Chapter 18: The Unseen Battlefield

The Underworld convulsed.

Hades stood at the precipice of his realm, watching as the golden-armored invaders pressed forward. Their presence alone was enough to shake the divine plane. Every step they took cracked the obsidian ground beneath them, the very air warping as their divine auras pushed against reality itself.

These were not mortals. They were not even lesser gods.

These were war-gods, conquerors of realms, deities whose names had shattered civilizations.

And yet, they did not belong here.

The Underworld knew it.

And the Underworld rejected them.

Hades exhaled. The motion alone sent a ripple through the battlefield, and the shadows of his domain deepened. The very concept of existence in this place shifted beneath his will—time slowed, sound stretched, the invading gods feeling the weight of eternity pressing down upon them.

They faltered. Just for a moment.

That was all he needed.

With a thought, Hades spoke to the Underworld.

And the Underworld answered.

The Battlefield Bends

The rivers of the dead howled.

A pulse of power erupted outward, and the black waters recoiled violently, twisting into impossible shapes, forming spears of liquid void. They struck out, cutting through the golden ranks of the invaders. Each drop of the Underworld's river that touched them burned like divine acid, eating through armor forged in the heavens.

The invaders retaliated.

One, a god clad in burning gold, raised his warhammer, and with a single swing, the very air ignited. A storm of fire erupted from the impact, a blast so intense that in any mortal world, it would have turned the land into a sun.

But this was not a mortal world.

This was Hades' realm.

And fire did not belong here.

The flames rushed forward—then froze midair. Not as ice. Not as cooled embers.

They simply ceased to be.

The Underworld had swallowed them.

The hammer-wielding god's eyes widened—only for a moment. Then, he was gone. Ripped from reality, pulled into the abyss.

The Underworld had decided.

He was not worthy.

A Familiar Presence

"You really do know how to make an entrance."

Hades did not turn immediately.

He knew the voice.

Thanatos.

The god of death stood just behind him, his black robes fluttering in an unseen wind. His vast wings, dark as the void between stars, remained folded, but the air around him felt thinner, stretched.

A lesser being would have suffocated simply by standing near him.

Thanatos observed the battlefield with a practiced gaze, arms crossed. "You do realize they aren't fighting to win."

Hades gave a slow nod. "They want to see."

Thanatos exhaled, the motion causing the ground at his feet to wither. "To see what?"

Hades' gaze did not leave the invaders.

"If I am worth fearing."

The Conqueror Moves

Then, the sky split open.

A pulse of raw divine power sent cracks spiderwebbing across the battlefield. The invaders, once confident, stepped back instinctively, their auras flickering as something greater than them descended.

Thanatos tilted his head. "Finally."

The Conqueror had arrived.

He did not walk.

He did not fly.

He simply was.

One moment, the space above them was empty. The next, he filled it. His very presence bent the world around him—the ground fractured beneath his feet before he had even touched it, the air around him burning, then freezing, then vibrating with raw instability.

The invading gods fell to one knee—not in reverence, but in submission to the sheer weight of his being.

Hades watched. Unmoved.

The Conqueror finally touched the ground.

A heartbeat passed.

And the Underworld screamed.

Foreshadowing: The Battle of Kings

Far beyond the divine plane, other pantheons turned their eyes toward the Underworld.

Some in fear.

Some in anticipation.

And some, waiting for their own time to strike.