The cave in which the minimum amount of light enters through cracks. Its walls bore countless scars, deep grooves, and jagged gashes from blades long past. The floor was a field of sharpened spikes, each tip stained dark with dried blood. The air was still, yet thick with the scent of iron and sweat.
In the centre, a lone figure stood balanced on the tip of one spike, unmoving as if the deadly ground were nothing more than solid earth. It was Hades blindfolded, expression calm, hands loose at his sides.
A whisper of air from the left. Without hesitation, Hades twisted his body, spear flashing in a tight arc. The first clone’s blade never even reached his shadow before it was batted aside. The counter was so precise that the force made the clone stagger.
Another presence behind him. A spear thrust for his ribs.
Hades jumped, the spike beneath him barely vibrating, and his foot crashed into the attacker’s chest. Bone cracked. Clone pierced by spikes.
From above, a chain whistled downward like a striking serpent. Hades raised his spear, not blocking, but brushing it with the soft touch just enough to steal its montum and let it fall harmlessly to the side.
A spear ca next, hurled straight for his face. Without looking, Hades snapped a kick upward, redirecting the weapon into the air. His body blurred as he jumped after it, catching the shaft with his foot mid-spin. With a sharp strike at the base, he sent it flying like a missile toward the nearest clone.
The clone caught it easily. And charged, spear levelled. Hades didn’t retreat. He stepped into the attack, their weapons colliding with a sound like stone breaking. Sparks lit the darkness.
Another killing intent surged from the side, a dagger flashing for his neck. But Hades had felt it long before it struck. He pivoted, letting the blow slide past his shoulder and in that instant, the attacker’s own spear stabbed through its ally’s chest.
Hades didn’t waste the opening. His spear drove forward, the blade piercing the clone’s skull in one clean motion.
Silence.
He pulled away, straightening. The blindfold ca off. The spikes beneath him flattened, the cave’s lethal floor becoming harmless stone once more.
"With this much skill," Hades murmured to himself, voice low, "I could crush Miramor easily… without relying only on my divinity." His eyes narrowed. "But divinity makes it easier."
"Hmm… I have to find a way or loophole to even use in the Divinity restricted area and nullification field."
He sat cross-legged, closing his eyes, and sank into ditation, exploring any possible way.
---
Far to the north, the underworld’s coldest winds scraped over black stone and ice-crusted ground. Beneath this frozen land, in the mines of Duke Dracula, the clang of picks and the groans of exhausted labourers echoed endlessly.
Here, the air was filled with dust and the stench of blood. Anyone who slowed even for a breath is struck by the hunters’ whips, the lashes tearing skin until blood ran down their backs.
In the private chamber, lit by flickering crimson lamps, Dracula reclined in a velvet chair, reading the latest mining reports. His crimson eyes narrowed.
"Stygarian iron output… still low," he said softly. His voice was smooth, cultured, but in it lay a faint hunger. "This will not do. I have to increase production anyhow. But how?"
An idea curled through his mind. Slowly, a smile spread over his face too calm, too deliberate.
"This will work"
He rang a small silver bell. A servant appeared, bowing low.
"Announce this decree," Dracula said, each word deliberate. "Those who mine the most Stygarian iron… will be rewarded with a feast of the finest at. Those who mine the least… will be executed."
The words spread through the mines like wildfire. The reaction was imdiate panic, then frenzy. Pickaxes struck faster, harder. So worked for the promise of rich food. More worked out of terror.
When night ca, the counts were tallied. Three n had produced the most. Two old labourers had brought in the least.
The old couple were dragged into the open, executed without ceremony. Their bodies disappeared into the kitchens.
Monts later, the three top miners were seated at a table, steaming bowls of rich, aty soup before them. They ate greedily, savouring every bite of the tender chunks floating in the broth, never realising that they were tasting the very flesh of their fallen comrades.
They left full and boasting, telling everyone of the duke’s generosity. Others listened, envy and hunger gnawing at them. Work speeds increased again.
From his tower, Dracula watched the frenzy grow. With one order, he had removed the weak, driven the rest harder, and bound them tighter to his will. Two sparrows with one arrow, he thought, and sipped blood.
“Fear is fuel, but it burns too quickly if left alone. Fear and hope together are the perfect blend. One without the other creates either rebellion or despair. But together… they make chains no man can see, yet no man can break. Those three fools think themselves favoured; in truth, they are only bait for the others. And the dead… Ah, they feed the living still. The cycle continues, and I lose nothing.”
---
Far south in the central lands, a different kind of ga was unfolding.
By the queen’s command, the spy among the workers was praised publicly. At first, the man had been startled, even suspicious. But attention was a sweet poison. Day by day, he began to walk taller, speak louder, and treat others with thinly veiled arrogance.
So hated him for it. Others envied him. The effect was the sa competition burned hotter. Workers strained to match or surpass him, each hoping for the queen’s favour.
But Hectate, the queen, wasn’t simply praising him. She was feeding him fattening a lamb for slaughter. Every ti he smiled in smug triumph, every ti soone muttered a bitter word behind his back, the queen’s invisible net tightened.
When the ti ca, she would not only destroy him but also she would do it in front of every soul in the central lands. His execution would be more than punishnt. It would be a spectacle. A lesson. A living reminder of what happens when ambition turns to disloyalty.
Hectate will look this while sipping red wine "The best trap is the one the prey walks into believing it is a throne.”
In the north, fear and hunger drove the mines.
In the south, pride and envy fueled the fields.
And in the dark cave, Hades ditated unaware that both worlds were moving toward a collision where fear, envy, cruelty, and ambition would decide who ruled the underworld.
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