Chapter 256: Chapter 14
Tartarus.
The oppressive air of this realm was thick with malice and despair, swirling like a storm of shadows that devoured even light itself.
When Hades stepped through the veil and into the abyss, the ground trembled under his mere presence.
His dark robes billowed, and the flames of the underworld that clung faintly to his form seemed to recoil from the deeper darkness here.
Not long after his arrival, a towering figure approached.
A woman with long, flowing crimson hair, eyes that glowed like molten fire, and draconic scales glinting along her neck and arms.
She knelt the moment she reached him, her head bowed in reverence.
It is Campe, Guardian of Tartarus.
"Lord Hades," Campe greeted respectfully, her voice deep yet melodious.
"Rise, Campe," Hades said calmly, his voice carrying a power that made the shadows still. "I want to ask, how are the giants?"
"They are as you ordered, my lord," she replied, straightening. "Guarding the imprisoned Titans, keeping them from stirring further chaos."
Hades gave a single nod. "Good. Take me to them."
Without hesitation, Campe turned and led him deeper into Tartarus.
They passed through caverns filled with the howls of ancient prisoners, their colossal shadows twisting against walls made of black stone.
Chains thicker than mountains hung from the void above, binding creatures whose names had long been erased from mortal memory.
Eventually, they reached a vast canyon bathed in red light.
There, Porphyrion, the king of the giant, stood tall like a living mountain, muscles carved from divine essence, his eyes burning with fury as he glared down at a restrained Titan.
The Titan, enormous and cruel-faced, sneered up at him.
"You think you can guard us forever, whelp?" the Titan spat. "You were born as a weapon and will die as nothing more than a slave—"
The Titan’s words were cut short when Porphyrion slammed his colossal fist into his face.
The blow echoed like thunder, and the Titan crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
"You talk too much," Porphyrion growled under his breath, shaking the dust from his knuckles.
Just then, he sensed a presence far greater than any other.
The air turned heavy as he turned and saw Hades standing there, walking beside Campe.
His defiant expression vanished instantly.
Porphyrion dropped to one knee and bowed his head low, his voice rumbling with awe. "Honored Father."
Hades regarded him with a faint smile. "Rise, Porphyrion."
The giant obeyed, straightening to his towering height. Despite being a king among giants, even he seemed small before Hades.
"It’s been a long time," Hades said softly. "How are you faring? Are your brothers behaving themselves?"
Porphyrion placed a hand over his chest with pride.
"We have followed Lady Campe’s orders without fail. Those who cause trouble are disciplined... as that one," he said, gesturing to the fallen Titan behind him. "The prisoners still resist, but we keep them in line."
He paused, and let out a tired sigh, "But Lady Eris and Lady Keres really need to tone down their behaviours. Their love for chaos and violence was the main reason for various prisoner riots in Tartarus."
Hades blinked. So they were that bad huh? He will be having words with them later.
Hades nodded in approval, his gaze calm but deep as the abyss itself. "Good. And your strength? Has Tartarus dulled it, even slightly?"
Porphyrion chuckled, pounding his chest once. "On the contrary, Honored Father. This place, this endless hell, was tempering us. We fight almost daily against the monsters and the Titans. My siblings and I have grown stronger than we ever were in the war. I can feel it in my bones, in the blood that burns through me."
A faint smile curved Hades’ lips. "Excellent."
But then his tone shifted, calm, yet carrying weight like the pull of gravity itself. "Gather your brothers and sisters, Porphyrion. I am bringing you all out of Tartarus."
Porphyrion froze.
For a moment, his mind went blank, unsure if he had heard correctly. His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face.
"...You would release us?" he asked, voice trembling slightly despite his size.
Hades’ gaze was steady, his words slow and absolute. "The time has come. The outer entities move once more. I have need of your strength. The world above, our world, stands on the brink of annihilation. You and your kin will fight alongside the gods."
Porphyrion’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes burned with hatred and revenge. Those outer entities, the ones who took control of them and their mother...he and his brothers have long wanted to get their revenge.
Now, they finally have a chance!
His massive frame straightened, his golden eyes blazing like suns.
"Then by your command, Father," he said, his voice shaking the ground. "The giants shall rise once more!"
Hades nodded, a faint flicker of grim satisfaction crossing his face.
"Prepare yourself," he said, turning his gaze toward the endless pit below. "For the war of worlds has begun."
*
*
*
On a tall, jagged mountain whose peak pierced through the clouds like a spear aimed toward the heavens, a soft, almost cheerful humming drifted through the crisp air.
The sound was faint, carried by the wind across the crags and cliffs, but it was enough to bring a sense of warmth to a place that should have been filled only with agony and silence.
There, at the very summit of the mountain, bound by chains forged from celestial metal and divine punishment, was a figure drenched in blood and dust.
His once-brilliant robe was torn and ragged, its golden threads dulled by centuries of suffering; his once-flowing hair now a tangled mess that clung to his face.
Yet, despite the filth, the wounds, and the weight of his imprisonment, his presence radiated a quiet, unyielding majesty, the indomitable aura of a being who had defied the gods themselves for the sake of mankind.
This was Prometheus, the Titan who shaped humanity from clay and granted them the sacred flame of Olympus, defying Zeus’s will and earning eternal torment for his compassion.
His blood stained the stone beneath him, and each day his body regenerated, only to be torn again by the eagle that came to feast upon his liver, a punishment as endless as his hope.
As the wind brushed past his face, Prometheus tilted his head slightly, his weary eyes gazing into the endless expanse of sky.
Suddenly, something shifted. The air shimmered faintly, and a flicker of divine light crossed his pupils.
His expression froze.
"Hm?" he murmured softly, blinking as his foresight, a gift and curse that allowed him to glimpse fragments of what is to come, began to stir.
Yet this time, something was strange.
The vision felt different, distorted. The threads of fate were tangled, as if the very concept of destiny itself was unraveling.
Then, it came.
In his mind’s eye, he saw a vast and grand Hyperverse with countless stars, countless worlds, and within them, countless gods.
Deities of unfamiliar shapes and unfamiliar pantheons, from realms he could not name, moving across cosmic seas that shimmered with divine essence.
He saw magic beyond what Olympus had ever wielded, miracles so profound they rewrote the very laws of existence.
Beings of light and shadow, angels and demons, dragons and titans unlike any he had ever known, all coexisting in a boundless expanse that made their own cosmos seem like a mere drop in the ocean.
His breath caught as he saw, among all this, a familiar sight, himself.
Prometheus, no longer chained, no longer suffering.
He saw himself walking freely among mortals once more, his divinity concealed beneath the guise of a man, laughing and sharing wine with the very beings he had once created.
He felt the warmth of firelight, the joy of freedom, and for a single heartbeat, it was as if he had been released from his torment.
But then, the vision shattered.
A deep rumble tore through the fabric of what he was seeing.
Darkness flooded the scene. Something vast and unspeakable emerged, a colossal, incomprehensible entity that transcended shape, time, and thought.
Its mere existence defied logic; its presence was so terrible that the stars themselves were snuffed out in its wake.
Prometheus’s eyes widened as pain exploded behind them. His nose began to bleed, and he cried out, wrenching himself back from the brink.
He gasped, panting heavily, his chains rattling against the stone. For a long while, he said nothing.
Then, a soft, almost amused chuckle escaped his cracked lips.
"That was dangerous," he muttered hoarsely, as if laughing at his own recklessness. "Even for me."
He leaned back against the cold rock and closed his eyes, allowing the wind to wash over him.
The weight of what he had seen pressed heavily on his shoulders, yet there was no despair in his expression, only a quiet resignation, and a glimmer of faith.
"The world has reached its turning point," he murmured softly, his voice carried by the mountain wind. "From this moment on, whether it prospers or perishes... whether it survives the devourers or falls to darkness... will rest in your hands."
His eyes opened once more, a faint smile curving his lips as he looked toward the far horizon, toward the Underworld, where a god cloaked in shadow and power now moved according to a destiny far greater than Olympus itself.
"I’m sure," Prometheus whispered, the fire in his gaze undimmed even after eons of torment, "you will do what is right... Hades."