The desert had been merciless. Every muscle ached, every joint protested, and my lungs burned like I had inhaled fire. And yet, somehow, I had survived. Somehow, I had fought and beaten that abomination—the Ōmukade—and lived to tell the tale.
I still remembered the moment I'd broken its mandible. A perfect strike, a crushing blow of my mortal fists that made the creature recoil in shock, mandibles snapping uselessly. It scurried off into the dunes, leaving behind only the deep gouges I had carved into its armored segments. My body screamed in protest as I leaned against a jagged rock formation, letting the desert wind dry my sweat and sand, letting my body steam and heal itself.
Days passed after that. I survived the rest of the dunes through cunning, exhaustion, and sheer stubbornness. By the end of the month, I was leaner, tougher, and sharper. My muscles were sore but adapting, my reflexes honed from navigating the traps and dangers of the dunes. I had learned how to move, how to anticipate, how to survive without powers, and how to think like a mortal—but also like a god trapped in mortality.
It was then that Tartarus returned. I had just collapsed by a small cave I had claimed as a temporary base when a familiar ripple in the air heralded his presence.
"You're still alive," he said dryly, leaning against the rock face as though I had expected him to be there.
I glared. "What took you so long?"
Tartarus smirked, holding up a hand. "I fell asleep. Don't look at me like that—I'd been napping for a month."
"A month?!" My jaw dropped. "I've been crawling through death traps, fighting a centipede the size of a mountain, and you've been asleep?"
"I said don't look at me like that," he replied, eyes glinting with amusement. "Honestly, I'm surprised you actually managed to damage the creature. Most mortals would have been crushed, but… you?" He gestured at me with mock admiration. "You hit it. You hurt it. That's impressive."
I let out a slow breath. "You're not wrong. But I'm not impressed with your timing."
He chuckled, pushing off the rock. "Fair enough. Now, let's get to work. I've gotten a pretty good read on your body. Where it's strong, where it's weak… and, most importantly, where it needs to start over."
I squinted, wary. "Start over?"
"Yes." He clapped his hands together. "First, a complete flush. Clean out the old, tainted divinity and let some fresh, healthier divinity flow through your body. Otherwise, the next time you go nuclear, you'll burn out again."
Before I could argue, he snapped his fingers, and the desert vanished. My feet touched cool, flowing water, the roar of waterfalls filling my ears. I blinked, looking around, and my breath caught.
I was at Iguazú Falls. God, it looked exactly the same as it must have millennia ago. Cascading torrents of water surrounded me, rainbows forming in the mist, and the roar of the falls seemed to echo through time itself.
"Clean up in the lake," Tartarus instructed, gesturing to the riverbank. "We'll begin the session shortly."
I nodded and waded into the water. The cool spray washed over my skin, taking away the grit and sand from the desert. My muscles, already sore and healing, felt alive in the cold rush. For the first time in a long while, I felt… human.
When I returned to the riverbank, drying myself on a coarse cloth, I glanced at Tartarus. "Are we even allowed to be here?"
He gave a rare smirk. "I pulled a favor from Tapu and Viracocha. Safe passage as long as we do not cause any problems."
I blinked, thinking. Tapu… Viracocha… oh right, they were the Kings of the Brazilian and Incan pantheons. I wondered how Tartarus was able to convince them to allow us to come here.
"Sit," he said, motioning to the smooth rocks by the bank. I obeyed, wary but intrigued. "We need to talk about divinity. Your divinity. And why, the last time, you nearly destroyed everything because of it."
I raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were going to start with clearing out my divinity."
"Patience," he said, crossing his legs. "Divinity is not just about raw power. It's current. A flow. And to understand how to manage it, you need to know the branches of Homo Divinus. There are three."
I leaned forward. "Go on."
"The Primordials," he began, gesturing at the falls as though they were an example. "Incarnates of domains. They are part of divinity itself, more natural, more… integrated. They don't pull divinity—they are divinity in a way. Their control is inherent, instinctual."
I nodded, mentally mapping.
"The Titans," Tartarus continued. "Second generation. Not as strong as the Primordials. Their divinity manifests as Mana—a weaker, more manipulable form. Some, like Cronus, had a decent control, but they were corrupted by the raw power of it. They were strong… but flawed."
"And us?" I asked.
"The gods. Third generation. You and your siblings. Trained from early in life to wield, manipulate, and channel divinity. Your strength lies in your will, in your discipline, in your understanding of domains. But even you… misuse it, and the world suffers."
I frowned. "I… nuked half of Greece."
Tartarus gave a small, sharp nod. "Exactly. Divinity, inchor, and willpower. This is what makes a god. Willpower is what allows you to learn, adapt, and manipulate your domains. But here's the problem, Hades: you've been recycling the same divinity instead of pulling it fresh from the world. Filtering it through yourself, using it carefully."
I grimaced. "So when I exploded Greece… I used almost everything I had?"
"Yes," he said. "You nearly drained yourself dry. And that is exactly why we are here. You need to clean out what's left of that old divinity, flush your system, and allow new, healthy currents to flow. Otherwise… next time, the consequences will be worse."
I sat back, crossing my arms, feeling a strange emptiness already creeping through me. "And how do you want me to do that?"
"Meditate," he said simply. "Slowly release the remainder of your divinity. Feel it leave your body. Observe it. Let it flow out. Once your system is empty, you can start fresh."
I nodded, closing my eyes. I turned inward, breathing as Tartarus instructed. He guided me, quietly, calmly, as I focused on my core. The nearly depleted reserve of divinity, still faintly glowing like embers deep within me, beckoned. I could feel its warmth, its potential, and its residue.
"Draw it up," Tartarus instructed softly. "From the deepest core of your being… let it rise. Let it flow. Out. Into the world around you. Feel it leave, feel it purify itself, and leave only the vessel behind."
I obeyed, inhaling and exhaling slowly, centering myself. I felt the heat in my veins, the power thrumming faintly, ebbing away like water draining from a basin. Each pulse, each heartbeat, guided the divinity outward. The process was excruciating, physically and mentally, as if my very essence were being unthreaded, unwoven, and remade.
And finally when it was done, the emptiness felt… strange.
Not painful, not even uncomfortable—just alien. Like I'd been walking my entire life with a heavy mantle draped over my shoulders, and suddenly someone had lifted it away. My skin felt lighter. My breathing, clearer. My heartbeat, slower, more… mortal.
"All right," Tartarus said, his voice breaking into my drifting thoughts. "The vessel is clear. Now we will rebuild it."
I opened one eye. "Rebuild?"
"You think divine strength comes only from divinity?" he asked, arching a brow. "Wrong. Without the right vessel, divinity is wasted. If your body can't handle the current, the current will tear you apart."
I sat up straighter. "So what's the next step?"
Tartarus' smile was not the kind you wanted to see when asking a god of eternal prisons for advice. "Simple. We train the body to endure. While you slowly filter new divinity into yourself."
I narrowed my eyes. "And how exactly are we doing that?"
"Sit-ups, push-ups, squats, and a five-hour run." He said it as if announcing the weather. "One thousand each. In sequence."
I blinked. "Wait—what? A thousand each?"
He nodded. "What are you waiting for? An invitation? Move."
I hesitated, just long enough for him to add, "Oh, and if you fail any one of them… we start over."
My jaw dropped. "You've got to be—"
"—moving," Tartarus interrupted, his tone sharp. "Now."
God help me, I moved.
The first set of sit-ups wasn't bad. My body was still in peak physical condition, even without divinity coursing through it. The crunch of my abdominal muscles, the rhythm of my breathing—it was easy enough to fall into. But Tartarus didn't make it easy.
"Slower," he ordered. "Controlled movement. Pull your knees in exactly the same angle every time. Don't waste energy. You're not here to race."
By the time I hit three hundred, my core was on fire. The filtering of divinity was the real challenge—not the physical motion. It was like trying to draw water through a thin reed while running uphill. I had to pull faint threads of power from the world around me—the spray of the falls, the hum of life in the forest, even the heat of the sun—and pull it into my lungs, my blood, my bones. Slowly. Carefully.
Sweat dripped into my eyes, but I kept going.
By the time I finished my thousandth sit-up, my abs were trembling like jelly.
"Push-ups," Tartarus said.
I groaned. "You could at least say 'please.'"
"No," he replied.
I dropped to the ground, palms sinking into damp soil. The push-ups started easy enough—controlled, steady, breathing in sync with the rise and fall. But with every movement, Tartarus barked corrections.
"Back straight. Lock your elbows at the top. You're leaking divinity—stop that!"
He could see when my concentration faltered. That was the worst part. At push-up two hundred, my filtering wavered, and he made me stop, sit back, and start over from zero.
God, I wanted to strangle him.
By the time we hit squats, I was already hating my immortal resilience. A mortal body would have collapsed hours ago, but I just kept going, aching but functional. My thighs burned, my calves trembled, my lower back felt like it was going to seize up.
"Lower," Tartarus snapped for the fiftieth time. "Knees out, not in. You're cheating your own frame. You want to break something?"
"Yes," I grunted. "Your face."
"Good," he said, utterly unfazed. "Anger fuels willpower. Willpower drives control. Keep it."
I swore under my breath, but the truth was… I was getting better at the filtering. Every squat was a reminder to keep the divinity flow slow and steady—no flooding, no surges. Just a constant trickle into my limbs, reinforcing muscle and tendon without burning them out.
The run was the real killer.
"Five hours," Tartarus said, gesturing to the winding trail along the riverbank. "Go."
I started at a jog, keeping my breathing even, still drawing in those thin currents of divine power. The first hour was manageable—my body had adjusted to the rhythm. But the second hour? The fatigue set in like a lead blanket.
By hour three, every step was a negotiation. My legs wanted to stop, my lungs wanted to scream, my head was pounding. The divinity trickle felt like trying to pull sunlight through a pinhole.
Tartarus followed on foot, not even winded, his steps deliberate and measured. "Keep your shoulders loose. Don't clench your fists. Flow, Hades—not force."
I wanted to throw him into the river. Preferably while it was in flood.
By hour four, the world stopped making sense. Shapes flickered in the trees—half-seen faces that vanished when I turned my head. Voices whispered in the roar of the falls, words I almost understood but couldn't hold onto. My lungs burned. My legs shook. My body begged for rest, but Tartarus' voice was relentless.
"You stop, we start over."
I stumbled, caught myself, forced my feet to keep moving. I didn't even know what we were counting toward anymore.
When the five hours ended, I collapsed face-first into the grass, my chest heaving, my arms spread wide like I'd been nailed to the ground. My entire body throbbed.
"Get up," Tartarus said.
"No," I wheezed.
"Get. Up."
A groan escaped me as I rolled over, staring up at the streak of sky between the trees. "You are a sadist."
He smiled faintly, which was somehow worse than if he'd laughed. "I am thorough."
The next day was the same. And the next. And the next. Every single time my stance faltered, my grip shifted wrong, my filtering slipped—he sent me back to zero. The mental strain of pulling divinity while keeping my form perfect was worse than the physical agony.
The worst was the squats. Nine hundred ninety-eight. Nine hundred. Ninety-eight. I could see the finish line—then my concentration slipped for a heartbeat.
"Start again."
I may have screamed at him. Possibly in several dead languages.
By the end of the week, my legs felt like iron. My breathing became deeper, smoother. The filtering… it wasn't forced anymore. The trickle of power had become a steady stream, flowing in without thought. My body drank in the world's divinity like a man in the desert drinking from an endless spring.
And Tartarus? He stood there with his arms crossed, eyes like obsidian, watching every movement. Waiting for me to break.
"Better," he said finally, his tone neutral.
I glared at him, sweat still dripping into my eyes. "What's 'good enough' then?"
He smirked. "You'll know when I stop making you start over."
"Gods help me," I muttered. "I'm going to be here forever."
"You're lucky you're a god," he said, turning his back to me. "A mortal would've died already."
I thought it was just another one of his sharp-edged comments—until the ground began to tremble.
It wasn't much at first. Just a low vibration through the dirt, like the hum of something deep beneath us. Then the trees shuddered. The air changed.
Tartarus stopped walking. His head tilted slightly. "Lesson's not over," he said, voice suddenly sharp.
Something burst through the tree line—long, chitinous, and moving far too fast for its size. A giant centipede, easily the length of a river barge, mandibles snapping with bone-crushing force.
I didn't think so. My body was already moving, stance shifting automatically, divinity pulling into my limbs in a clean, unbroken stream. It lunged, and I met it head-on.
One step inside its reach. Twist. Drive the fist.
The impact shook my arm to the shoulder. The mandible shattered with a sickening crack, fragments spinning away into the grass. The monster screeched, its head rearing back.
And for the first time since training started, Tartarus actually smiled.
"That," he said, as the beast slithered away into the shadows, "was closer to good enough."
I stood there, chest heaving, my knuckles split and bleeding inchor, the ache in my body now threaded with something sharper—pride.