The God of Underworld-Chapter 55 - 10: Harvest and Capture

High upon a lush and verdant mountain, a paradise bloomed under Demeter’s careful hands.

Once a cold, barren peak, it now flourished with endless rows of wildflowers, golden grains, and experimental flora that hummed with divine vitality.

Bees flitted through the air, birds sang sweet songs, and the wind carried the fragrance of new life.

At the heart of it all stood Demeter, her hands glowing with gentle green light as she coaxed a new type of plant from the soil.

Its leaves shimmered like emerald silk, and its blossoms radiated warmth like the early spring sun.

Just as she leaned closer to admire her creation, a sudden swirl of purple mist appeared before her.

It drifted through the breeze like a wisp of dream-smoke, coalescing into a tightly rolled scroll.

Demeter blinked, straightened, and carefully caught the scroll before it touched the ground.

"Hmm...? This mist, it must be Hecate."

Unrolling it, she read in silence.

She was expecting a greeting. She was expecting a request. She expected many things, but this letter was not one of the many things she was expecting.

Her eyes widened.

She read it again. This time, slowly and carefully.

She didn’t misread it.

It was really true!

"A plant... in the Underworld? That’s..." she gasped, one hand covering her mouth, "....impossible."

Her thoughts raced. No plant, not even one of her most sacred seeds, had ever survived long in that realm of shadows.

The land of the dead rejected life on a fundamental level. And yet... this scroll claimed otherwise.

She recognized the divinity left in the scroll and knew it was written by Hades, so she knew that this wasn’t a joke—Hades wasn’t one to joke about serious matters.

The other reason for her surprise is that, the one who actually managed to create life in Underworld was Minthe, the nymph daughter of Cocytus!

Demeter’s expression softened, surprise melting into a bittersweet smile.

Minthe. The quiet, curious nymph who had spent those years in the Underworld learning, researching, asking questions to her.

They had shared long conversations in the dim groves of the Underworld, speaking of seeds, of plants, of cycles of harvest and planting.

Demeter’s heart stirred.

"I must see this with my own eyes." freewēbnoveℓ.com

She was curious, what kind of plant can actually break the laws of underworld and grow?

She turned sharply and clapped her hands once. A gentle wind responded, carrying her voice to every corner of her cultivated mountain.

From the fields and groves, her handmaidens came—graceful nymphs and gentle divine spirits, each marked by the fresh scents of fruit, earth, and flower.

"Girls," Demeter called out, rolling the scroll back up. "An urgent matter calls me to the Underworld. I entrust this mountain to you in my absence."

The handmaidens bowed. "As you will, Lady Demeter."

"See to the flowering groves, the seedling fields, and ensure that the new roots are tended. I do not know how long I will be gone—but I will return."

The mountain responded to her words, the flowers nodding in the breeze, as if they too understood.

With one final look at her newest creation, Demeter closed her eyes and summoned her divine essence.

Her form shimmered with golden light before dissolving into a flurry of falling petals.

The petals floated upward, caught in an unseen current, piercing through the veil that separated realms.

Down, down they drifted, crossing into the land where no bloom was meant to take root.

The Underworld.

And for the first time in ages, the Goddess of Harvest would walk its soil once again.

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Prometheus sat quietly in the heart of a secluded cave, its walls smoothed by time and divine presence.

A crimson flame flickered softly before him, casting red light across the stone floor, but his eyes were not on the flame.

They were elsewhere—far, far away—tracing the paths of mortals as they stumbled into a new era.

Through his divine sight, he watched them—humans, once little more than fearful, shivering beasts.

Now they crouched beside fire pits, chipping stones into sharper blades, their eyes alight with curiosity.

They spoke crude words, shaped tribes, and even now were scratching patterns into cave walls, early whispers of the written word.

Prometheus smiled.

A woman knelt near the fire, teaching a child how to feed it with dry wood. A man not far away tied a sharpened stone to a branch with sinew.

Another group hunted with coordination, marking a leap in their understanding of strategy.

"They begin," he whispered to the flames. "Soon, they will shape metal from ore. Then, they will plant seeds and tame beasts. They will look to the stars, and wonder... and someday, they’ll reach them."

His smile faded slightly, not with sorrow, but acceptance.

’But I will not be there to see it.’

He had known from the start.

Even before he touched Olympus’ sacred flame, before he stepped into the hall of golden fire, he had seen the price he would pay.

The futures had unfolded like scrolls before him, and all bore the same consequence.

His capture and punishment.

Just then, a tremor rolled through the earth. His divine senses prickled—an overwhelming pressure descending from above, like a storm of authority and judgment.

They were here.

He didn’t flinch. He simply stood and dusted off his robe, the firelight tracing the lines of his calm, almost amused expression.

Outside the cave, the very heavens seemed to hum. The ground rumbled faintly, and the light dimmed as divine auras closed in like a great net.

Prometheus stepped out into the open, sunlight cascading over his shoulders.

They waited for him: a dozen Greater Gods—champions of Olympus, veterans of the Titanomachy. Their faces were stern, forged from divine law and loyalty to Zeus.

Many had once fought alongside Prometheus in the ancient war, when Titans and Gods clashed for dominion.

Now, their weapons were drawn—blades, spears, and sacred staves glowing with the wrath of Olympus, and all of it pointed at him, once their comrade in arms.

At their center stood a figure in golden armor, a laurel circlet gleaming atop his head.

"Halt, Prometheus," the god commanded, his voice like rolling thunder. ’By order of Zeus, King of Olympus, you are to surrender yourself. You stand accused of high treason—stealing the divine flame and giving it to mortals that you favor."

Prometheus gazed at them, eyes calm and clear.

"I know." He had seen this happen in one too many futures that he was getting tired of it.

"Then you will come with us peacefully?" asked the god, pointing his spear at him.

A pause. Then a low, knowing chuckle escaped Prometheus’ lips.

"Of course." he stared at them, "I will happily cooperate."

The gods stared at him, momentarily stunned by the ease of his surrender.

"No excuses?" one muttered, tightening their grip on a weapon.

"No," Prometheus replied, stepping forward with open hands. "No excuses. I gave humanity what they needed. That was my purpose. That was my choice."

He walked into their midst like a teacher returning to a quiet classroom, unafraid, unashamed.

"He’s not even resisting," one god frowned, thinking if this was a trap.

Prometheus blinked, and chuckled at him. "Oh? Do you like a little resistance? I could squirm if you like."

The god’ twitched, his eyes glaring at Prometheus. The rumors were true, this man was incredibly infuriating.

"Don’t talk to the prisoner!" Another god exclaimed as he proceed to cuff the titan.

"Ouch," Prometheus faked pain, "Mr Titan, I think I need to go to the infirmary. I’ll complain for your behavior."

"As if!" Another god slammed his head to the ground, "Just obediently follow our words!"

At this, Prometheus nonchalantly stopped smiling, his playful eyes disappeared.

He stared at them in the eyes.

"You may shackle me, chain me, bind me to the farthest mountain. It doesn’t matter," he continued, glancing at the distant sky. "The fire has already been lit. You can’t unburn the world."

Gaia was a terrifying figure. It is by her grace that Olympus and gods can still fight for petty soul master

The leading god scowled, signaling the others.

Divine chains, forged in the celestial furnaces, slithered like living metal around Prometheus’ wrists and ankles.

A heavy collar closed around his neck, inscribed with symbols that muted divine power.

Still, he smiled.

One god, younger than the others, couldn’t help but ask, "Why? Why would you risk everything for them? Those mortals doesn’t deserve it."

Prometheus turned his head slightly, eyes meeting the youth’s.

"Because they are the only ones who must earn their place. Not born with divinity, not gifted immortality. Every step they take is a triumph over the impossible. And in that struggle... they will surpass us all."

The gods said nothing.

With a single gesture, the air shimmered, and a portal to Olympus opened, the light blinding in its intensity.

Prometheus, bound yet unbowed, stepped forward willingly.

His punishment awaited.

But so too did the rise of mankind.