a war with Neptune," I said. "And we cannot say when Typhon will choose to strike. The lobster demon—Karkinos—was only the beginning. He dared come to Olympus and believe that he would be able to leave alive. And let us not forget, Neptune came to my realm personally to persuade me to join Typhon. I refused, of course. I will admit that I do not know what my brother is planning so we need to make sure that we are ready for anything."
I paced slowly across the dais, letting my words sink in. "I know that Lady Nyx and Lord Erebus will of course stand back from the war due to the Ancient Laws. Though I hope that you all will help me when the time comes."
I could feel their focus, their weighty gazes.
That was when the throne room doors exploded inward.
The great black panels slammed into the stone walls, shaking dust from the ceiling. The air shifted heavier, denser, as though the very world recognized the presence of something ancient and dangerous.
A man stepped through.
His skin was deep brown, gleaming as though kissed by the embers of a dying fire. Long, wild curls spilled over his broad shoulders, framing a face carved from angles that would have looked at home on a hunter's blade—sharp, predatory. But it was his eyes that caught me: black sclera and red irises, each one unblinking and calm in their intensity. And then the third eye—resting in the center of his forehead—blinked lazily, as if it were assessing me separately from the others.
Short but prominent horns curled from his temples, their black sheen catching the light. When he smiled—if it could be called a smile—his canines were sharper than any beast's I had ever faced. His hands were large, adorned with long, black nails that caught the torchlight like obsidian talons.
No one moved.
I scanned the gathered faces. Thanatos's brows furrowed slightly. Nemesis's grip on her sword tightened. The Furies, for once, were perfectly still. The Hecatoncheires regarded him with cautious curiosity, and even the Cyclopes shifted uneasily.
But it was Nyx and Erebus who drew my attention. Their expressions—gods, if looks could be storms—were… annoyed. Annoyed in that quiet, dangerous way that only primordial beings could manage.
I looked between them and the stranger, my curiosity sharpening. "And who," I said, my voice steady but edged, "is this?"
Nyx cleared her throat. "Hades," she said, her voice smooth as midnight silk, "allow me to introduce… Tartarus. The Abyss Incarnate."
She paused, her dark eyes glinting with something I couldn't place—resentment? Respect? Both?
"My older brother."
The title landed like a spear through the air.
Tartarus's third eye blinked again, slowly. Then he smiled—a real smile this time, one that carried the weight of ages and the subtle suggestion that my entire realm was little more than a curiosity to him.
"Well," I said, leaning back slightly, letting my shadows coil tighter around me, "this should be interesting."
Tartarus didn't say a word at first.
He just looked at me. That third eye blinked lazily again, as if he were cataloging the precise number of ways I could die, and the first two eyes were trying to decide which would be the most entertaining.
Then, without ceremony, he lifted one massive hand and waved it casually.
Reality… shifted.
A couch simply existed where there had been only an open floor before—deep red leather stitched with golden thread, the cushions so plush they looked like they'd swallow a mortal whole. He sprawled across it like a man claiming territory, one leg hanging over the side, his head sinking into the backrest as though my throne room was now his personal lounge.
"Go on," he said, flicking his wrist again. "Don't let me interrupt. Whatever you were saying, just… continue."
The audacity of it caught me flat-footed. It wasn't often someone walked into my domain uninvited, rearranged the décor, and then dismissed the importance of my presence entirely. I stared at him for a long moment, weighing whether to call him out for it, or simply burn the couch in place.
But Nyx was still watching me with that look—that subtle, dangerous curve of her mouth that meant she was evaluating my every reaction. And Erebus's expression, though flat, suggested he was just waiting to see if I'd be foolish enough to pick a fight with their brother in front of them.
So I sighed. My family was already… complicated. Add the primordial embodiment of the Abyss to the mix, and you had something beyond complicated.
I cleared my throat. "As I was saying," I began, dragging my focus back to the gathered faces before me, "we cannot rely on the assumption that Neptune will wait for us to be ready. Typhons may strike without warning. We must prepare as if they will both move against us tomorrow."
I let my gaze sweep the room. "That means bolstering our forces beyond what we currently have. I have a plan to do so—and it's not just recruiting more from the realms of the dead."
The room quieted further. Thanatos tilted his head slightly. Nemesis's eyes narrowed in curiosity. Prometheus folded his arms but said nothing.
"I intend," I said, letting the words hang for a moment, "to create a new race entirely. Demons—loyal to the Underworld, forged for battle, and designed to stand against Neptune's beasts."
The Furies shifted, exchanging interested glances. Briareus rumbled deep in his chest, almost approvingly.
"I already have the blueprint for their design," I continued. "These will not be mindless creatures. They will be soldiers—intelligent, adaptive, dangerous. Bound to me and to this realm."
Prometheus's brows rose ever so slightly, and I turned to him. "For that, I will need material worthy of their creation. If possible, I'd like to borrow some primordial clay from your stores."
His lips curved faintly. "Borrow?" His voice carried that dry amusement of one who knew that nothing made of primordial clay was ever truly returned. "Hades, you are more than welcome to use as much as you require. That clay was made for shaping things meant to endure. It will serve you well."
I inclined my head. "You have my thanks, Prometheus."
Then I turned to Brontes, who was already looking at me with that restless, expectant grin of his. "Brontes, how soon could you begin construction on one of the basement levels? I'll need a personal workshop—space enough for large-scale crafting, reinforced walls, and a forge that can withstand sustained high-heat work."
He didn't hesitate. "If you have a blueprint for the layout, I can have my brothers and I dig out a whole new floor beneath the castle in no time. Reinforcing it will take a little longer, but the digging? That's child's play."
"Good," I said. "Then you and Prometheus will meet me in my office later. We'll finalize the designs together."
Brontes grinned wider, his single eye glinting. "Always happy to build something that makes other people afraid."
I allowed myself the faintest smirk before addressing the rest of the assembly. "For those of you who intend to fight, I suggest you start your training immediately. I don't care if you think you're in peak condition. Rust slows the blade, dulls the strike, and in battle, that hesitation will cost lives. Neptune's monsters will not give you the luxury of a warm-up."
There were nods across the room—some eager, some grim. Nemesis's lips twitched in anticipation. Moros gave the smallest of shrugs, as though already certain he'd survive regardless.
"Dismissed," I said finally, my tone carrying the weight of command.
One by one, they bowed—some stiffly, some with practiced grace—and left the chamber. Their footsteps echoed off the obsidian walls until the throne room was nearly empty again.
Nearly.
Because Tartarus was still there.
He rose from his conjured couch, stretching with a slow, almost feline grace. His joints cracked like distant rockslides, and when he rolled his shoulders, the air itself seemed to shudder.
I met his gaze. "What?" I asked, more brusquely than I intended.
His third eye blinked again, once. Then he smiled—a slow, unsettling thing. "Be careful," he said simply.
Before I could ask what the Abyss meant by that, flames erupted around him—black at the base, fading into deep crimson, then to a white-hot core at the edges. In a blink, he was gone, leaving only the faint scorch marks on the stone where his bare feet had been.
I stood there, staring at the spot he'd vacated, the silence suddenly feeling heavier than before.
Be careful.
The words echoed in my mind, carrying no clear warning, no context. Just the weight of something older than Olympus, older than my reign, perhaps even older than the concept of war itself.
I didn't like not knowing.
And I had the distinct feeling that whatever he'd meant… I was going to find out, whether I wanted to or not.