The God of Underworld-Chapter 67 - 21:

The sun had not yet risen, and the horizon glowed faintly with the promise of day, but there was no warmth in that light.

Only dread.

Herios stood upon the tall stone gate of his city, the first city ever built by humankind, carved through sweat, unity, and hope.

Behind him, families huddled behind walls, terrified. Farmers held pitchforks with trembling hands. Children watched in silence.

This city had become the last bastion of mankind’s hope.

Ahead of him stretched an ocean of monsters.

Their howls cracked the air like thunder. Their bodies writhed in every form imaginable, scaled beasts, fanged giants, crawling horrors with too many limbs and too little mind.

A horde beyond counting, stretching from one end of the plains to the other.

Herios narrowed his eyes. The cold morning wind carried the scent of blood.

"They’ve come," he muttered.

At his side stood his captains, men and women who had once been chiefs of tribes now loyal to one banner.

The banner of Herios. His armor was simple, nothing more than leather reinforced by iron plates, stained with battle, but upon his chest gleamed the sigil of the unified tribesa flame rising from earth, surrounded by twelve stars.

A horn sounded. Three short bursts.

Archers lined the walls, thousands of them, their arrows already nocked. Herios raised one hand, and the archers tensed.

The monsters roared and surged forward.

"Fire!" he commanded.

A thousand arrows darkened the sky and fell like divine judgment. Screeches of pain erupted as dozens of monsters fell in the frontlines, pierced through scale and sinew.

"Again!"

Another volley.

"Third line, fire!"

A third volley.

Still, the monsters charged, climbing over fallen kin with savage hunger.

"Spearmen—ready!" bellowed Herios.

The front lines on the walls stepped forward, large tower shields at their sides and thick spears leveled down. The city trembled under the force of the beastly tide crashing against its walls.

And then, they began to climb.

Hooked claws and monstrous limbs reached up. Ladders made of bone and hide were thrown against the stone.

As they ascended, the air became filled with the clash of steel, screams of the dying, and the unrelenting snarls of monsters.

Herios drew his sword. The sword that accompanied him ever since he was just a boy.

"Hold the line!" he shouted, his voice thundering over the chaos.

All around him, soldiers fought. Arrows ran dry. Men took up axes and spears, hacking down beasts that leapt from the walls like frenzied hounds.

The walls of the city ran red.

But Herios... he burned with determination.

He saw the fear in his people’s eyes. He saw their wavering stances. And so, with a fierce cry, he did what no man expected.

He jumped.

He leapt from the wall, sword first, landing amidst the monsters below like a storm given flesh.

His blade carved through bone and tendon. Every swing was a command—every death, a symbol.

He fought not like a man, but like a fury born from mankind’s desperation.

The soldiers on the wall watched in awe.

Then, one by one, they leapt after him. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"Sons of fire, follow our leader!" shouted a warrior.

"Strike with Herios!"

Hundreds jumped. A tide of human steel cascaded from the walls, crashing into the beast horde.

It was war in its truest form—mud, blood, and chaos. Screams and snarls melded into one horrific chorus.

Spears shattered, shields cracked, and men fell screaming under claws. But for every one that died, two more filled their place.

Herios fought at the center, his armor cracked and bloodied, eyes glowing with determination.

He hacked through a snake-headed brute and turned just in time to slice open a two-headed wolf. But even he was beginning to tire.

It was at that moment, that the earth rumbled.

Herios paused, panting, blood dripping from his blade. The battlefield seemed to slow as a massive shadow appeared on the horizon.

It was colossal.

A beast unlike the rest. Towering like a mountain. Its skin was black stone, covered in jagged crystals.

Its mouth glowed with internal fire, and each footstep caused tremors that shook the very ground.

Trees snapped beneath its steps like twigs.

Its six arms bulging with power.

A Gegenees. The six-armed giant.

The soldiers froze. Even the monsters hesitated.

Herios stared, jaw clenched. "So... the true threat shows itself."

The beast raised its head, letting out a roar that shattered rock. It was intelligent—its eyes gleamed not with animal rage, but with cruel intent.

It scanned the battlefield until its gaze landed on Herios.

Herios turned to his captains. "Form the outer line! Archers, bring out the fire arrows! Slingers, black liquid pouches!"

They obeyed instantly. Order in the chaos. Faith in their leader.

The archers lit their arrows, igniting the air with flame. Black liquid bombs were hurled toward the titan’s legs. As it stepped into the field, fire exploded around its feet.

But it did not stop.

The Gegenees smashed into the ranks, sending men and monster alike flying. It crushed whole squads with its bulk, dragging burning wreckage behind it.

Herios leapt forward.

"Buy me time!" he roared.

He ran directly at the beast, ducking under a swinging limb, rolling across the mud.

He climbed onto a ledge of fallen rock and leapt onto the giant’s leg, driving his blade deep into its stony flesh. The monster howled in pain, stumbling back.

From below, his warriors shouted, emboldened.

Herios climbed higher, cutting with each motion, blood and fire trailing behind him.

At the shoulder, he stabbed again, using the momentum to pull himself to its upper back.

The giant thrashed, but Herios held on.

"Now!" he yelled.

Archers fired. Fire bombs exploded across the giant’s body, weakening the crystalline plating.

Herios plunged his sword between two jagged stones, piercing the glowing core just beneath.

The giant screamed.

With a final effort, Herios pulled his sword free and leapt off, landing hard in the dirt as the beast stumbled... and fell.

The ground trembled as it crashed.

Silence.

For a long moment, nothing moved. Then, a cheer, raw, broken, but rising, from the human soldiers.

They had seen the impossible.

And they had lived.

Herios stood, barely. Blood poured from a wound at his side, and his breath was ragged. But he raised his sword high.

Only to stop as he stared at the Gegenees with horror.

The six armed giant rose up, its eyes turning red in anger.

Herios gulped.

This battle was far from over.

*

*

*

Underworld.

High within the floating fortress that overlooked the Core Section of the Underworld, silence reigned.

In a circular chamber surrounded by floating candles and drifting pages of ancient scrolls, Hecate stood in the center of a glowing circle.

Before her, a large projection flickered—an ethereal mirror that shimmered like a silver pool suspended in the air.

It displayed the overworld in vivid detail: burning forests, bloodied earth, and crumbling fortresses.

It showed them—the human mortals.

Herios and his people.

They fought desperately to survive, teeth bared against an endless night of monsters and cruelty.

In the reflection, men and women fell defending crude stone walls. Children clung to their mothers.

The sick lay curled beneath makeshift shelters as battle cries echoed above them.

Hecate watched without emotion, arms folded, her expression blank and pale as moonlight.

"To struggle so violently," she murmured, "for a life so fragile."

To her, they were little more than sparks in the dark—flickering, fleeting, and wholly beneath her notice.

She was a goddess of the Underworld, the mistress of magic, crossroads, and shadowed gateways.

Her realm was the arcane, the forgotten, the dead. These mortals, scrambling like insects across the dirt of a cursed world, were no concern of hers.

But still... she watched. For only one reason.

Hades had asked her to.

She would not have spared the humans a glance were it not for her Lord’s quiet command.

Hades had been watching them for decades, moved by something even she, his closest ally,, could not quite grasp.

Perhaps it was their defiance.

Perhaps it was their struggle.

Or perhaps it was simply that, in the silence of his kingdom, life, even fragile and fading, was a rare thing.

"They are breaking," she said to no one. "And they will not last much longer."

At that moment, without a sound, the air behind her shifted.

The shadows coalesced. The candles flickered. Hecate turned slightly, sensing a familiar presence stepping into the room.

Hades had returned.

Clad in a dark robe woven from the threads of midnight, his form seemed half-ethereal, yet the pressure of his being was undeniable.

His eyes, cold silver like the moon shining on still water, met hers.

"You’ve returned," Hecate said simply, her voice calm as ever.

"I have," Hades replied, stepping to stand beside her. "I’ve seen much of the Underworld..."

His gaze lifted toward the projection. "How are they?"

"They are not faring well," Hecate said, gesturing toward the image. "Their numbers dwindle with each moment. Their resources deplete. And Herios... I don’t see him winning against the six armed."

Hades did not speak. He merely watched, eyes focused on the leader of humanity.

In the projection, Herios was limping as he desperately tried to survive against the onslaught of the Gegenees.

"He will not last," Hecate said again. "Without help, even your chosen one cannot hold the tides forever."

Still, Hades remained silent.

"You care for them more than you let on," she continued, arching an eyebrow. "Even I can see it."

"...Indeed." Hades said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

Hecate tilted her head. "I really can’t see why you are so fixated on them."

"...Let’s just say, I don’t want to lose something that is part of me." his humanity, that is. These humans is one of the reason why he can still remember his origin.

The life of that human from the future, which had started to fade, was clinging to him through them.

He doesn’t want to forget that.

He stepped closer to the projection, and his reflection shimmered in the light. For a long moment, he studied the humans, so small from his power, yet so fierce in their resolve.

Hecate turned away. "I’ve watched them. I’ve studied them. They are resourceful, yes, and stubborn beyond measure. But they are mortal. Weak. If the beasts do not destroy them, time will."

"Without help, maybe"

She blinked. "Are you suggesting we intervene?"

Hades was silent for a time.

Then he stepped forward and waved his hand over the projection. A new image formed, Herios’ soldiers all armed and supporting him, distracting the Gegenees.

"They believe in him," she said softly.

"He has earned it," Hades said.

They stood in silence, watching the mortal world burn and rebuild itself in cycles of war and will.

Finally, Hecate sighed.

"I shall look after them."

"Thank you," Hades said simply.

She glanced at him with a rare flicker of emotion. "Only because it’s you."

"My~, guess not even you can resist my charm, huh?"

She did not answer. Instead, she waved a hand again, expanding the projection, showing dozens of human tribes now forming across distant lands.

Some fell to beasts.

Some fell to famine.

But others... others endured.

And soon, they will grow and form their own civilization.

"Let us see," Hades smiled, "what humanity will make of the world they inherit."

And beside him, for the first time, Hecate’s eyes softened.

Just a little.

"Let us see," she echoed.