Chapter 6: Tartarus

"The Tartarus?"

Hecate raised an eyebrow as Hades told her his mission for diving into the depths of the earth and venturing in the Underworld.

Currently, the two were walking on a completely dark path, with Hecate's lamp barely lighting up the way.

"Yes. We were about to go to war with Cronus, and Gaia asked me to free the Cyclops and the Hecatoncheires to help us."

Hecate hummed, "Indeed, their strength isn't any inferior to the Titans. Not to mention they can forge you your own Divine Weapons."

Divine Weapons. As the name implies, is a weapon of divine nature. It allows one to access powers beyond their own, and amplify their domain and authority.

A god with divine weapon can even be said to be invincible.

Cronus was able to defeat Uranus due to his divine weapon, the Scythe. If it weren't for that, then not even with Gaia's help would Cronus be able to even kill his father.

"...How do I get there?" Asked Hades.

Hecate smiled, "I will take you. I told you didn't I? I am the keeper of realms, so naturally I hold the keys to Tartarus as well."

How convenient. No wonder she is considered as Hades' trusted advisor who assists him in his duties as the ruler of the dead and the one assigned to guard the boundaries of underworld with her magical abilities.

"However," Hecate paused, turning towards him, "I must warn you, Tartarus is a realm beyond comprehension. If you stay too long, you might go insane and lose yourself."

Hades nodded. But he didn't really took it seriously. Although Tartarus is dangerous, can it be more dangerous than those eldritch horrors he had seen in Chaos?

"Also," she continued, "There is creature known as Campe who guards the prison cell of the Cyclops and the Hundred-Ones. You must be careful."

Campe. If Hades remembered it correctly, it is half-woman half-dragon creature that not even Zeus can beat alone.

He had to free the Cyclops and the Hecatoncheires and asked for their help before they managed to kill the her.

But...

Right now, Hades is stronger than Zeus. He'd better bang himself on the wall if he needed help to beat a single opponent that isn't even a Primordial nor a Supreme God.

"Don't worry. If there is one thing I value more than power, it's my life." Hades replied, chuckling in amusement.

Hecate did not seem to find it funny.

The two walked for what felt like an eternity, their steps echoing into the void. The path, though solid beneath their feet, seemed suspended in nothingness—an expanse of darkness so deep it devoured all light.

Even Hecate's lamp, a beacon of divine magic, struggled to push back the consuming black.

Finally, they arrived at the edge of an abyssal cliff, an expanse of empty air stretching out before them like the mouth of a great beast, ready to swallow all who dared to approach.

Hecate stepped forward, raising her lamp high. The air trembled as she began to chant in a language Hades could not understand—an ancient tongue that carried weight beyond mere words.

Each syllable pulsed with raw divinity, resonating through the abyss.

Then, with a final burst of her power, the void itself responded.

A great distortion formed in the depths of the cliff, swirling into existence like the birth of a dying star.

A hole darker than the void around it, deeper than any abyss known to gods or titans alike.

It is the entrance to Tartarus.

Hecate turned to him, her face unusually solemn. "This is your last chance to turn back."

Hades met her gaze. "You know I won't."

She sighed, shaking her head with a small, almost amused smile. "Then I won't waste my breath."

Hades took a step forward, standing at the edge. He could feel the pull of the abyss, like a whisper at the back of his mind, beckoning him into its depths.

He turned his head slightly. "Thank you, Hecate."

Then, without hesitation, he leaped into the void.

Hecate observed as Hades was swallowed by the darkness. She remained still, waiting for when the king she had recognized to return.

****

In the abyss, there was no sky, no ground, no sense of up or down. Hades couldn't tell if he was falling down, or falling up. Yes, it doesn't make sense.

All he knows is that he fell through an endless void, his body weightless as the air around him screamed.

The deeper he went, the more the darkness thickened—not just as an absence of light but as a presence, an entity, one that slithered into the cracks of his mind, whispering things in a language older than the gods.

For hours—days—centuries—he fell. Time was meaningless here.

Then, suddenly—

Impact.

The ground caught him in a violent embrace, shifting like a living thing, groaning beneath his weight. The landscape before him was not rock, not soil—but something twisted, something unnatural.

Mountains made of ribcages rose in the distance, their hollowed bones emitting low, resonant hums like mournful wails.

The rivers were not of water but black sludge, bubbling and twisting with tormented faces that surfaced only to be dragged back down by unseen hands.

And then there were the walls—titanic structures of writhing, pulsating flesh, adorned with eyes that never blinked and mouths that whispered in a thousand voices, calling his name.

This was Tartarus.

Hades exhaled, his breath visible in the frigid, lifeless air. This was where the Primordial of Sky—Uranus, locked away his fears.

And he was here to free them.

Without hesitation, Hades walked forward, his every step echoing through the twisted realm of Tartarus. The very ground beneath him writhed, shifting like a living organism, desperate to consume him.

He could feel it—the abyss clawing at him, trying to drag him down, trying to sink into his mind.

The whispers grew louder. Voices that weren't voices. Screeches that carried words older than the stars. Promises of power. Threats of ruin.

He ignored them.

Hallucinations slithered at the edge of his vision—figures of the past, nightmares given form, crawling, reaching.

He ignored them.

Tendrils of darkness, hands made of suffering, creatures beyond comprehension—all tried to seize him, claim him, devour him.

He ignored them all.

None of this could compare to what he had seen in Chaos.

His divinity burned around him, a silent declaration that he would not be touched. He was not prey. He was not lost. He was not afraid.

He passed countless prisoners—twisted, tormented souls, some whispering, others screaming, many simply staring with hollow eyes.

But none were the ones he sought.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he found them.

The Cyclops. The Hecatoncheires.

Chained in agony, bound by divine shackles that pulsed with ancient power. Their massive forms hunched in defeat, their bodies marred by wounds that never healed.

They had suffered for eons.

Hades took a step closer—

And then he felt it.

A presence.

The air grew thick with raw, suffocating power. The ground cracked beneath him. A force of destruction unlike any he had faced before crashed against his very being.

Then, she appeared.

Campe.

A towering woman, standing before him as if she had been expecting him all along.

Her dragon wings spread wide, casting an imposing shadow. Twin horns curved from her head, framing her face like a crown. A long, sinuous tail flicked behind her, its very motion radiating uncontained violence.

Her forearms and legs, scaled up to her knees, shimmered under the eerie light of Tartarus. Her claws, sharp enough to rend through divine flesh, flexed in anticipation.

She was naked, her long crimson hair cascading down her back, her form as alluring as it was terrifying.

Her eyes—red as the deepest flames—locked onto his with amusement.

A predator had found her prey.

And she spoke, her voice a melody of destruction.

"A god from overworld," she flicked her tail, causing the chaos around them to calm down, "What brought you here in the pits of despair?"

Hades felt a chill ran through his spine. No, it isn't out of fear. This is excitement. The excitement of finally finding someone to test his strength.

That brief confrontation of Hecate had left him wanting more.

He doesn't know why he turned into some sort of battle maniac. But he really enjoyed exchanging blows with his opponents.

Perhaps it was due to the influence of him once enjoying fighting with shadow knights before it got boring as he became too powerful.

But now...

That oppressive feeling.

That destructive power.

That overwhelming strength.

He had found his match.

The Cyclops and Hecatoncheires can wait.

For now, he will satisfy his desire.

After all, gods are selfish aren't they?