The God of Underworld-Chapter 23: The Anomaly

In the dimly lit chamber of his fortress, Hades sat at the head of a long stone table, his fingers steepled in thought.

Across from him sat Hera, her sharp golden eyes narrowed in concentration, and beside her, cloaked in ever-shifting shadows, was Hecate.

The air was thick with tension as they discussed the next phase of their war against Cronus.

"We have lost the first battle," Hades began. "Atlas alone nearly crushed Zeus. The Four Pillar Titans are far stronger than I anticipated. So for now, our best course of action is to weaken them through calculated strikes—hit their supply lines, sabotage their strongholds, and target their commanders one by one, and retreat immediately."

Hera nodded. "Guerilla tactics. It makes sense. Cronus’ forces are vast, but they’re not invincible. If we can starve their armies and pick them apart before they regroup, we stand a better chance when we finally face them in open battle."

Contrary to popular beliefs. Gods do starve. Just like mortals. The more they use their divinity, the faster they get hungry.

It is because their body needed a "source" to replenish lost divinity, and most of the time, that source comes from foods and drinks.

For powerful gods, they can directly get that source from their domain and even mortal faith. But lower gods don’t have enough mortal worship to rely on faith to replenish their divinity, so they must eat.

At this moment, Hecate stood up as she said her piece.

Her voice was smooth yet firm. "The best way to do that is by moving in the shadows. My magic can hide our forces, allowing them to strike without being detected. But we must be patient—each attack must count. We must not let Cronus and his forces react."

Hera frowned, glancing around the chamber. "That’s assuming we even have the time. Are we truly safe here, Hades? What if Cronus decides to break through into the Underworld? He has done that before when he broke through Gaia’s barrier."

Hecate scoffed, her lips curling into an amused smile. "That is impossible."

Hera arched a brow. "And why is that?"

Hecate leaned forward, her presence exuding quiet confidence. "Because Nyx is here."

Hera’s expression faltered slightly at the name.

"The Primordial of the Night?"

Hecate nodded. "Not even Uranus or Gaia dared to challenge her. Cronus, for all his strength, is no different. As long as Nyx watches over the Underworld, no force from the outside can invade."

Although Primordials cannot directly interfere in worldy affairs, but invading one’s domain is a completely different matter.

Hades had remained silent during this exchange, his crimson eyes thoughtful.

Nyx... a being far beyond even the Titans, a force as ancient as the cosmos itself. He had never met her, but the knowledge that she guarded the Underworld gave him an unexpected sense of security.

Maybe one day he would have the time to visit her.

Still, he pushed the thought aside. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Turning to Hecate, he asked, "Have you located our remaining allies?"

Hecate nodded. "I have. They are scattered but alive."

"Where?"

"Most of them are in Prometheus’ territory, the others are in hiding while some were already captured or killed."

Hera’s brows furrowed. "Prometheus? Can we still trust him? When the titans ambushed us, he just stood there and watch."

"We can." Hecate confirmed. "I have observed him for awhile. But for now, he has made it appear as though he has captured our allies, hiding them under the guise of imprisonment. They are safe, at least."

Hades nodded. "Good. Hecate, I want you to coordinate with Prometheus and bring the other gods on our side who are in hiding to Prometheus, do it one by one without Cronus noticing. Be subtle. If he suspects anything, all of Prometheus’ efforts will be for nothing."

Hecate bowed her head. "Understood."

Hades leaned forward. "And what of Cronus himself? What are his movements?"

Hecate’s expression darkened. "He is spreading his army far and wide, seeking to annihilate the remnants of the rebellion. He is not consolidating his forces but rather scattering them in pursuit of those who resist him."

Hades nodded. "That will be his downfall. The more he spreads his forces, the more vulnerable his supply lines become. We will exploit this."

He then turned to Hecate once more. "Summon the Underworld River Gods. I need to speak with them."

Hecate inclined her head. "As you wish, my lord."

With that, she dissolved into mist, vanishing from the chamber.

Hades turned back to Hera, his expression unreadable. "This war will not be won in a day. But if we play this right... we may just have a chance."

Hera crossed her arms, her lips curving into a confident smirk. "Then let’s make Cronus regret underestimating us."

****

Earth, Prometheus Temple.

Prometheus sat upon his throne, humming a soft, almost cheerful tune as the golden rays of the setting sun bathed his temple in a warm glow.

His fingers idly played with a bright golden apple, the smooth skin glistening in the light. He took a slow, deliberate bite, savoring the taste.

It was almost amusing how the gods he had chosen to side with had just suffered a devastating loss, and yet, here he was, completely at ease.

Not because he was indifferent—no, far from it. It was because he had already foreseen countless possibilities.

And all those possibilities, the Olympians always emerged victorious.

And yet...

His sharp, piercing eyes flickered as his thoughts wandered to him.

Hades.

The god he had just met for the first time in person, and that was when Cronus ambushed them in Crete.

That god was not supposed to be that strong. He was not supposed to wield such power, nor was he supposed to claim the remnants of Uranus’ domain.

In every vision Prometheus had ever glimpsed, Hades had always been formidable, but never beyond comprehension.

He was always just below Zeus. He has never been more powerful than Zeus.

And what’s up with that spear he had hidden? It completely defies reason. Not even Cronus’ scythe radiates that much power.

So what had changed?

He had attempted to peer into the threads of Hades’ fate, to see what had altered the course of the inevitable.

And that was when it happened.

The moment his divine sight reached toward that particular thread, he found himself falling.

Falling into an abyss unlike any he had ever encountered.

An endless void, cold and silent, where time lost meaning. And within that abyss, there were eyes.

Countless, grotesque, unblinking eyes, staring straight into his very being.

He could not move. Could not breathe. Could not think.

His divine essence screamed, writhing under the sheer, overwhelming weight of those gazes.

It was as if something—something incomprehensible—was aware of his intrusion and had chosen to watch him in return.

He had seen horrors beyond mortal or even divine understanding, glimpsed the wretched depths of Tartarus, and even peered into the void of Chaos itself.

But nothing—nothing—had ever filled him with such absolute, paralyzing despair.

It was as if he had become an insect, trembling beneath the gaze of an unknowable predator.

Prometheus awoke from that vision gasping, his body drenched in sweat, his divine mind scarred.

Even now, the memories clawed at the edges of his mind, creeping into his dreams, filling his nights with whispers and shifting, watching things.

Hades was not simply a god.

He was an abnormality.

An Anomaly.

Hades is an entity whose very existence warps the natural order, distorting the flow of fate itself.

Unlike ordinary mortals, gods, or even cosmic deities, He is a convergence point of destiny, where all possibilities collapse and reshape around them.

He is both bound to fate and yet defy it, an impossible paradox that the universe itself cannot fully comprehend or control.

He is a force that embodies the impossible coexistence of fate and free will.

He is not chosen nor created—he simply exist, and by existing, he reshape the destiny of all things.

His influence cannot be predicted, controlled, or erased, for he is the beating heart of change itself.

For that, Prometheus decided to give him an appropriate nickname.

"The First-Class Singularity."

Prometheus let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he finished his apple and carelessly tossed the remaining core aside.

For someone who could see the course of fate so clearly, it was almost exhilarating to find someone who could escape his sight.

A being whose very existence warped destiny itself.

"Truly," he murmured to himself, "what an interesting fellow."

Rising to his feet, Prometheus strode toward the temple’s open balcony, his sharp gaze fixed upon the horizon.

Three years.

That was all the time left.

Three years before the war would reach its climax.

Three years before the ruler of the cosmos would be decided.

The fire-bringer smiled, the wind brushing through his hair.

A storm was coming.

And he would be there to witness it all.