The God of Underworld-Chapter 50 - 5: The King of Underworld

Under the vast sky of the Underworld, where rivers of fire twisted through black stone and lost souls whispered in eternal lament, an ocean of divine spirits, ancient gods, and monstrous entities stood gathered beneath the towering fortress that floated in silence above them all.

The floating citadel, Hades’ fortress, cast a long, intimidating shadow over the realm—symbolic of the man who would now rule it.

This was not a day like any other.

It was the day a king would rise.

Even those whose names had been lost to time, ancient beings who had slumbered through the reign of Titans, had stirred.

From the edges of Tartarus to the farthest reaches of Lethe’s domain, all eyes turned toward the dark heavens, watching.

The Underworld was tense, the whole realm holding its breath.

They all waited.

For they knew that a god will now officially ascend to the throne of underworld.

At this moment, the realm shook.

And "He" appeared.

Descending from the fortress like a comet born of void, Hades emerged. He wore deep black robes woven from his own divinity; threads of shadows and death.

His crown shimmered with dying embers and midnight gemstones, a quiet symbol of power that demanded reverence.

Beside him, two women walked: Hera, draped in dignified crimson and gold, her expression sharp and proud; and Hecate, the goddess of magic, robed in shadows, her presence silent yet commanding.

The underworld river gods all stood behind them, acting as guards and protectors of the king.

Then, the moment Hades feet touched the grand obsidian platform, the entire assembly of gods and spirits fell into silence.

Not a single whisper remained. Not a single breath dared disturb the stillness.

All eyes focused on the man who will now be their king.

Hades stepped forward.

He stared at the gathered beings of underworld, who all responded to his call.

He stared at the far reaches of underworld, where beings of old dared to defy his will.

Then, he spoke. He didn’t need to raise his voice. His presence alone commanded attention, but his voiced echoed throughout every corner of the realm of the dead like a clap of thundee.

"In the age of Titans, this realm was forgotten. You were prisoners. Cast aside by those arrogant gods above. Treated as if you were all inferior to them."

Underworld was treated as a prison, feared and despised by every beings who lived above ground.

And anyone who dwells in it were treated with contempt.

But...

His eyes swept across the crowd—red as burning coals, calm as the abyss.

"But you endured."

The murmurs of agreement rippled like a distant wave.

"You endured the humiliation. You endured the contempt and hate of those gods above. You stood silent when your names were unspoken—when the heavens forgot who you were. But now—now you are forgotten no more!"

The silence cracked. A few voices rose. Hades pressed forward, his voice like fire through winter stone.

He wanted to let everyone know, the underworld isn’t a place they can treat as insignificant, its denizens aren’t someone they can dismiss and forgot.

"The Titans believed they were eternal. That their power would stretch across all of time. But they fell. And they fell because of you—because you did not bow. Because you did not break."

Hera stepped aside, letting the god of the Underworld shine alone. Hecate said nothing, but her magic pulsed behind her eyes—echoing his words into the hearts of every god and spirit gathered.

The underworld gods of old, who refused to bow before him and choose to remain on their domain, now looked at him with respect.

They acknowledged it, this coronation.

From now on, Hades would be the true king of the underworld.

"No longer shall you cower beneath the sky’s tyranny. No longer shall all of you be seen as monsters, as mistakes, as afterthoughts in the song of existence! I hereby declare, from this day forward, you are the guardian of balance! Bringer of order! And gods and mortals shall respect your names!"

He paused—and in that silence, every soul leaned forward.

"I do not ask for worship. I do not seek glory. I have walked the path of fire and ruin—I have faced the void and stood unshaken. I did not rise to this throne to wear a crown—I rose because this realm needed a king."

His eyes glowed, the shadows at his feet curling upward like tendrils of devotion.

The gods and spirits all stared at him fascination, eyes full of reverence and admiration.

"I will forge the Underworld anew. I will bring order to the chaos. Judgment to the lawless. Mercy to the broken. I will be the shield against the gods who are wrongsd, and the sword against those who threaten our home."

He raised his hand toward the heavens—as if declaring that not even the sky can disrespect this domain.

And these gods knew that this was not mere declaration.

Hades had proven his words by slaying the Primordial Sky.

"This is our realm. Our kingdom. From this day forward, we are not outcasts. We are not the leftovers of the world. We are the heart of the cosmos, the truth behind every end, the cradle of finality! The underworld will not be realm of despair, but of order and strength! Where even death has purpose!"

His voice turned into a roar.

"I—Hades, Son of Rhea, Brother of the Sky and the Sea—claim the mantle of King of the Underworld! And to all who call this realm home—I swear this..."

He placed his hand over his chest.

"You will never be forgotten again."

For a moment, silence reigned.

And then—

Thunderous cheers erupted like the eruption of a thousand volcanoes.

The ground trembled from the force of their shouts. Ghosts screamed in joy. Spirits wept. Demons howled in approval. The rivers roared. The darkness itself sang.

"HADES! HADES! HADES!"

"PRAISE THE KING OF UNDERWORLD!"

"HAIL, HADES! LONG MAY HE REIGN!"

His name echoed through the realms, sung by the lost and the mighty alike.

In that moment, the Underworld was no longer a prison. It was a kingdom.

And its king had finally taken his throne.

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Overworld.

Temple of Prometheus.

The temple of Prometheus stood silent atop a lonely mountain, its stone walls adorned with ancient carvings, lit only by the soft glow of amber flame. freewёbnoνel.com

Here, far from the endless feasts of Olympus and the cold authority of the Underworld, Prometheus sat alone—content, amused, and quietly watching.

A crystal sphere floated just above his open palm, swirling with mist and light.

Within it, the image of Hades flickered—standing above the masses of the Underworld, his obsidian cloak billowing, his voice ringing across the vast darkness with the gravity of a rising king.

The gathered gods and spirits below him had fallen silent, and now their roars of approval echoed even through the crystal.

Prometheus grinned.

He swung his feet like an eager child on a high stool, drumming his heels on the marble ledge below.

"Well now," he mused, the firelight catching in his golden eyes. "Look at you, the anomaly of this world. King of the Underworld at last."

In the orb, Hades raised his hand and finished his speech—his voice solemn, commanding, but brimming with passion.

His final words were not threats nor declarations of conquest, but a promise: that the Underworld would become a realm not of despair, but of order and strength.

A place where even death had purpose.

Prometheus’ smile widened.

"Hahaha! You really are interesting." He leaned closer, "I want to see the underworld that you are going to create."

He watched, until his brows furrowed as the image in the crystal shifted.

Hades’ eyes—those cold, still eyes—turned. Slowly, deliberately. And for a breathless moment, they locked with Prometheus’.

The Titan froze.

His breath caught in his throat. Though it seemed impossible, but he was sure that Hades had pierced the veil of distance, the layers of magic, and seen him through the scrying spell.

"Oh hell no—!" With a laugh that was half startle and half glee, Prometheus snapped his fingers.

The orb shattered into smoke and sparks, vanishing into the air. He tossed the remaining fragments aside and leapt up from his throne.

"Still as perceptive as ever, Hades," he chuckled, stretching his arms high above his head. "Not bad for a new king."

He stood from his throne as he walked across the chamber, bare feet soft against the stone, and gazed out from the balcony overlooking the world below.

A gentle wind brushed his wild hair as the stars wheeled quietly in the heavens.

"The Titans are done. Olympus is a circus," he murmured to himself. "But you... You’ll bring something new. Something the world hasn’t seen before."

He turned his gaze downward, to the vast and fertile earth below.

A spark of fire danced on his fingertips.

"It’s time," Prometheus whispered, eyes gleaming. "The gods have found their thrones. Now... let us shape those who will one day stand beneath them—and one day, beyond them."

He extended his hand, and from the divine flame in his palm, he molded something small, something fragile—yet brimming with untapped potential.

"Let the Age of Men begin."