The God of Underworld Chapter 5 5: Underworld

Tartarus.

The pit of despair. The deepest part of the realm of the dead known as Underworld.

It is not rely a prison—it is a living nightmare, a place where reality twists into an unrecognizable hellscape, where ti does not flow, and suffering is not just inflicted but engraved into the very essence of existence.

To enter Tartarus is to step beyond the veil of sanity.

And Hades, is about to venture it alone.

"Are you ready?"

Hades looked up, his eyes eting with his grandmother's, the Earth Primordial Gaia.

Behind him, all his siblings were watching. Zeus and Poseidon looked dissatisfied, thinking that they are far more suited for this job than the one they deed as coward of a brother.

Hestia looked worried, being the closest one to Hades due to the two of them being the first two to be swallowed by their father.

Deter looked as serene as ever, as if she couldn't care less what about Hades' well being.

After all, for her, crops are far more important than her own siblings.

Hera simply stared with her ever present cold eyes. Her arms crossed, staring at Hades with a confident gaze. As if she believed that Hades could complete this mission without any uncertainty.

"Let's just get this over with," Hades took a step forward, his face betraying no emotion.

Just then, his mother, Rhea, appeared before him. "Hades..."

"Mother, you know I won't back out."

Rhea shook her head. Instead, she took out a horn-shaped golden basket and handed it to him.

"Cornucopia?" Hades looked at the basket in bewildernt.

Cornucopia is one of the symbols of Rhea, and later on also beca one of Hades'. Was Rhea the one who gave Hades the 'horn of plenty?'.

"Yes, I'm giving it to you." Rhea smiled, caressing his hair, "Take care of your self, my son."

Hades accepted the Cornucopia, his fingers running over its golden surface. The horn, despite its divine nature, felt oddly heavy in his grip—not in weight, but in aning.

It was a gift, a blessing, a tether to his mother's love, sothing warm before he plunged into the cold abyss of Tartarus.

He didn't say thank you. He didn't need to. Rhea understood.

Without another word, he turned to Gaia, his expression unreadable. "Open the way."

Gaia nodded, raising her hand. The earth trembled. The ground beneath them split apart violently, a jagged wound carved into the fabric of the Earth, a deep abyss leading to the underworld.

A foul wind erupted from the chasm, thick with the scent of decay and sothing far worse—a formless dread that clawed at the edges of the mind.

Hades stepped forward, standing at the edge. A normal god would hesitate. Even his arrogant brothers, who scoffed at him monts before, now wore expressions of unease.

Zeus, arms crossed, scowled. "Are you sure you can handle this, brother?"

Poseidon snorted, but there was no malice in his voice. "Try not to die. I'd hate to be stuck with just him."

He gestured toward Zeus, earning an annoyed glare.

Hades ignored them both. He looked to Hestia, the only one of his siblings who truly cared. She had taken a step forward, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to reach for him but knew better.

She was afraid for him.

"Hades…" she murmured.

He gave her a small nod. "I'll return."

With that, he took a step forward—

And plumted into the abyss.

****

The fall seed endless.

Darkness swallowed Hades whole, the wind howling past his ears like the cries of lost souls. He remained still, arms crossed, unbothered by the sensation of descent. This was the path of no return, and he had already accepted it.

Then, suddenly—his feet found solid ground.

He landed gracefully on a vast, empty plain beneath a sky devoid of stars. The air was thick with a heavy, suffocating presence, as if the Underworld itself was watching him, waiting.

A river of inky black water stretched before him, reflecting no light. Its surface was unnaturally still, disturbed only by faint ripples—as if sothing just beneath the surface had moved.

And on the other side of the river stood a lone figure.

A woman.

She was beautiful in a way that was unnatural—eerie, haunting, yet undeniably captivating. Her long purple hair cascaded down her back, strands flowing as if caught in an unseen breeze. Her deep violet eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, their gaze filled with sothing ancient and unknowable.

She wore a long, flowing black dress that shimred like the void itself, and in her delicate hands, she held an ornate lamp, its fla flickering with a strange, otherworldly glow.

The mont their eyes t, she smiled—but there was no warmth in it.

"Welco, son of Cronus," she said, her voice smooth and ethereal, echoing slightly as if layered with whispers.

Hades remained impassive. "Who are you?"

The woman tilted her head slightly, as if amused.

"Hecate, Goddess of magic. Keeper of the gates of the Underworld." She raised her lamp slightly, the glow intensifying. "And I am the one who decides whether you may pass."

Hades frowned. "I was sent by Gaia herself. I have no need for permission."

Hecate chuckled softly. "Gaia may command the land, but I govern the passage between realms. Even the gods must obey the laws of the Underworld."

The shadows around them twisted unnaturally, pulsing in response to her presence. There was power here. Ancient, deep, and unfathomable.

Hades sighed. "I don't have ti for this."

He took a step forward—

And the darkness reacted.

The air itself beca heavier, pressing down on him with an unseen force. From the ground, tendrils of black mist slithered toward him, curling like the fingers of a corpse, reaching for his legs.

Hecate's gaze sharpened. "Do not take lightly, son of Cronus."

For the first ti since arriving, Hades felt sothing stir within him—not fear, but recognition.

Hecate was strong.

And she wasn't going to let him pass so easily.

But... Hades smirked.

A challenge? In his own domain? Amusing.

The oppressive weight of the Underworld's darkness pressed upon him, seeking to bind, to judge, to deny his passage. But he was not just a guest in this realm—he was its future ruler.

Hecate raised her lamp, and the shadows obeyed.

"Prove yourself, son of Cronus," she commanded, her voice laced with divine authority. "If you cannot resist the darkness, you are not worthy of walking its depths."

The shadows surged forward, writhing like a mass of living tendrils, lunging to swallow him whole.

Yet, they never touched him.

Instead—they stopped.

The mont the darkness neared Hades, it trembled. Hesitated.

Then, as if they are in the presence of its true master, it knelt.

The tendrils of shadow, which monts ago threatened to consu him, slithered back, retreating to the ground like soldiers bowing before their king.

Hades took another step forward, and the very air of the Underworld seed to shift. The darkness did not resist him—it welcod him.

Hecate's eyes widened.

She had expected resistance, a struggle, perhaps even a brief test of dominance. But what she saw was sothing far greater—absolute submission.

This was no re god wandering the Underworld.

This was its master.

Hades stopped just a breath away from her, his smirk never fading.

"The darkness knows ," he said, his voice calm, yet carrying the weight of inevitability. "Because it is mine to command."

For a long mont, Hecate remained silent. Then, slowly—a smile ford on her lips.

Not one of amusent.

Not one of arrogance.

But one of recognition.

She lowered her lamp, her violet eyes gleaming with newfound respect.

"At long last," she murmured, bowing her head slightly. "A king to rule this realm, has appeared."

Then, gracefully, she knelt.

Hades watched her for a mont before turning his gaze toward the path beyond.

Tartarus awaited.

The domain he was promised is just within arms reach.