The God of Underworld-Chapter 47 - 2: The Darkness Of the Night

A week later.

During these time, Hades and his siblings has been dealing with the aftermath of the war.

Delivering punishments, offering rewards, among other things.

Zeus even completely built a grand temple of worship, in the former Mount Othrys, now renamed Mount Olympus.

He had decided to form a council of 12 mightiest gods to watch over all of creation, saying that having different voices would reduce one’s authority and prevent them from turning into a tyrant.

Aside from Hades who refused to join, all his siblings has become part of the council, and Zeus was still searching for more suitable members.

But that wasn’t any of his concern.

Because he will now return to his domain.

Hades stood in front of a dark purple portal that sent ripples to space. He observed for awhile, before stepping in.

The five underworld river gods, and various underworld gods and divine spirits all followed him.

Hera walked beside him, serene and composed, though her presence was anything but silent.

Campe, dragging her feet while glaring at Hera, threw her arms into the air, exasperated.

"Why did you come?" she snapped, her voice echoing in the dark void. "Weren’t you part of that Olympian Council? Why are you accompanying us, you self-proclaimed queen!?"

Hera answered coolly, not missing a step. "I didn’t know I needed your permission to walk beside my dear brother."

She cast a sideways glance, her lips curved in faint sarcasm. "Or has the Underworld suddenly gained a queen?"

Campe hissed. "Grr! I hate you!"

"Nothing new." Hera said simply, a calm smile on her lips. "Try come up with something that would actually trigger me."

Campe gritted her teeth, muttering under her breath, but said no more.

Hades simply looked back at them, but said nothing, his long strides unwavering as he led them through the void, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

The underworld breathed around them like a slumbering beast, its rivers and shadows stirring at the return of their rightful master.

Beside Hades walked Hecate, her lantern aglow with ghostly fire, her hair gliding like ink in water.

She cast a glance his way and spoke quietly. "Lord Hades, now that you have officially declared to cosmos that you will rule the Underworld, I believe now is the time to meet her."

"I know," Hades replied.

Nyx, the Primordial of Night.

The undisputed strongest being in all of Cosmos, and the true ruler of Underworld.

"She is not one to be ignored, even now," Hecate said, her voice tinged with a reverence rarely heard. "She may not seek dominion, but her presence is the backbone of all that lives here. She was here before light, before time. The Underworld belongs to her still, in essence."

"I will visit her soon." Hades nodded. "Don’t worry, I know what must be done."

Hecate nodded and said nothing more, she simply walked in silence.

Their journey stretched longer than any road in the overworld.

Above them, no stars shone—only drifting fragments of lost souls, their whispers brushing against the travelers like falling snow.

After what seemed to be an eternity, they reached the center of the Underworld: a vast obsidian plateau, surrounded by the five sacred rivers and lined with pillars made of bone and stone.

And The Grand Fortress of Pluto, Hades’ massive floating gothic castle hang above, inspiring awe and reverence to whoever gazes upon it.

It was here that Hades stopped, his cloak billowing behind him like a living shadow.

His voice cut through the heavy air.

"Within five days," he said, "gather every being in the Underworld. Spirits, monsters, divine spirits, and ancient gods alike. Every corner must hear the call."

The Five River Gods and every underworld gods who participated in the war stood at attention.

Then, they all bowed in silent obedience.

"We will not fail you," Styx said, her voice like iron on water.

"See that you don’t," Hades said, before turning away.

One by one, the gods and spirits departed, their forms vanishing into the mist as they scattered to spread the decree.

Soon, only Hera, Hecate, Campe, and Hades remained.

The air was still, thick with the anticipation of change.

Hades turned toward Hecate, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"I won’t waste time," he said. "I will go see her."

Hecate gave a slow nod, her eyes shining like twin moons. "Then may the shadows guide your path, lord Hades. Unfortunately, I cannot accompany you."

Hades simply nodded before turning towards Hera and Campe, "I will be leaving. Hera, please manage Underworld as you had always done in the past three years. Campe, make sure no one causes any trouble."

"Leave it to me, brother." Hera nodded.

"Gotcha! No one will cause trouble boss! I promise that!" Campe gave a mock salute.

Without another word, Hades stepped forward, the ground shifting beneath him.

The darkness parted as though afraid to block his path.

And deeper still he walked—past the roots of the world, past the endless cavern where even the dead dare not speak—toward the place where night herself dwelled.

Toward Nyx, the Primordial of Night.

The meeting that would decide if the Underworld would truly be his—or remain the domain of the first darkness.

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The Underworld was a land of silence—of still rivers, hollow winds, and eternal twilight.

But even within its vast emptiness, there existed a boundary far darker, more ancient.

Beyond the banks of the Styx and past the frozen domain of Cocytus lay a realm untouched by time, where not even the primordials dared tread lightly.

This was the Threshold, the mysterious corridor that lay between the Underworld and the chasm of Tartarus.

It was not a place; it was a presence. A realm of nothingness, an eternal void of undulating shadows that shifted and twisted with unseen intent.

And here, Hades walked alone.

The moment he stepped foot past the veil, the void surged like a hungry beast, trying to swallow him whole.

Darkness closed in from all sides—so absolute that it threatened to strip away thought, identity, even reality.

But Hades was no ordinary god.

His aura erupted in a wave of dark brilliance—purple and black flames coiling around him like a cloak of sovereignty.

His divine presence pushed back the void, carving a narrow path ahead. Shadows recoiled, whispering ancient things in forgotten tongues.

But they dared not touch him.

He walked.

And walked.

Time ceased to exist here.

Minutes stretched into eternities, and eternities condensed into fleeting heartbeats.

Only the steady sound of his footsteps accompanied him as he pressed deeper into the primordial dark.

Eventually—after what could have been hours or centuries—he saw it.

A temple.

It stood like a mountain carved from obsidian, its spires piercing the darkness like fangs.

It bore no torches, no banners, no carvings to signal its purpose.

Yet Hades knew.

This place did not need names or symbols. It was felt in the bones, in the soul, in the silence between heartbeats.

Without hesitation, Hades ascended the stairs and passed through its towering gates.

Inside, the temple was colder, older. The air was heavy, thick with divine presence.

Pillars taller than mountains framed the endless corridor, and the stone beneath his boots echoed with each step, as though the temple itself was listening.

He went deeper, until he reached a vast hall so immense that even Hades had to pause.

The chamber stretched endlessly, yet in the center of it all stood a lone obsidian throne.

And on that throne—she sat.

She was the embodiment of the night itself.

Long black hair that spilled like liquid shadow down her back. Skin pale as moonlight on marble.

A black dress shimmered like the surface of a still lake at midnight. Her face was without blemish, without flaw—and yet, not warmth.

Her beauty was not soft, but cold, unyielding, like the void between stars.

But it was her eyes that truly stilled him.

Black. Deeper than any abyss. Looking at it, Hades felt an immense oppression like he was back in Chaos, staring at those undescribable horrors.

Hades bowed his head lightly, offering his respect. His voice, steady despite the weight pressing on his shoulders, echoed through the grand hall.

"Nyx. Primordial of Night. I greet you with all the respect owed to the mother of underworld."

The woman on the throne did not speak. She merely watched him, and the silence that followed was thunderous.

The very air bent beneath the gravity of her presence.

Even Uranus, the great sky, the tyrant who once ruled the cosmos, paled in comparison.

His aura was as starlight before a black hole—meaningless.

Then, finally, she blinked.

And the universe sighed.

"You walk with confidence, Hades," she said, her voice like silk cut with steel, as if spoken from behind an endless veil. "Many gods would tremble to stand where you now stand. Yet you do not fall to your knees."

Hades met her gaze—not defiantly, but firmly. "I have never felt that I am inferior to anyone for me to kneel. But I came here not for that. There is simply something I wish to understand."

She tilted her head, a subtle movement that rippled through the void like a cosmic tide. "Something you wish to understand?"

"You are not my enemy," Hades nodded as he replied. "Nor are you my ally. I want to know your stance about my rule to this realm, which you had previously ruled. Do you want to oppose me? Or do you want to serve me?"

Nyx’s lips curved—barely. Not a smile, but something like it. "You want to gain control over all creation in underworld, including me."

"I do." Hades stared at her straight in the eyes, "I believe I can rule Underworld far better than you do. And with you to serve me, Underworld would prosper more than even the heaven and earth."

She leaned back on her throne. The void around them grew deeper. "Then step forward, you, who seek to dominate me. Let us see if the darkness you rule is worthy to rule over mine."

With that, an absolute power filled the temple, and an endless tide of abyss swarmed towards Hades, intending to swallow him whole.

Hades remained calm, as if the darkness of the primordial night was mere shade before him.

And the moment his foot touched the obsidian floor beyond the invisible veil of Nyx’s domain, the surrounding darkness parted.

It did not resist.

It did not recoil.

It gave way—as though the very void acknowledged him.

Like shadows bending to their rightful sovereign, they peeled back in silent reverence, exposing a path so clear it seemed predestined.

Nyx’s eyes narrowed in surprise.

For countless eons, this realm of primordial night had bent for no one.

Not Uranus, not even Tartarus itself.

But this god... this Hades... he walked with a darkness not born of despair, but of dominion.

There was no fear in him.

No hesitation.

His soul was a fortress, and his power, a sea without bottom.

Now, he stood before her throne, tall and steady, a pillar of divine will cloaked in dark purple flame.

His aura—heavy, ancient, relentless—poured into the room. The very air trembled.

Even the walls of the temple seemed to lean away.

Nyx, the Primordial of Night, stared down at him. And for the first time in ages, a glint passed through her cold, infinite eyes.

Desire.

But not a desire of flesh or hunger.

It was a desire for something intimate.

Like a mirror finding its other half.

Slowly, she rose from her throne. Her presence, once aloof and silent, now bloomed like a dark flower, thick and enveloping.

Every step she took toward Hades left ripples in the air—as though reality itself bent beneath her tread.

And as she stood him, she reached up and, with deliberate grace, cupped his chin between her pale fingers.

Her touch was cold. Ancient. Yet intimate. A touch that made time slow to a crawl.

"You stand so tall, Lord of the Dead," she whispered, her voice a velvet wind in the dark. "Even in my dominion... your soul does not kneel."

She tilted his face ever so slightly toward her, inspecting him, feeling the pulse of his divine essence beneath her fingers.

Her lips curled, dark amusement dancing across them.

"I should crush you for your arrogance," she murmured. "But instead... I find myself intrigued."

Her fingers lingered on his jaw as her eyes searched his face—not just his appearance, but his soul, his core.

"With this presence... if you remain this way... then I will let you dominate me. As much as you wish."

The weight of her words hung in the air like a thundercloud. Nyx, the being from which the very concept of darkness was born—offering herself.

It wasn’t submission from weakness.

It was recognition. An offering from one absolute to another.

Their auras began to move, drawn to each other like lovers pulled by the tides of fate.

Black and purple merged, curled together, not as oil and water—but as two halves of the same force, lost and now rediscovered.

It was overwhelming.

It was staggering.

It was beautiful.

Nyx’s voice dropped to a whisper, one that could quiet stars.

"Do you feel it...?" she asked, almost breathless. "The way our divinities melt and blend? Like we were forged by the same flame... born from the same void... destined to find each other across the eons?"

Hades looked into her eyes. He did feel it. It surged through his chest like a roaring tide—his divinity, once solitary and cold, now resonating.

As though something long missing had suddenly been returned.

But he did not answer.

He simply stared back, eyes like still obsidian. Silent. Powerful.

Nyx’s lips parted slightly at his silence. She searched him for emotion, for vulnerability, but found only the steady flame of resolve.

It sent another tremor through her, an unfamiliar thrill. The god who faced her did not chase. He did not need to.

The night herself was already circling him.

Her eyes flashed with a mix of hunger and amusement. "So quiet... you have already felt it, why not speak?"

She stepped even closer, her voice growing darker, more intimate. "But that’s fine. At this moment allow me to declare it, Hades. Here and now—I will grant you a chance. A single opportunity to do what no god or titan has ever dared..."

She leaned in, her breath brushing his ear like moonlight on water.

"To dominate me."