The God of Underworld-Chapter 84 - 38: The Reaction

Underworld.

Hanging Fortress of Pluto.

Hecate summoned her lamp, and a purple flame quickly flickered to life.

With a wave of her hand, the flame danced and drifted into the wind, carrying her message to all patron gods of Hades.

She sighed, "...I hope those guys won’t make things difficult for me."

She have lived in Underworld with those guys long before Hades was even born. So she knew their temper better than Hades.

Although they are submissive and loyal to Hades, that is only because they respected him and acknowledged his power.

In truth, they are selfish, arrogant, hedonistic gods who care for nothing but their own interest and pleasure.

With Hades gone, she doesn’t even know if those gods would respond to her summons.

"Hades... Please come back soon, underworld will be doomed without you."

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The rivers of the Underworld wound like veins through the realm of the dead.

Each carrying a power of an ancient sovereign, a god in their own right, and each ruled their domain with unyielding pride.

They look down on everyone, even their fellow river gods. However, they all respected and acknowledged Hades as King, offering their undying loyalty.

And not once had Hades done something that made them regret ever serving him.

At this moment, a flickering flame suddenly lit up above the sky of the rivers, and along with it, a message of Hecate.

"By the power given to me by Lord Hades, King of Underworld; I request all the presence of the Patrons in Hanging Fortress of Pluto for a council meeting."

A silence fell across the rivers of the dead.

Acheron, the River of Pain, heard it first.

He sat upon a throne of basalt near his black churning stream, where the cries of the newly dead echoed like songs of mourning.

His eyes burned with low embers.

"Hecate? Who gives her the right to start a council meeting without our King?" His voice rumbled like tectonic plates grinding together. "I serve Lord Hades, not his shadow."

He clenched his fists, the river beside him boiling from his fury.

Then he exhaled, long and slow. "...No, that witch knew our temper. She wouldn’t call us out if it is not important."

He stood, the obsidian floor cracking beneath his steps.

"I’ll go. But Hecate, you better make sure your reasons are sufficient."

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Cocytus, the River of Lamentation, also heard the summons in his cathedral of ice.

The weeping souls frozen within his waters wailed as he stirred, their cries harmonizing with the distant chime of his sorrowful bells.

Cocytus was tall and pale, with robes like liquid snow and a face carved from winter.

He stared into the fiery message, then closed his eyes.

"How arrogant... to summon the rivers as if we were mere servants," he murmured. "Still..."

He looked upon the souls beneath the ice—millions, trapped in regret.

"...I can also use this meeting to say my concerns."

He rose, walking across the frozen river with steps light as feathers. "For the sake of the order that Lord Hades built, I shall listen. Once."

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Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness, watched the message with cold detachment.

She stood within her garden of white poppies, surrounded by sleepwalkers who had forgotten even their own names.

Her hair flowed like mist, her eyes empty yet endless.

"A meeting?" she whispered, voice like the last breath before sleep. "How... tiring."

She dipped a finger into her own river, stirring it softly. "I forget why I still care for such things..."

Then she smiled faintly—dreamily. "Ah... yes. It is because this is his realm."

She rose, every step a dance between dreams and death. "I shall attend. If only to remember that feeling."

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Phlegethon, the River of Fire, roared as the message echoed through his volcanic domain.

He stood amidst magma, his skin blazing with heat, his hair a crown of flame. He crushed a soul fragment in his hand and sneered.

"Hecate summons me? My river flows for no one but the King!"

He paced his chamber, each step igniting the floor. "But if we ignore this... Hecate might complain to Lord Hades, I would surely be reprimanded."

He growled, his pride clashing with his loyalty.

"...Fine. I’ll go. But that witch better not waste my time or I’ll burn her."

He turned to a nearby spirit and shouted, "Take charge of my river while I’m away! I shall attend this meeting!"

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Styx, the River of Oaths, sat still as a statue on her obsidian dais.

Her waters—black and still—did not ripple unless commanded.

Her hair was bright as moonlight, her eyes colder than death.

She alone of the five bore no visible reaction.

Only after several long minutes did she move, gently lifting a scroll of ancient law from her lap.

"Hecate cannot compel me," she whispered, her voice sharper than blades. "But she has served Hades with loyalty and precision."

She traced the summoning message with a single finger, and for a brief moment, her lips curled ever so slightly.

"...Just this once, I shall follow your words."

She stood, her robes trailing like ink in water.

"Lord Hades, I swore an oath to my river that I will serve the Underworld you lead. But you are not here."

She whispered, voice containing a deep longing.

She shook her head, before disappearing with a purple mist.

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Hypnos, God of Sleep, was dreaming of drifting galaxies and forgotten lullabies.

He lay on a bed suspended between reality and dream, wrapped in a cocoon of golden mist.

Soft breathing echoed in his halls, as countless souls slept beneath his spell.

However, Hecate’s message slithered through the fog of his domain and into his ears.

"Uuugh..." Hypnos groaned, eyes still closed. "Why must anyone speak during my nap hours?"

He turned, clutching a pillow tighter. "Unless it’s Lord Hades... no one has the right..."

But the message would not fade.

With a long, exaggerated sigh, he rolled off the floating bed, his misty robe trailing behind him like clouds.

He mumbled, "Hecate, you heartless lamp-sniffer... always ruining good dreams."

Still, he rose.

Because no matter how much he loathed it, Hades entrusted him with this role. As one of the Twelve Patron Gods.

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Thanatos, God of Peaceful Death, stood alone in his chamber of silence.

He had just finished ushering the soul of an old human soldier into gentle rest, guiding him through death like a silent guide in a snowstorm.

The summons reached him mid-step.

His eyes narrowed like storm clouds forming on the horizon.

"Hecate..." he muttered.

His voice, like cold iron, filled the chamber. "Who gave her the right to call us while Lord Hades still remains in seclusion?"

His hands curled into fists. The audacity boiled beneath his calm face.

But then, after a long pause, he unclenched his fist.

"...No matter. She had also served as the King’s right hand. So she shouldn’t do something meaningless. Let’s hear her first."

His footsteps were silent as he vanished into shadow.

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Keres, Goddess of Violent Death, was basking in the wails of the fallen.

Deep in Tartarus, where even gods feared to tread, she danced barefoot across blood-soaked chains.

The screams of tortured Titans echoed as she dug her clawed fingers into one of their chests.

Her laughter rang out like a sickle scraping bone.

Then—silence.

Hecate’s message echoed through the flames.

Keres froze mid-motion.

"Hecate?" she growled, turning her blood-soaked face toward the ceiling. "Interrupting me?"

She let out a shriek that sent lesser spirits fleeing.

"Cursed puppet witch! Even if Lord Hades is gone, you have no right to order me!"

She tossed the dismembered limb aside, hissing.

Still, she walked away.

Dripping in gore, blade still hot, Keres ascended from Tartarus.

Not out of obedience—never that.

But out of twisted curiosity.

Why would that woman bother calling for a meeting?

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Eris, Goddess of Discord, was having the time of her life.

Two lesser Underworld gods were clawing at each other over a minor goddess of beauty, both driven mad by planted thoughts and whispered lies.

Eris lounged nearby, sipping wine from a skull, cackling as one of them screamed in jealousy.

"Yes, yes! Gouge his other eye! Say it was his fault that she left!" she howled.

Aphrodite was right, conflict regarding love is most interesting thing to watch!

Her joy was cut short, as Hecate’s message drifted with the wind, into her ears.

She froze. Her grin faded.

Her wine shattered against the floor.

"Oh, for Hades’ sake—really?" she snapped. "Right when it was getting good!"

She rubbed her forehead with a groan.

"Hecate, always stepping on my fun like a funeral dirge..."

Still, she grabbed her golden dagger and disappeared in a flash of crimson mist.

"Fine. But I’m picking a fight the moment I get there."

Truly a goddess of discord.

Always looking for trouble.

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Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, reclined on a throne of silk and roses, her legs swinging giddily.

Her chamber was perfumed with warmth, music, and beauty, unlike all the dark and gloomy chambers of Underworld.

She watched two mortal men—noble warriors of rival tribes—lean in and kiss through the shimmering crystal projection.

She giggled, clapping her hands. "Oh, I love forbidden love..."

These two were trying to kill each other just moments ago, but with simple flick of her wrist, she made the two fall in love.

It gets boring in Underworld, so she’s looking for fun.

She stretched her legs, humming, when Hecate’s message arrived.

Aphrodite blinked. The projection flickered, vanishing into mist.

She sat up.

"...Hecate?" she whispered, voice low and curious.

Her smile faded into pout as she leaned back, arms crossed. "Of course she’d interrupt."

She glanced toward a portrait of Hades and her, gazing at each other with love. A painting she painted herself, using her imagination as a reference.

Oh how she wished Hades would look at her like that.

"She always ruins the moment." fгeewebnovёl.com

Still, she sighed, stood, and adorned herself in crimson silk embroidered with gold roses.

"She may call herself his right hand..." she whispered, brushing a hand over her chest, "But Hecate, soon I will be his heart."

And with a flutter of petals, she vanished.

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The call was answered.

Twelve gods—twelve sovereigns of the realm of death.

One by one, with protest or pride, with fury or fondness, they stirred.

The Council of the Underworld was about to begin.

And the halls that had been dormant for years would once again tremble beneath the feet of gods.

With this meeting, the future of Underworld will be decided.