Chapter 251: Chapter 9
The ark landed softly upon the obsidian platform of the Hanging Fortress of Pluton, its wood creaking as divine energy rippled across the air.
Thetis gracefully descended first, her long hair fluttering under the ethereal wind as she turned and beckoned the Olympians to follow.
"Please, dear guests, this way."
The moment they stepped off the ark, the Olympians felt an overwhelming divine pressure emanating from the structure before them, a fortress so colossal that even Olympus itself seemed modest by comparison.
Towering spires of black stone laced with golden runes reached into the heavens, and the walls shimmered faintly, pulsing with soul-light that carried whispers of countless spirits in reverence to their lord.
As Thetis led them through the main corridor, the Olympians were struck by its vastness, a seemingly endless hallway lined with statues of ancient gods and rivers of flowing blue fire that served as both illumination and ornamentation.
The air was heavy with spiritual energy, thick enough to make even Zeus feel the weight of another’s domain.
When they finally reached the end, Thetis stopped before an enormous pair of doors made from underworld iron, engraved with shifting constellations that glowed faintly at her touch.
The moment she pushed them open, divine light poured out, revealing the grand hall, vast, magnificent, and echoing with quiet reverence.
At the center of the hall was a long rectangular table of black marble, its surface reflecting the pale glow of countless floating lanterns that resembled drifting souls.
On the right side stood the Twelve Patron Gods of the Underworld —Thanatos, Keres, Hera, Hecate, Aphrodite, Eris, Hypnos, Acheron, Phlegethon, Cocytus, Lethe, and Styx —their presence radiating distinct, terrifying power that filled the room with silent awe.
Their alignment was so perfectly ordered that it seemed as though each god’s essence balanced the next.
On the left were the empty seats reserved for the Olympians, the seats of those who ruled the sky and land, now guests in a realm that belonged to death and eternity.
And upon the elevated podium at the far end of the hall sat Hades.
He rested leisurely upon his throne, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow propped upon the armrest as his fingers supported his chin in a casual yet regal posture.
His short silver hair shimmered faintly under the spectral light, his amethyst eyes glowing like cold stars that seemed to see through the soul of every god present.
He was draped in a black robe threaded with golden lines that pulsed faintly with power, divine authority woven into fabric.
Beside him, to the astonishment of all Olympians, sat Nyx herself—the Primordial Goddess of Night.
She appeared serene yet commanding, her beauty unfathomable and terrifying in its grace.
Draped in an endless veil of shadow that glittered with the faint light of distant stars, she sat beside Hades as though it were her natural place, an image of eternal sovereignty.
"Olympians, sister, brothers, welcome to my underworld. Please take a seat." Hades’s deep voice reverberated through the hall as he greeted them, his tone calm and regal.
He turned slightly, giving the same command to his patron gods, who bowed slightly before obeying.
In truth, Hades had wished for his wives—Hera, Hecate, and Aphrodite—to stand beside him on the dais, as his equals and consorts, to symbolize their bond and unity.
Yet, both Hera and Hecate refused his request with quiet firmness, their gazes steady and unyielding.
They told him that while they acknowledged him as their husband and had no regrets in their choice, they could not stand beside him in such an official gathering.
Before the eyes of Olympus, they said, they were not his wives but his subordinates, Patrons of the Underworld, divine officers bound by duty and decorum.
Even Zeus, they reminded him, did not allow his wife Metis to stand beside him during council.
To do so would disrupt divine hierarchy and appear as a challenge to the order of Olympus.
Aphrodite, though tempted to argue, was silenced by Hera’s sharp glance and Hecate’s quiet reasoning.
She, too, took her place among the Twelve.
Nyx, of course, was an exception to all such rules.
None dared question her right to sit beside the Lord of the Dead, for she was the eldest of all beings, the mother of gods, the embodiment of night itself.
Long before Olympus rose and Titans fell, she ruled the depths of creation, and even now, her mere presence reminded all deities — Olympian or Chthonic — that the power of the Primordials still lingered above them all.
And so, beneath the shimmering soul-lights of the hall, the gods of Olympus and the gods of the Underworld sat face to face, the divine realms of heaven and death united under one roof, the air heavy with the anticipation of what Hades, the most powerful god of their age, would reveal.
Zeus was the first to break the tense silence that lingered in the grand hall, his voice echoing with restrained impatience and a faint trace of irritation.
"You’re not one to summon us for idle reunion, Hades," he said, his eyes narrowing as lightning flickered faintly behind them. "So, tell us, why have you called us here? What matter is so dire that it demands the presence of all the Olympians?"
Hades leaned back slightly on his throne, his expression calm yet grave, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as the sound reverberated like the heartbeat of the underworld itself.
"You’re right, Zeus," he said, his deep voice carrying both authority and solemnity. "This is not a gathering for pleasantries, nor a council for power or policy. I will not beat around the bush, the reason for this meeting concerns the survival of all creation."
He turned his gaze toward Nyx, who sat beside him in perfect poise, her expression unreadable but her eyes reflecting an ancient knowing, as though she had already seen the rise and fall of countless worlds.
Without words, Hades gave her a subtle nod, and Nyx inclined her head in response, lifting her slender hand.
Her fingertips glowed faintly with black starlight, and with her divine authority, the hall around them began to blur and dissolve.
The Olympians blinked, and suddenly, they were no longer in the grand hall.
They stood in an infinite void, utterly silent, endless, and empty save for the faint whisper of existence itself.
The space around them pulsed with a strange rhythm, as though reality were breathing, and then, from the abyss, something stirred.
A colossal shadow emerged, so vast that its form defied comprehension.
It was an entity of grotesque and alien nature, an incomprehensible being with countless tendrils writhing like rivers of darkness, its surface crawling with eyes that blinked in irregular patterns, and mouths that opened and closed in silent hunger.
Every twitch of its monstrous body distorted the very laws of creation, and every breath it took seemed to swallow light itself.
The Olympians watched in horror as the abomination devoured an entire universe, not a planet, not a galaxy, but the totality of existence within its reach.
Stars collapsed like sparks swallowed by an endless maw, and the entity moved on, unceasing and unfeeling.
Then, it regurgitated small, writhing fragments, embryos of corruption that floated toward other young universes.
"If the universe is unripened," Nyx’s voice echoed faintly, soft yet omnipotent, "it leaves behind a fragment — a seed — to accelerate the process. It waits until the cosmos matures, then returns to consume it in full."
The vision shattered like glass.
The Olympians gasped as the grand hall reformed around them, their hearts still trembling from the memory of what they had seen.
Even the air seemed colder now, heavier.
For a moment, none dared to speak. It was Apollo who first broke the silence, his voice low and uneasy.
"That... thing... it devours universes? How could such a being exist beyond creation itself?"
Nyx closed her eyes and sighed faintly, her tone calm yet filled with millennia of fatigue. "It does not belong to creation, it exists outside it. You may call it an Outer Entity, a creature born from the chaos beyond the void, where even the Primordials cannot reach. What you saw was but a glimpse, a shadow of one such being."
Poseidon’s trident scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly, his face pale beneath his beard. "You’re saying... that we—the gods, the rulers of this universe—are nothing but food to that thing? That it sees our world as a mere meal waiting to ripen?"
Nyx’s gaze turned toward him, her eyes glinting like twin stars swallowed by darkness. "Precisely. The Gaia Incident you all recall, when the Mother of Earth was corrupted by a madness that no divine power could purify, was not an accident. It was the doing of a fragment of that very being. It sought to ripen this universe by destabilizing its balance, feeding chaos into the roots of existence. But it failed, for we destroyed its vessel before it could complete its goal."
The words struck them like thunder. Even Zeus, whose pride was greater than Olympus itself, found his voice caught in his throat.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking as divine lightning began to coil faintly around his form. "So that’s it... all our wars, our victories, our power — none of it matters. We are all... cattle. Waiting to be slaughtered when we’re deemed ready?"
A heavy silence followed. Hera’s eyes flickered with fury, while Athena’s lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to calm the storm of thoughts raging in her mind.
Ares looked pale, his usual arrogance gone, replaced by disbelief.
Even Apollo and Artemis, usually radiant and composed, looked shaken.
Hades finally rose from his throne, his gaze sweeping across the Olympians, his voice cold but steady. "Now you understand why I called you here. This is not a threat that can be ignored, nor an enemy that can be fought by one realm alone. If we remain divided — Olympus, Underworld, Sea, Sky — then when that being returns, we will all perish together."
Athena exhaled sharply, her voice steady but her tone grave. "You’re proposing an alliance, a true one."
Hades met her gaze, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. "Precisely. Those things are starting to feed, and we cannot stand a chance against them all, unless we stand together."
Zeus’s jaw tightened as thunder rumbled faintly within the hall, and though pride warred with reason in his golden eyes, he finally looked at Hades with rare seriousness.
"Then speak, brother. Tell us what must be done."
And as the divine hall fell silent once more, the weight of the cosmos itself seemed to settle upon their shoulders, for even the gods had learned that in the face of eternity, they were not untouchable rulers, but fragile sparks trembling before the mouth of an unfathomable darkness.