One moment there was nothing—not darkness, not silence, just the absence of existence itself—and then suddenly, I was aware again. Not awake. Not alive. Just aware. Like a single thought floating in an endless ocean of nothingness.
My first coherent realization was that I shouldn't be able to think at all. The last thing I remembered was the cube—that damn glowing artifact in the university's restricted archives—flaring brighter than the sun as Cassandra screamed my name. Then pain. Then nothing.
Now this.
I tried to move my fingers. I imagined them twitching, but there was no feedback, no sensation of muscle contracting or skin stretching. Just the abstract notion that somewhere, limbs might exist.
Then the light came.
Not from any direction, because directions didn't exist here. The light simply was, blooming into existence like ink spilled in reverse. It took shape—no, it revealed shape—and suddenly I was staring up at something that defied every law of biology I'd spent six years studying.
A stag. But not a stag.
Its coat wasn't white so much as the absence of color altogether, glowing with its own impossible luminance. The mane was too thick, too long, cascading down its neck like liquid silk frozen mid-fall. And those antlers... Christ, they branched endlessly, fractal patterns repeating into infinity until the sheer scale of them made my nonexistent stomach lurch.
But the eyes—three of them, burning with ancient, alien intelligence—were what truly shattered any pretense of scientific understanding. They didn't just look at me. They peeled me apart. Like a specimen pinned to a dissection tray, every secret laid bare.
I tried to scream. No sound came. No lungs to push air. No air to push.
The buck tilted its head. A gesture that might have been curious if made by anything remotely human.
This had to be a real god.
And it was very, very interested in me and I had no idea why. The light flared behind it giving it more of a divine feeling as I had the urge to bow before it in fear that it would kill me with a single thought.
"Na-tha-ni-el Rhodes," it said, each syllable vibrating through the emptiness around us. The voice wasn't loud, but it filled the void anyway, resonating in my skull like a struck bell. "Son of Mark and Samantha Rhodes."
I swallowed hard. My throat was sandpaper. "How—how do you know who I am?"
The buck exhaled—a sound like wind through dead trees—and turned its head slightly, antlers casting jagged shadows that slithered across the nothingness. "I know all my children."
Before I could demand answers, it continued, its voice dropping into something softer, almost mournful. "You currently stand in the Void, Nathaniel. Where all things return when their time is spent. Where gods fade. Where my creations will one day dissolve into the dust of forgotten stars."
I wanted to step back. There was no ground beneath me, just the endless, hungry dark, but my body locked up anyway. The buck—no, the thing—shifted, its form flickering at the edges, like static on an old TV.
"I am one of the architects that created this cursed world," it said. "Eldest of three. Once, we wove the cosmic web together. Our masterpiece. Billions of worlds, spinning in the dark." A pause. The void seemed to pulse. "And yet... it is pitiful, isn't it? How fragile is it all becomes when it nears its end?"
A chill crept up my spine. "What—what do you mean?"
The Architect's eyes dimmed. "The youngest wakes. Hungry. He has slept too long, and now he stirs."
I didn't understand. Not at first. Not until the visions hit—flashes of teeth and darkness and something vast, shapeless, writhing between dimensions. This eldritch serpent that looked to be made up of this dark matter.
The Architect's voice cut through the horror like a blade.
"He is coming, Nathaniel. He has been heading to Earth for quite some time. And yet my great grandchildren have placed the fate of your world on you and your friends."
I choked. "Why us? Why not—why don't you stop him instead of bringing us into this? We are human, we don't have what it takes to take on some cosmic serpent."
The Architect went still. For a heartbeat, it looked almost... tired.
"Because I have already used all my strength to help the gods defeat my brother once and now I just have enough strength to use my own life to give you and your friends the chance to change history." A flicker of something like grief passed over its face.
The void trembled.
"Now, three of your friends have passed my trials," the Architect murmured. "Let us see if you can as well."
Then the light behind it blazed— and the void shifted as I felt a tug at my core, like a hook catching beneath my ribs. The buck's form blurred as the darkness folded inward.
One heartbeat I was suspended in that impossible nothingness, my thoughts still echoing with the buck's words, and the next the darkness folded in on itself like a collapsing lung.
There was no sensation of falling.
No wind.
No transition.
The next I knew I had landed on marble flooring.
My palms slammed against the cold and hard marble stone, the impact jarring up my arms as if I had been dropped from a height. I sucked in a breath that burned my lungs and tasted faintly of smoke and something older than smoke, something mineral and ancient.
When I lifted my head, the sight before me stole what little composure I had left.
The temple rose around me in sweeping arcs of white marble so polished it reflected the light like still water. Tall Corinthian columns ringed the circular chamber, their capitals adorned with intricate carvings of pomegranate vines and skeletal branches. Silver veins ran through the marble floor in geometric patterns that formed an enormous sigil beneath my knees with this symbol that resembled a rams skull that was set in a way that it formed the symbol of Pluto with this eye in between the horns.
If I was correct then this was not some holy gods temple.
At the far end of the temple, elevated by three shallow steps, stood a throne carved from black volcanic stone. It was not smooth like the marble. It was jagged, almost organic, as if it had been grown rather than shaped. The edges shimmered faintly, catching the ambient light in ways that made it seem both solid and not.
Resting upon that throne was a helm.
Corinthian in style, but no artifact I had ever seen in a museum resembled this. The metal was blackened silver, not dulled by age but darkened by something intrinsic to its forging. Fine lines etched across its surface that seemed to give it a more skull like appearance. The eye slits glowed faintly, not with light exactly, but with awareness.
My gaze dropped from the helm to the weapon embedded in the marble before the throne.
It was a bident.
It was about 6 feet long, the weapon looked to be forged of the same material as the helm, the same black and silver metal. The two prongs were like that of an Addax, spiraling upwards. The shaft was about as long as my body with minimal design to it except that of the silver veins that ran up and down the weapons body.
I knew what it was, even before the thought fully formed.
The bident of Hades, and even from where I had stood I could feel the power that radiated from the weapon.
My pulse quickened as I had the feeling that I was supposed to grab the weapon.
I rose slowly, my legs unsteady beneath me, and stepped toward it. Each footfall echoed in the vast chamber, the sound too loud in the otherwise suffocating quiet. The air felt heavy, charged, as though the temple were holding its breath.
My hand closed around the shaft and for a split second, nothing happened and then that is when the pain started.
Energy surged up my arm in a violent wave as I could not let go of the spear. The energy seemed to flow right to my heart as I clutched my chest in pain.
I gritted my teeth and pulled.
The marble around the embedded tip fractured with a sharp crack, fissures spiderwebbing outward as the bident tore free with a sound like stone screaming in protest.
It felt lighter than it had any right to be.
Balanced.
Perfectly aligned with my grip as if it had been forged for my hand. Though my focus was diverged as I heard a low rumble rolled through the temple.
I turned just as the marble floor in front of the throne split apart.
The crack began as a thin line, then widened rapidly, jagged edges lifting as something forced its way upward from below. Chunks of marble flew aside as clawed hands, long and skeletal, gripped the edge of the fissure and hauled a body into the chamber.
It emerged in pieces.
First the hands, elongated fingers ending in talons that scraped sparks from the stone.
Then the arms, too thin for their length, sinew stretched tight beneath pale, parchment-like skin.
Its torso followed, ribs visible beneath a translucent layer of flesh, rising and falling with a dry, rasping breath.
When its head lifted into the light, I felt my stomach twist.
The closest comparison my mind could form was demon, but that word felt insufficient. Its skull was elongated, jaw splitting vertically rather than horizontally, opening like a grotesque flower to reveal rows of jagged teeth. Horns curved back from its temples in an unnatural crown. Its eye sockets burned with a deep, hungry red.
The noise that had come out of that creature would haunt any human for the rest of their lives.
Then it lunged.
I reacted on instinct, swinging the bident like a bat rather than a spear. The shaft connected with its shoulder with a crack that reverberated up my arms. The force nearly tore the weapon from my grip, but the creature staggered sideways, claws gouging deep trenches into the marble as it regained balance.
"I don't know what the hell you are," I muttered, backing away, "but I am not qualified for this."
It moved again, faster than its gaunt frame suggested possible. One moment it was crouched, the next it was airborne, claws extended toward my throat.
I barely rolled aside in time. The talons struck the marble where I had stood, slicing through it as though it were soft clay. Fragments exploded outward, pelting my face.
I scrambled to my feet, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears.
I had no training.
No technique.
No idea how to wield a bident beyond basic physics.
When it rushed me again, I jabbed forward awkwardly. The prongs grazed its side, tearing through that thin skin and drawing something dark that evaporated before it hit the floor.
It shrieked this time, a sound that made my vision blur.
I staggered back, gripping the weapon too tightly.
Think.
The helm.
My eyes flicked toward the throne.
If this truly was Hades' temple, if that truly was his bident, then the helm resting upon that throne could only be one thing.
The Helm of Darkness.
That helm should allow the wearer to become invisible when worn. Might even cause fear in those that look upon its face. I needed to get my hands on it.
The creature lunged again.
I ducked under its swipe and bolted toward the throne, boots skidding against marble slick with dust. The temple seemed to stretch, distance warping slightly as though resisting my attempt.
I leaped the final step, shoulder slamming into the side of the throne as I reached up and tore the helm from its resting place.
The metal burned against my skin.
I jammed it down over my head.
Agony.
Pure, blinding agony.
It felt like molten iron being poured directly into my skull. My knees buckled, and I collapsed against the throne as voices flooded my mind in overlapping waves. Ancient languages I should not understand crashed into one another, forming a chaotic chorus that threatened to tear me apart from the inside.
Yet this torrent of power surged through me. It roared down my spine, filled my limbs, coiled in my chest like a living thing.
The creature barreled toward me, claws poised to rip my throat open.
I stood shakily as I willed all my strength to face the monster as I yelled the only thing that I could think of.
"Leave me alone!"
The word reverberated through the temple like thunder beneath the earth. The voice was not mine, coming out deeper and stronger than anything I ever said in my entire life.
The creature faltered mid-stride, its red eyes widened in what I assumed fear as it skidded to a halt. It's claws digging furrows into the marble as it recoiled with a low, uncertain growl.
The creature hissed, baring those jagged teeth as it lunged again.
This time, I moved without conscious thought.
The bident spun in my grip, the motion fluid and precise despite my lack of training. I hurled it forward with a force that did not feel entirely my own.
The weapon flew true.
The twin prongs pierced the creature's torso, driving it backward into one of the marble columns. The impact cracked the pillar with a thunderous report.
For a moment, the monster writhed, claws scraping uselessly at the shaft embedded through its chest.
Then its body began to crumble as it collapsed inward, dissolving into a fine gray ash that scattered across the marble floor.
Silence returned to the temple.
The power that had buoyed me moments before drained suddenly as my legs gave out, and I fell to one knee, my breath ragged. The helm felt impossibly heavy now, pressing down on my skull like a crown forged from stone.
I reached up to tear it free.
"Foolish boy."
The voice was not the buck's.
It was deeper.
Colder.
Resonant with something intimately familiar.
I froze.
The weight of the helm lifted from my head, not with the metallic clatter I expected, but with the quiet surrender of something surrendering its grip on me. It drifted—not fell—hovering like a leaf caught in an unfelt breeze before dissolving into smoke above the obsidian throne. And where it had been, a man stood.
No—not a man. Not entirely. His form flickered between solid and spectral, dark robes rippling as if submerged in unseen water. Silver streaked through his black beard, his shoulders broad but slumped under invisible centuries. His eyes… gods, his eyes. Like pits of molten lead, weary beyond measure, the way my father's looked after double shifts at the refinery.
"Bow if you must," the ghost said, his voice rasping like wind through dead branches. "But it's wasted on a relic."
I didn't realize I'd dropped to my knees until the chill of the marble bit through my jeans. The bident—Hades' bident—clattered beside me, still dripping with ichor from the thing I'd slain moments ago. My hands shook. This wasn't how mythology described him—no crown of bones, no snarling hounds. Just a tired old man in a too-big robe.
"You're…" My throat closed. I'd seen gods before—or what remained of them—in the ruins beneath Athens. Twisted things, half-mad with time. But this?
"Hades," he finished, and the name didn't echo. It sank into the temple stones like a burial shroud. "Or what's left of him." His smile was a cracked mirror. "Congratulations, Nathaniel Rhodes. You've passed my test, though I did not expect you to use my own helm to get the upperhand. Now comes the hard part."
He moved—not walked, but *occurred*—closer. Frost spiderwebbed across the floor where his shadow fell. "Do you know how long I've watched you? Since you first touched the Noxite in that dig site. Since you were a mere child staring at the graves of your parents." His skeletal fingers brushed my cheek. Shockingly warm. "Mortality is… exquisite. Fleeting. You'll miss it."
The confession tore from me: "I don't want this."
"Good." His laugh was a dry creek bed. "Godhood is not something that grand." He gestured to the frescoes crumbling along the walls—scenes of a world drowned in fire. "You may have all the power and worship you desire, but you may lose far more than you wish."
His hand gripped my shoulder, solid as bedrock. "I picked you to replace me because I know that you can be a lot better than me."
My pulse hammered in my temples. "If I take your body, then what will happen to you?"
"I will cease to exist," he murmured, and for the first time, his eyes softened. "Honestly I am exhausted and I do not wish to relive any of my mistakes."
The temple blurred. Fire erupted beneath my skin—not the clean burn of alcohol, but the slow rending of flesh from bone. I screamed as light tore through my pores, as my vision fractured into a kaleidoscope of epochs: pyramids rising, Rome burning, my mother singing me to sleep in a timeline that hadn't happened yet.
Hades watched, his form unraveling at the edges. "Breathe, boy. It's just dying. You'll get used to it."
The last thing I heard before the dark took me was his sigh—relieved, like a man finally letting go of all the stress that had been pushing him down
<------------------->
The first thing I noticed was the warmth—thick, liquid, pressing against my skin like molten silk. Not the suffocating void I'd expected after death, but something alive, pulsing. My heartbeat—no, hers—echoed around me in slow, rhythmic waves. I tried to move, but my limbs were curled tight, trapped in a space too small and yet impossibly safe. Then the pressure came.
A force like the tide dragged me forward, relentless. My spine arched, shoulders twisting as the world squeezed around me. Pain flared—sharp, then dull—as something vast and unseen commanded my body toward a searing light.
Voices.
They hit me like a storm—layered, resonant, each syllable thrumming with power. Words I didn't know, yet somehow understood. "Súrhen ai'thra velarion…" A woman's voice, rich as honey, trembling with exertion. The language curled around my mind, not learned but absorbed, as if the meaning dripped into my skull like nectar.
"Again!" Another voice—crisp, authoritative—cut through the haze. "Push, my lady!"
The light grew blinding. My lungs burned as cold air rushed in, and then—
Colors.
Gold. Bronze. The flicker of torchlight on polished marble. Hands, enormous and radiant, lifted me, their fingers brushing my skin like sun-warmed stone. Tears blurred my vision—not mine—salted with divine sweat.
"By the rivers, he's tiny." The voice was melodic, half-laughing. A face loomed above me: a girl—no, a Titaness—her features carved from moonlight. Silver-blonde hair tumbled over one shoulder, threaded with sapphire beads that chimed like distant stars. Her chiton, sheer as morning mist, clung to curves that defied mortal proportion, the fabric shimmering with embroidered constellations.
"Is he not about the same size as the third daughter of Hyperion and Theia?" another asked. This one had eyes like storm clouds, her dark braids coiled with golden serpents. Her gown, deep as midnight, shifted with the movement of hidden galaxies, the hem pooling around her feet in liquid shadow.
I twisted, disoriented. The third daughter of Hyperion and Theia? If I recall they only ever had a son and two daughters.
Then the air changed.
A hush fell as the tallest woman turned toward the center of the chamber. The others parted like wheat before the wind, their gazes dipping in reverence.
Rhea.
She lay on this low cushioned bed, her chest rising in ragged breaths. Even exhausted, she was radiant—her skin glowing with the first blush of dawn, chestnut curls damp against her temples. The linen draped over her hips was stained with ichor.
"Bring him." Her voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming for quite some time.
The silver-haired girl lifted me carefully, her fingers trailing incense smoke. Beside her, a copper-skinned Titaness dipped a cloth into a basin of liquid gold, its surface swirling as she removed the cloth and rang it out.
"He needs to be cleaned first," she murmured, her voice like wind through barley. She walked toward me as she got to work, the cloth moved gently on my body.
When I was finally clean, she took me and moved me toward my mother as she reached for me.
Her hands were calloused, her palms etched with lines deeper than rivers. She cradled me against her chest, and her heartbeat was a drum—slow, inexorable, the pulse of the earth itself.
"My little baby boy," she whispered. Her breath smelled of crushed mint and iron. "Look at you. Already scowling."
I hadn't realized I was.
A tear slid down her cheek, gleaming like amber. "You'll be strong," she murmured.
The others stirred. The silver haired girl stepped forward, her sapphire beads tinkling. "My lady, his name—?"
Rhea's thumb brushed my forehead. Her touch burned.
"Aidoneus," she said, and the word settled into my bones. "But the world will call you Hades."
The weight of it crushed me. Not just a name—a destiny. A throne drenched in whispers. The girls exchanged glances, their gowns rustling like leaves in a forbidden grove.
The dark haired girl smirked. "Fitting," she drawled. "He's got the grip of a king already."
I looked down. My tiny fingers were locked around Rhea's thumb, my knuckles white.
She laughed, and the sound shook the foundations of the mountain.
A knock broke the stillness.
"My lady?" A young man's voice, uncertain but respectful.
The chamber doors opened, and another figure entered. He was taller than any of the maidens, though still young. He moved with an awkward, uncertain gait. His frame was lean, his limbs too long for his body. His dark hair was tied back, and his eyes were sharp and thoughtful. A silver circlet on his brow marked his station.
He bowed low, his expression strained. "Lady Rhea, Lord Cronus is wondering if things have gone well."
Rhea smiled faintly. "Thank you, Atlas. Please tell my husband to hurry to meet his son."
Atlas. I stared, wide-eyed. Atlas, the Titan who would one day bear the heavens. He didn't match the ancient myths. This Atlas was slender, nervous, and barely past adolescence. He looked more like a boy who might drop books than someone who would become known as the strongest Titan.
He bowed again and stepped aside.
It did not take long for footsteps to be heard heading down the hall toward the room. I could feel this great pressure as he got closer.
And then he entered.
He was immense, not just in size but in presence. His dark curls fell over broad shoulders, and his beard was trimmed around a strong jaw. His eyes glowed faintly gold, as if the sun burned behind them. He wore a white and gold chiton, and the golden wreath on his brow glowed like a halo.
Cronus.
My father.
Atlas bowed low. "Lord Cronus."
Cronus stepped forward as he dismissed everyone with a single raise of his hand, his gaze fixed on Rhea, the stern power in his features softening into something almost human.
"My love," he murmured. "You have endured much."
Rhea smiled weakly. "For you, and for our child, I would endure all the earth's pain."
Cronus knelt beside her. As his gaze turned toward me, my body tensed instinctively. My heartbeat paused, and a momentary hitch in my breath made my lungs feel tight. Every myth I'd ever read flashed through my mind: He devoured his children. He feared the prophecy that one would overthrow him.
He reached for me.
No, no, no, no. I braced myself for the worst.
But instead of teeth, there was the laughter of a father. Deep, echoing, warm.
He lifted me high, his voice thunderous and awed. "Behold my first-born son! The first of my lineage!"
The maidens cheered softly. Rhea smiled, relief in her eyes.
Cronus looked down at me again, his expression a mix of pride and calculation. "He carries your beauty," he said to Rhea. "And your stubbornness, I think."
I blinked. This was not what I expected.
Cronus loomed over me, his massive frame haloed by the light from the open balcony. No sickle. No ravenous maw dripping with the blood of his children. Just… a man. A ridiculously tall, unfairly handsome man with a beard trimmed neat enough to shame a Spartan king, grinning down at me like I'd just gifted him the stars.
My tiny lungs seized.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The myths were clear: Cronus devoured his kids the second they were born. Swallowed them whole to avoid some prophecy about being overthrown. I'd braced for darkness, for the slick slide down a divine throat—not… this. Not calloused fingers brushing my cheek with terrifying gentleness.
"Easy, little shadow," he murmured. "Breathe."
A knock shattered the moment.
Cronus straightened, and the air shifted like the sea before a storm. The door swung open without a hand touching it, revealing three figures. A man, his golden hair like liquid sunlight, one arm cradling a drowsy toddler against his hip. A woman beside him, auburn curls fell down her back.
"Hyperion, Theia I am so glad you stopped by." Cronus' grin widened. "Come meet your nephew."
Hold up.
Nephew?
Hyperion stepped forward, grinning. "We won't be long, Helios and Selene are staging chariot races in the east courtyard. Eos insisted on refereeing." He hefted the little girl higher. "Hestia begged to see the baby. So we will make it quick before Helios sets something on fire again."
Theia reached out, brushing a soot-streaked thumb over my forehead. "He has your eyes, Cronus."
"And Rhea's temper, judging by the fuss he made earlier," Cronus chuckled. Then, softer: "Come here, little flame."
The girl detached herself.
I stopped breathing.
This wasn't right. Hestia was supposed to be my sister. Not some wide-eyed cousin peering at me like I was a puzzle box.
Her fingers poked my cheek. "Why does he look like that?"
Cronus snorted. "He'll grow into his looks. Unlike someone's disastrous beard phase—"
Hyperion flipped him off.
And for the first time since waking up in this impossible world, I didn't feel afraid.
Just very confused.