The God of Underworld-Chapter 24: Three Years

The dense forest was eerily silent, save for the frantic rustling of leaves and the hurried footsteps of a group of lesser gods fleeing through the undergrowth.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps, eyes wild with terror as they darted between the thick trees, their bodies battered and bruised.

"This is bad," one of them hissed, sweat dripping down his face. "How the hell did we end up running into her of all people?"

"Our luck is cursed," another panted, clutching a wound on his arm. "They said she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this battlefield!"

"Shut up and keep running! If we stop now, we’re dead!"

But before they could take another step forward, she appeared.

A figure stood in their path, blocking their escape.

A woman—no, a beast in the shape of a woman.

Half-naked, her muscular, yet beautifully sculpted body gleamed with the blood of her previous victims.

Long, wild crimson hair cascaded down her back, framing her strikingly sharp face. Her eyes, glowing red like molten fire, locked onto them with the cruel amusement of a predator toying with its prey.

And then there were her other features.

Dark, obsidian-like horns curved backward from her forehead. Large, draconic wings stretched from her back, flexing as if eager for the hunt.

A long, scaled tail swayed behind her, the sharp tip dripping with fresh blood. Her clawed fingers twitched, itching for more carnage.

She licked her lips, fanged teeth flashing as she took a slow, deliberate step forward.

The fleeing gods froze.

One of them, trembling so violently he could barely form words, whispered her name.

"C-Campe... The Dragon of Hades..."

The instant her name was spoken, Campe’s grin widened into something monstrous.

"Good," she purred, her voice like silk laced with poison. "At least you know who’s about to kill you."

And then, she moved.

A blur of red, black, and gold.

Blood sprayed across the trees as her claws ripped through flesh and bone like paper.

One god barely had time to scream before her tail lashed out, piercing straight through his chest.

Another tried to summon his divine power, only for Campe to grab his head and crush it in her grip.

The remaining gods turned to flee—only to find her already in front of them.

"No, no, no," she murmured, tilting her head playfully. "You don’t get to run."

A flick of her claws.

More screams. More blood.

Within moments, the forest was silent once more.

Campe stood amidst the carnage, rolling her shoulders as she exhaled in satisfaction.

"Ahhh... That was fun."

As she relished on the slaughter she had just committed, a woman suddenly stepped into the clearing, her expression calm yet sharp with displeasure.

It was Hera, the Goddess of Marriage and sister of Hades.

She looked around at the carnage Campe had left behind—the shredded corpses, the torn limbs, and the still-warm ichor staining the forest floor.

Her golden eyes settled on Campe, who stood amidst the massacre with a satisfied smirk, her crimson hair clinging to her skin from the blood that splattered across her face and body. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

Hera sighed. "You should’ve at least left one alive, Campe. We could have questioned him."

Campe let out a snort, stretching her wings lazily as she gave her a smirk, "Not my problem. I’m not your soldier, and you’re definitely not my boss."

She rolled her shoulders, flicking the blood off her claws. "Besides, just because you act like the Queen of the Underworld and rule it alongside lord Hades doesn’t mean you actually are one."

Hera’s expression remained unreadable, her eyes cold and calculative as she observed the dragon girl.

"Perhaps not now," she admitted, "but one day, I might be."

Campe’s smirk faltered, her red eyes narrowing dangerously. A low growl rumbled in her throat. "Tch. I’d rather Hades make Hecate his queen than you."

Hera met her glare with unwavering serenity.

"At the end of the day," she said smoothly, "that decision lies with Hades."

Campe clenched her jaw, clearly annoyed but not willing to push the argument further. Her wings twitched in agitation, but she didn’t say anything.

Hera turned away, already walking toward the edge of the battlefield. "Come. We need to return to camp. The real battle is yet to come."

Campe scoffed but followed, shaking off the last remnants of blood from her claws. "Yeah, yeah. Just try to keep up, ’Your Majesty.’"

Hera ignored the jab, her mind already focused on what was coming next.

As they walked through the dense forest, the scent of blood still clinging to Campe, Hera turned her gaze to the dragon-woman.

"I assume you’ve taken care of Point A as well?" she asked.

Campe let out an amused snort, flicking her tail.

"Who do you think you’re talking to?" she retorted. "Of course I did. And just like these fools, I left none alive."

Hera exhaled slowly, suppressing her frustration.

"I suppose I should have expected that," she murmured, but let the matter rest. There was no changing Campe’s nature.

They continued in silence, the dense forest gradually thinning as they approached their destination.

Soon, they stepped into a secluded grotto, hidden from prying eyes. The scene before them was one of controlled chaos—hundreds of gods and divine spirits stood fully armed, their expressions grim yet resolute.

Some were sharpening weapons, others practicing spells, while groups of warriors conversed in hushed tones. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, but it was laced with determination.

As Hera and Campe made their way through the camp, the guards stationed at the entrance immediately straightened, offering deep bows in respect.

Hera gave them a nod of acknowledgment before continuing on toward the heart of the encampment—the command post.

Inside, they found Themis and Hades standing over a large stone table, a detailed map of the battlefield spread before them. Hades’ piercing gaze lifted the moment they entered, settling first on Campe.

"Did you complete your mission?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable weight of authority.

Campe placed a clawed hand on her hip, bowing slightly.

"I did," she confirmed. "Both targets have been eliminated. No survivors."

Hades gave a single nod of approval. "Good."

He then shifted his attention back to the map. "With that, our preparations are complete."

He placed a hand over the map, his fingers tracing strategic points. "We can begin the next phase."

"We have finally isolated Iapetus," he continued. "With the positions we’ve secured, we can strike him without fear of reinforcements."

Themis nodded, her expression impassive. "Zeus and Poseidon have also completed their preparations. Even if the Titans notice the attack, they will ensure no one interferes."

Hera listened intently but found herself lost in thought. Three years ago, after their crushing defeat, the gods had scattered, left to lick their wounds in hiding.

At the time, she had thought it would take a miracle just to recover their strength.

And yet, somehow, Zeus and Poseidon had managed to do more than just grow stronger—they had gathered an army.

In the three years since their loss, they had rallied numerous gods and divine spirits to their cause.

Some had been disillusioned with Cronus’ rule, others had simply been waiting for an opportunity to rebel, and still, others had been inspired by Zeus’ unwavering ambition and charisma.

Whatever the case, what had once seemed impossible had become reality.

Hades, for all his foresight and cunning, had also underestimated them. He had anticipated that Zeus and Poseidon would hone their strength in isolation, preparing for a rematch against the Titans.

But building an army? That was a development even he hadn’t expected.

Still, he didn’t let his surprise show. Instead, he nodded slowly.

"Then everything is in place. We move on Iapetus immediately."

****

Far away, on Mount Orthys.

Cronus reclined on his grand obsidian throne, his fingers drumming against the armrest in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

The massive hall of his temple on Mount Orthys, lined with towering columns and illuminated by a golden, ethereal glow, was eerily silent—save for the steady voice of Atlas delivering his report.

"My king, three of the four Pillar Titans have suffered repeated assaults," Atlas stated, his powerful frame rigid with discipline. "Their territories have been harassed and destabilized for months now. Crius has lost key outposts, Coeus’ supply lines have been severed, and Iapetus has been completely cut off."

Cronus exhaled sharply through his nose, his golden eyes narrowing. "And Hyperion?"

Atlas hesitated for a moment before answering. "Still wounded from his battle with Hades three years ago. Though his domain remains untouched, he has yet to fully recover."

Cronus leaned forward slightly, his grip tightening on his throne.

"Hmm," he hummed. "Those children of mine. All this effort, all this desperation from a bunch of beaten mongrels clinging to their foolish ideals."

He let out a low chuckle. "It’s nothing more than the futile struggle of a dying insect. Yet, even insects can be an annoyance, it seems."

He considered, for a moment, launching a full-scale attack—gathering the might of his forces and crushing the remnants of the rebellion once and for all.

With his power, it would be simple. A single, decisive strike to end this ridiculous farce.

And yet... he did not move.

His fingers ceased their drumming, and a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face.

Prometheus.

Cronus knew that the Titan of Foresight was watching him.

Always watching.

The very moment he showed even the slightest carelessness, even the smallest crack in his composure, Prometheus would pounce like a vulture, exploiting it with ruthless precision.

That one—no matter how harmless or loyal he pretended to be—was the most dangerous being in this entire war.

Cronus’ smirk faded as he exhaled slowly, reclining once more into his throne.

"Let them continue their pitiful resistance," he decided. "Iapetus, Krios, and Coeus can handle it themselves. If they fail, then they were never worthy of standing by my side to begin with."

Atlas bowed his head slightly. "As you command, my king."

Cronus waved a hand dismissively. "Go. Continue monitoring the situation. I will act when I deem it necessary."

Atlas turned and strode from the throne room, his heavy footsteps echoing against the grand marble floor.

Cronus remained still, staring into the distance, his mind already weaving new strategies.

Let them struggle.

Let them believe they stand a chance.

When the time came, he would crush them beneath his heel—utterly and without mercy.