The Grand Temple of the Underworld stood resplendent beneath a sky of shimmering onyx, its towering gothic spires wreathed in a gentle radiance born not of sunlight, but of the countless souls who had gathered to witness the impossible—the marriage of the King of the Dead.
The great obsidian pillars glowed faintly with blue ethereal light, and streams of luminescent petals, conjured by nymphs of the Styx, drifted through the air like glowing snow.
The entire realm seemed to hold its breath, the weight of reverence and anticipation almost tangible.
"Ah, I still can't believe the king is finally getting married." A heroic spirit sighed, gazing at the majestic figure standing on top of the alter.
Beside, a goddess smirked teasingly, "If you don't give me a wedding as grand as this, I will curse you."
The heroic spirit shuddered. Maybe proposing that bet was a wrong choice.
A mere mortal really shouldn't provoke a goddess.
