The God of Underworld-Chapter 68 - 22: Victory and Death

The ground shook.

Boulders rained from the sky like angry meteors, flattening homes, crushing towers, and scattering men like ants.

Each impact sent tremors through the massive stone walls of the city, now smeared with blood and fire.

Herios stood, soaked in grime and sweat, staring out at the monster responsible, the monster he thought he had taken down.

The Gegneees, a six-armed titan of war, its skin like cracked granite, its muscles bulging with divine fury, strode through the battlefield, each step a death knell.

With two of its arms, it heaved massive boulders toward the city; with the others, it crushed and swatted the soldiers who dared get close.

It was strong.

"Keep the archers focused on the flanks!" he roared, ducking just as a chunk of stone crashed into the ground, blasting a massive crater to the earth.

Dust clouded the air. Screams followed.

Herios stumbled, coughing, then pushed himself up.

His armor was battered and painted in blood that was not entirely his own. His sword, a loyal companion through a hundred skirmishes, was chipped, but still clenched in his fist.

"Chief!" a voice shouted from below. "The beast... it’s destroying everything! We can’t hold!"

Herios didn’t respond immediately. He turned, watching as the Gegenees lifted another boulder, hurling it into the heart of the city.

The impact split a house in two, the shockwave throwing men from rooftops.

Herios’ expression darkend.

Around him, his soldiers faltered, facing not just the titan, but waves of beasts, wolf-creatures with flame-soaked hides, serpents slithering between the cracks in the earth, flying horrors clawing through the sky.

Herios sprinted through the chaos, barking orders as he passed.

"Hold the line at the gate!"

"Shield the wounded!"

"Send a rider to the east quarter! We need backup there!"

He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

The Gegenees loomed over the battlefield like a mountain made flesh. Its laughter rumbled like thunder.

"Form up around me!" he ordered, running straight toward the giant.

A squad of warriors—what was left of his elite guard—rallied at his sides, spears and axes drawn.

They surged forward as one.

The giant saw them coming.

With a roar that resounded throughout the sky, it smashed two fists into the ground, creating a shockwave that scattered Herios’ men.

The ground cracked open.

One soldier was hurled into the air, landing in a heap with limbs twisted unnaturally. Another cried out as a rock struck his head and drove him into darkness.

But Herios pushed on.

He darted between falling debris, dodging the monstrous feet that sought to crush him.

He climbed the broken rubble of a watchtower, launching himself from its height toward the monster’s chest.

His sword slashed, scoring a gash across one of the titan’s shoulders.

The Gegenees screamed in pain—and rage.

Three of its massive arms lunged for him at once. Herios twisted through them, landing hard on the beast’s arm, sprinting along its limb like a bridge.

But as he raised his blade for another strike, the monster shifted, and caught him midair.

The giant’s hand closed around Herios like a vice. Bones creaked. Blood dripped from his lips.

With a guttural growl, the Gegenees flung him across the battlefield.

Herios smashed into the base of a scorched tree. His sword flew from his grasp, snapping in half as it clanged to the ground.

For a moment, the world went dark.

Everything ached.

Everything hurt.

’...Ah, I’m going to die.’ He thought at that moment.

He had almost given up hope.

But then... he heard them.

Crying. Screaming. Calling his name.

"Herios!"

His eyes opened.

Through the pain, through the fog of near-death, he saw the monster stalking forward again.

It reached for another boulder. Soldiers scrambled to stop it, but none could get close.

The beasts surged behind it, relentless.

His people were dying. freeweɓnovel.cøm

And no one else could stop it.

Heris pushed himself to his feet.

His armor hung in pieces. His ribs screamed with each breath. But he rose, fists clenched, eyes burning with fire not even the gods could quench.

"...stand up," he whispered. "I must not fall... not until they are safe."

At that moment, he felt a fire burning from his body, seemingly giving him strength.

He sprinted toward the Gegenees, ignoring the calls to stop, the pleas to retreat. His weapon was gone, his body broken—but he had something stronger than steel.

He had will.

The Gegenees saw him.

With a roar, it tossed aside another stone and raised two massive fists. The other arms flexed in anticipation.

Herios leapt.

And they met.

Flesh against flesh.

Bone against bone.

The titan swung. Herios ducked under its strike and slammed his fist into its kneecap.

A small crack formed.

It bellowed and grabbed for him.

He twisted, elbowing one arm, kicking another.

His fists were nothing compared to its bulk, but they hurt. Again and again, he struck. Nose. Jaw. Eye. Ribs.

His hands bled, but he did not stop.

The giant reeled.

Then—finally—Herios leapt, aiming one final blow.

With every ounce of strength, with the fury of a thousand fallen comrades, he drove his fist square into the Gegenees’ jaw.

The air exploded with the sound.

The giant’s head snapped back. A roar caught in its throat. Its legs buckled—and the titan fell like a crumbling tower, shaking the battlefield as it slammed into the earth.

Silence followed.

The monsters paused.

They stared at the fallen giant—their warbringer, their juggernaut, their symbol of terror—defeated.

And they broke.

The horde turned. Some ran. Some flew. Some vanished back into shadow. The courage in their monstrous hearts failed them.

They scattered.

Herios dropped to one knee, gasping for air. His body felt like a shattered statue. His fists were raw. But he smiled.

They were alive.

His people were safe.

The battlefield, once a storm of death, now stood still. The towering corpse of the Gegenees lay motionless as the sun slowly pierced the clouds above.

The silence that ensued was deafening.

But a single cry broke the silence and a thunderous cheers soon followed.

"HERIOS!"

"GIANT SLAYER!"

"HAIL HERIOS!"

And from the highest tower of the city, the flag of man fluttered proudly in the wind—torn, bloodied, but still standing.

Just like the one who led them.

*

*

*

Underworld.

Hades stood in front of a projection that shimmered like a veil of moonlight.

The scene it displayed was not of his realm, but of the overworld above, a city standing triumphant after an unimaginable war.

The city of Herios.

A mortal bastion built from sweat, pain, unity, and blood. Walls crafted by hand, fields plowed by faith, and streets filled with men and women who had fought off a siege of monsters.

And at their helm, the one named Herios, the leader, the Giant Slayer, the one who turned the tide with nothing but a clenched fist and an indomitable will.

Hades frowned.

The quiet hum of the projection filled the room like a whisper of the living world.

With his hands clasped behind his back, the Lord of the Dead watched, unmoving. Yet his eyes were ablaze with storm and thought.

"This will change everything," he muttered.

He was happy that they survived, but the implications of this victory was...

"Are you not happy?" Hecate, who stood beside him, couldn’t help but ask as she saw him frown.

Hades gave no reply.

Instead, he studied the mortals again. Herios stood tall amid the cheering throng. He looked ragged but undefeated.

A symbol.

A beacon.

"I am." Hades finally said, "They have proven their worth. They were no longer the weak barbarians who knew nothing, but a strong and resourceful race who can stand on this world."

Hecate tilted her head. "And that troubles you?"

"...Quite."

The Underworld Lord turned, his cloak of shadows trailing behind him like a tide. He stepped down from the platform and passed the divine pillars lining the chamber.

The flames in their braziers flickered with every brush of his aura.

"In the overworld," Hades said, "the Olympians will see this as an opportunity. They will descend upon humanity like lions upon a calf. They will offer protection, gifts, promises... all in exchange for their worship."

"Faith," Hecate whispered.

Hades nodded.

"The faith of the nymphs and lesser spirits is already fading. They no longer respect nor revere the gods as much as they used to. But humans... humans are a boundless wellspring. Their emotions are raw. Their dreams potent. If a god claims them, it would elevate that god beyond their current level."

He turned toward her, his face grave.

"They will fight over humanity. Use them. Bleed them. Twist them."

"Don’t tell me you want to stop this? Hecate asked, her brows arching slightly. "You who swore, long ago, never to interfere in the realm above?"

Silence fell between them.

The air grew heavy with ancient oaths and distant echoes. They both remembered it clearly—how, after the war against the Titans, Hades had made a solemn vow.

He would rule the Underworld and only the Underworld. Let the other gods bicker and scheme in the sky and earth.

He had found peace among the dead.

"I did swear," Hades said. "But Styx’s oath, powerful though it is, cannot bind me fully. I am far too powerful."

"Indeed," Hecate said, stepping forward. "But it is enough to ensure you cannot remain there for long without consequences."

"I won’t be long," Hades said. "I won’t come there to declare war, but just give them a message."

"A message?"

"To the gods. That humanity is not to be touched. Not by them. Not by Olympus. That if they exploit what mortals have built for themselves, they will have to face me."

"You know Zeus will not take this lightly."

"Let him rage in his sky," Hades said plainly, clearly not taking his brother seriously.

He approached the obsidian gate at the far end of the chamber. With a wave of his hand, it opened, revealing a vast bridge that overlooked the river Acheron.

Far in the distance, the exit to the overworld shimmered like a mirror’s surface, untouched by time.

Hecate followed behind him.

"You’ll be weakened," she warned. "With the oath, the further you go into the sky, the more your authority will weaken. Not to mention Zeus’s domain resists all Underworld essence. He crafted it that way."

"I do not need my full strength," Hades replied. "A shadow is enough."

Indeed.

In Overworld, there has yet to be an Olympian to be born that needed him to take seriously.

Even Zeus is someone he can crush easily if he so wished.

She stopped walking. "...seriously. You go so far for them."

"I have watched humans fight with more dignity than the gods ever showed," Hades said quietly. "I have seen in them something I never saw in Olympus: honor. I like them, no matter how flawed they are."

He paused at the edge of the bridge. His cloak fluttered as he turned to her once more.

"Hecate. You are my most trusted ally. Watch over the realm while I’m gone. If the gods make a move—on me, or on the humans—respond in kind."

Hecate, for the first time in many centuries, hesitated. Then, she slowly bowed.

"As you command... My King."

Hades turned. With a final step, he vanished into the light of the overworld gate, leaving only the echo of his words and the faint chill of his presence.

And far above, in the realm of mortals where a young man named Herios stood at the head of his people, shadows lengthened beneath the sun.

Because Death itself was coming.

Not to take—but to protect.