The God of Underworld-Chapter 34: The Beginning of The End

Hades sat atop the ruined debris of Iapetus’ temple.

He was staring at his hand, clenching and opening it, feeling the newfound power that courses through his being.

The power of Iapetus is something he had long since coveted. The power of turn immortal into martal. To put an end to eternity.

The wind howled, carrying the scent of destruction. He could feel the pulse of the world shifting—the balance of power tilting in their favor.

He had felt the death of Crius and the defeat of Coeus, leaving only Hyperion as the last Pillar Titan that can still participate in this war.

But Hades was sure that the wounds he suffered from him three years ago is still affecting him at this very moment.

"Now, only Atlas is left before we can get to Cronus."

Suddenly, a dark purple mist swallowed the temple.

Hades simply stared at it, knowing full well whose power this mist belongs to.

Just then, sea of divine power erupted around him as Hecate, Campe, and thousands of gods and divine spirits materialized from the mist before it dissipated.

Hecate stepped forward first, her eyes glowing with respect and reverence. "Lord Hades."

Campe followed beside her, her scarlet hair flowing like liquid fire, her barely covered form drenched with blood. She licked a smear of golden ichor from her fingertips, grinning viciously.

The gods and divine spirits knelt before Hades, their voices echoing across the ruined battlefield.

"All hail Hades! Slayer of Iapetus, Lord of the Underworld!"

Hades remained silent for a moment, his piercing eyes scanning the kneeling warriors.

These were underworld gods who had sworn allegiance to him after seeing his power. All of them were once under the command of many superior underworld gods.

But after Hades gained full control of Underworld, all of them now serve under him.

Hecate, standing before him, gave a small, knowing smile.

"It is time," she said. "With the defeat of three Pillar Titans, Cronus’ forces are surely in chaos. The titans feel their impending doom. We must strike now and end this war once and for all."

Campe flicked her long, jagged claws, ichor dripping from their tips. "Mount Othrys will be drenched in blood soon enough. Just say the word, and I’ll carve my way through their defenses."

Hades exhaled slowly and stood. The air trembled around him. He turned his gaze toward the horizon, toward Mount Othrys, the seat of Cronus’ rule.

He could see it—the monstrous fortress of the titans standing tall, defiant against the inevitable.

His fingers curled into a fist.

"Then we move. Call the Underworld River Gods," His voice was steady, absolute. "We march for Mount Othrys. This war ends with Cronus’ fall."

Hecate nodded, then raised her hands, weaving magic through the air.

Her voice echoed across the land, through rivers, mountains, and the depths of the Underworld itself, conveying the orders of Hades.

In different parts of the underworld, where the Five Underworld River Gods stood at the ready, Hades orders echoed.

The King has spoken.

And none dared to disobey.

****

The Underworld trembled as the war drums of the gods echoed through the vast expanse of the land.

The Titans, once unchallenged in their rule, now faced the inevitable end of their dominion.

Hades had spoken.

And the Five Underworld River Gods have responded.

Each of them, bound to the rivers they governed, heard the call as if Hades himself had whispered directly into their souls.

This was not merely just a war—it was a reckoning.

Now was the time to prove their worth, their loyalty to the true ruler of the Underworld.

****

Acheron stood at the edge of a ruined battlefield, his bronze armor stained with blackened ichor.

The River of Pain, his domain, flowed behind him—its cursed waters carrying the agony of those who had perished without honor.

At the sound of Hades’ command, Acheron’s golden eyes narrowed with fierce determination.

He had always been a warrior first, a deity second. His domain did not just represent pain; it embodied the strength to endure it.

He clenched his fist around his massive, twin-pronged spear, then turned toward the thousands of divine warriors under his command—beings forged in suffering, yet unyielding.

"The time has come," Acheron said, his voice deep and unwavering. "We have bled. We have endured. Now, we fight."

His soldiers roared, pounding their shields in a rhythmic thunder, their weapons glinting under the blood-red sky.

Acheron smirked.

"For Lord Hades. For the Underworld."

With that, he turned, leading his army forward. The ground split beneath their march, the weight of destiny pressing upon them.

****

Far across from Acheron, where the winds carried the anguished cries of the damned, Cocytus stood upon a vast, frozen wasteland.

The spirits of the forsaken wandered aimlessly, their voices a chorus of eternal grief.

Cocytus exhaled slowly, his breath turning to frost in the air.

"Loed Hades has called," he murmured. His voice was quiet, almost melancholic. "And we shall answer."

A lone soldier approached, kneeling. "Lord Cocytus, shall we move?"

Cocytus turned his piercing, ice-blue eyes upon his followers—spirits clad in darkened steel, their very bodies encased in layers of eternal frost.

They did not flinch from his gaze.

They had all suffered. They had all lost. But now, they would fight.

He lifted his spear of frozen despair, its edge crackling with ice.

"Pain has already shaped us. Now, let it shape the Titans’ end."

At his command, the frozen land itself split open, releasing an icy mist that swallowed his army whole.

As they moved forward, the temperature of the battlefield plummeted, the chilling embrace of Cocytus spreading death and silence.

****

A sea of flames raged as Phlegethon stood upon a blackened battlefield, his very presence radiating unbearable heat.

His river burned with divine fire, a punishment for those who dared defy the laws of the Underworld.

Phlegethon grinned savagely. He could feel it, the power shift, the changing tides of war. The end of the Titans and the rise of the Olympians.

"Our king commands," he bellowed, his voice a roaring inferno. "And the Titans shall burn!"

His army, composed of flame-clad warriors and divine spirits whose very souls had been forged in his molten waters, erupted in cheers.

The ground beneath them glowed red-hot, melting into lava from their sheer presence.

Phlegethon raised his massive, burning greatsword, letting its flames stretch toward the heavens.

"I am the edge of the blade! I am the cut that ends foes! I am the wrath that topple armies! My brothers! Will you fight with me!?!"

"FIGHT!"

"FIGHT!"

"FIGHT!"

Phlegethon grinned, "I feel your faith brothers! But it must be stronger! You are sons of flames! Warriors of Hades! You call yourselves champions of the King of Underworld! He calls upon you now to lend me your WRATH! Lend me your HATE! Lend me your FIRE!"

He took a deep breath, "PRAISE HIM!"

"PRAISE HADES! KING OF UNDERWORLD!"

"PRAISE HADES! KING OF UNDERWORLD!"

The army of Phlegethon moved like a rolling wildfire—unstoppable, ravenous, and fueled by their loyalty to Hades.

***

In a realm of mist and stillness, Lethe watched as the message of Hades resonated through her waters.

Unlike the others, she did not raise her voice or call upon her warriors with grand speeches.

She did not need to.

Her presence alone was a command.

The thousands of divine spirits under her command were silent, their expressions empty, unreadable.

They had long since forgotten fear. Forgotten hesitation. Forgotten weakness. Now, they were simply cold, emotionless warriors that absolutely obeys every commands of their leader.

Lethe, her silver hair flowing in the mist, raised a single hand. The air around her shimmered, the very fabric of reality warping.

"We go," she whispered.

Without a single sound, her forces vanished into the mist—silent, unseen, yet inevitable.

****

Styx stood at the very edge of her domain—the blackened river upon which even the gods swore unbreakable oaths.

She gripped the hilt of her sword, its blade dark as the void, forged from the very essence of her waters.

Her warriors—the most disciplined, the most unwavering—stood at attention. There were no cheers. No words needed to be spoken.

They had already sworn themselves to Hades.

And a vow made upon Styx was unbreakable.

She lifted her blade. "For the Lord of the Underworld."

The warriors of Styx stepped forward, their formation flawless, their purpose absolute.

****

Across the world, the Five Underworld River Gods moved as one.

Acheron’s unstoppable tide of warriors, Cocytus’ silent storm of death, Phlegethon’s raging inferno, Lethe’s ghostly army of forgotten souls, and Styx’s unyielding force of sworn warriors.

They converged toward a single point—Mount Othrys.

Hades stood, waiting for them.

His dark cloak billowed as he gazed upon the towering Mount Orthys along with the grand temple of Cronus.

Dark purple aura flickered around him, causing ripples in space.

Hecate stood beside him, her lamp glowing eerily. Campe grinned in excitement, her claws twitching in anticipation.

They could all feel it.

The end was near.

The Age of the Titans was crumbling.

And Hades will be the one to end it.