“Let them scream for war.”

The Mouth of the Deep — Entrance to Tartarus

The wind around the chasm didn't blow.

It pulled.

Like something at the bottom of the world was hungry and tired of waiting.

The sky above had lost its color—no clouds, no sun, just a faded gray dome stretched endlessly over them. The kind of stillness that made your bones want to run before your mind caught up. The only sound was that low, unnatural hum. Deep. Endless. It buzzed in the chest like a warning whispered from the bones of the earth.

Zeus stood at the very edge of the abyss, boots planted on fractured stone that cracked and groaned with every gust of pressureless air. His cloak whipped behind him. His silver-white hair snapped with stray currents of divine static. He didn't move. He didn't blink.

Behind him, the others gathered.

Hades was already by his side, shrouded in mist that curled around his body like living shadows. His eyes were unreadable, but his stance was calm. Confident. "You say that like it's a problem," he said softly, responding to Zeus's words.

Poseidon cracked his knuckles. "Let's just hope whatever's inside isn't too ugly," he muttered, forcing a grin.

Hera rolled her eyes. "Speak for yourself. Some of Gaia's kids in there are the reason nightmares were invented. Even Father wouldn't walk in there unless he had no choice."

Demeter stood near Hestia, fingers coiled in green vines that looped around her forearms like protective serpents. She looked pale. "We need them," she whispered. "If we're going to stand a chance in this war, we need their strength."

Hestia nodded once, small flames hovering above her palm. The fire didn't flicker like usual—it trembled, as if it, too, understood where they were going.

Metis appeared beside them, stepping lightly across the stone ledge like she didn't feel the weight in the air. Her Oceanid cloak fluttered around her ankles, and her eyes—always sharp—never stopped scanning.

"This won't be like walking into a fortress," she said, her voice cool and clear. "Tartarus is not just a prison. It's a place. A being. It will react to you. Try to trick you. Feed on your thoughts. If you don't focus, you will lose yourself."

"And yet we go anyway," said Hera.

"Because no one else will," Zeus replied.

A ripple echoed through the windless air.

They turned as Styx approached, her presence unmistakable. The river goddess wore black, her hair bound behind her in tight braids like coiled ropes. Her armor wasn't metal—it was something older. Something woven from the veil between life and death.

"You're all insane," she said. "And brave. But mostly insane."

"Is that your way of saying you're in?" asked Zeus.

"I already said I'd guide you to the entrance of the underworld. Tartarus is just… lower than that. Much lower." She smirked. "I'll show you the way. But you'll be walking the rest."

Zeus turned back toward the chasm.

His voice rang out, low and serious.

"If you feel fear—feel it. But don't let it lead."

The others said nothing.

He stepped forward.

And fell.

No sound. Just a straight drop into black.

Hades followed, coat billowing.

Poseidon next, diving like he was leaping into the sea.

Hera, calm-faced but jaw tight.

Demeter hesitated—but only for a breath—and then stepped after them.

Hestia whispered a blessing and dropped, flame trailing in her wake.

Metis nodded to Styx once. "Don't let them get lost in the dark."

Styx smirked. "I'm the river of oaths. I don't do lost."

They stepped in together—and the void swallowed them whole.

Descent into Tartarus

At first, there was nothing.

Just windless falling.

Then—colors.

Not normal ones. Shifting lights, like memories bleeding across your eyes. Screams in the wind. Laughter that wasn't human. A heartbeat beneath them, impossibly large, pounding like a war drum.

Then the walls appeared.

Vast towers of stone and root, spiraling down like the inside of a throat. The descent slowed.

They weren't falling anymore.

They were being dragged.

Their bodies landed softly—but not gently. Tartarus didn't believe in grace.

The stone floor beneath their feet pulsed. Like skin.

Zeus stood first, lightning flickering at his fingertips.

The others followed, adjusting to the oppressive weight of the place. It wasn't just dark—it was thick. Alive.

"Welcome to Tartarus," Styx said, stepping forward. "Where the land hates you… and the air would eat your lungs if it could."

Metis narrowed her eyes. "We should move. The longer we linger, the more the realm will push back."

Zeus nodded.

The path ahead was long. Twisting.

Chains hung from the air. Floating stones held cursed runes. Whispers crawled along the walls—some sounded like their own voices.

No guards.

No creatures yet.

But something was watching.

"You said Cronus used the Hecatoncheires and the Cyclopes," Hera said. "But why not kill them?"

"Because even Cronus feared what they were," Hades answered. "Their death might bring something worse. Something… louder."

Zeus looked back at his siblings.

"We free them."

He turned toward the deepest part of the tunnel.

"And then we remind the world that the Titans aren't the only things that can rule the sky."

They pressed forward into the deep, where even gods hesitate to breathe.

And Tartarus watched.

Because gods were coming to wake the monsters.

Mount Othrys

The throne room was dead silent.

The wind outside had stopped. The world outside had stopped.

Only the slow, rhythmic sound of breathing filled the obsidian hall. Heavy. Controlled. Barely.

Cronus sat unmoving, draped in a black and gold robe stained from his last outburst. The jagged sickle of time leaned against the base of his throne. His eyes glowed faintly—two burning coals in a cracked mountain. The room was dim, lit only by dying torches and the flicker of crumbling runes on the stone walls.

The Titan King sat… thinking.

No. Calculating.

His face was stone. But his fingers twitched. His jaw flexed. A man, a god, a thing older than memory—and right now, he was drowning in fury.

Until—

The doors creaked.

Not open.

They peeled apart.

And from the shadows beyond the black pillars came a figure cloaked in death-mist, gliding across the floor like a spirit torn from the River Lethe.

A soul-watcher. One of the dead's whisper-keepers. From below.

He dropped to a single knee before the throne and bowed his head low.

"My king," the whisper came. "Forgive the intrusion, but the silence of the underworld has been broken."

Cronus didn't blink. "Speak."

"There are… trespassers in Tartarus."

The room chilled.

Cronus tilted his head slightly, the motion slow. Purposeful. "Who."

The whisper-keeper raised his head just enough to speak again. "The children. The ones you swallowed. The ones… you lost."

A long silence stretched like a blade across the floor.

Cronus's grip curled around the arm of his throne. It cracked under his fingers.

"Zeus."

The name was poison. A scar. A mistake. A prophecy.

He stood.

The room shifted around him, the very stones groaning beneath the pressure of rising wrath.

"You're telling me my blood walks the depths of Tartarus? That they now wander the same pit their grandfather sealed shut?"

The soul-watcher nodded, his body trembling.

"They go to awaken the Hecatoncheires… and the Cyclopes. The sons of Gaia. The forgotten ones."

A loud crack echoed as Cronus's foot slammed down onto the steps before his throne.

"Then let them wake the beasts," he spat.

"Let them rip the seals open, and tear the gates from their hinges."

His voice dropped lower, darker, sharper than steel.

"Because when they crawl back into the light… I'll be waiting."

He turned his burning eyes toward the open air, his gaze rising toward the ceiling like it could pierce through the clouds and see every movement in the land.

"Let them build their army."

"Let them scream for war."

His hand lifted. The sickle snapped to it, drawn by pure will. The moment it touched his palm, the light in the room twisted. Time shook.

Cronus narrowed his eyes.

"I am not afraid of storms."

He turned to the shadows behind the throne and raised his voice.

"Call Hyperion. Bring Coeus. Summon Crius and Iapetus. Wake Theia, Phoebe, and Rhea's sister—Mnemosyne. And if Oceanus still dares to call himself neutral, then let him watch while the world drowns."

He strode forward, each step shaking the chamber.

"And bring me my armor. The war begins now."