A Tale of Unswallowable Things – Extra

The celebration lasted for days. We—gods newly triumphant—drank deeply, feasted until dawn, and finally sobered enough to decide how we would govern the realms now that the Titans lay vanquished.

All six of us siblings stood together atop Mount Olympus. The view was breathtaking: vast forests spilling into the distant sea, and the sky itself parting like a curtain to reveal a tapestry of stars. In that moment, we were free.

Beneath the star-strewn heavens, I cast my gaze across my siblings. Zeus and Poseidon surveyed the panorama as if it were already their birthright. From nearby, I heard Hestia and Demeter deep in conversation.

"Dear sister," Demeter said with a soft smile, "I spoke with Lady Gaia, and she has granted me a share of her sovereignty over the Earth." Her eyes gleamed like emeralds in the sun. "And you, my shining hearth? Will you compete for one of the other thrones?"

Hestia laughed, a pure, gentle sound like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Oh, my dearest," she replied, "no goddess of the hearth may claim mastery of the skies or seas—or any realm beyond the sanctuary of the home."

"In that case, do you think Hera will compete?" Demeter glanced toward Hera, who stood alone near the summit's edge, her regal bearing untouched by the revelry. Though distant, her expression was thoughtful, her brow creased in calculation. "After all, she wants to be Queen of the Gods."

Considering that Hera hadn't approached Poseidon during the festivities, keeping closer to Zeus instead, I had a fair idea of what was on her mind. Combined with Hestia's comment, I understood Hera's likely thoughts – perhaps her Divine Domains were inherently separate from the concept of territorial Sovereignty.

Before Hestia could respond to Demeter, the sound of Zeus clearing his throat sharply drew our collective attention. He and Poseidon stood at the highest point of Olympus, the very spot where the palace of the Olympian gods would one day rise – a place I intended to keep as far away from as possible.

"Brothers and Sisters," Zeus began, his voice carrying authority, "I thank you for your aid in overthrowing our Cursed Progenitor. It is thanks to each one of you that we were able to defeat the Titans." As he spoke the second part, his gaze locked directly onto me. "Now, we must organize our responsibilities. The sovereignties of the Heavens, the Seas... and the Underworld." One could feel the subtle shift in his intonation as he named each realm.

Thus the farce began. Zeus, ever the trickster, proposed drawing lots to determine which of us would claim each realm. However, upon learning that I was already the Sovereign of the Underworld, he visibly breathed a sigh of relief. He and Poseidon then proceeded to decide between themselves who would take the remaining two. I distinctly felt the breeze of Destiny brush past me, guiding Poseidon's hand towards the sea.

Joy on one side, envy on the other, but my eyes didn't linger long on my brothers. Turning to Hera, I witnessed the precise moment her decision solidified. 

I hope you don't regret this, sister. Hunting power instead of love.

After this, I promised to visit again in the future but informed them I would withdraw immediately to assess my Kingdom. Demeter and Hestia warmly promised visits. Zeus and Poseidon, however, seemed to forget I existed the moment the division was settled. This feeling was amplified by the sensation that the pendant Demeter had gifted me was fusing more deeply with my divine essence with each passing day.

Before descending into the Underworld, I visited the site of my final battle with Kronos. The mountainside was scarred but silent. I searched among the rubble for remnants of my first creations—my earliest experiments, my weapons, my living armor—but found only dust and ash. Discouraged, I released a breath of divine energy. My form dissolved into smoke and cinders; my soul, unbound, was drawn swiftly toward the yawning entrance of the Underworld.

I arrived in my new realm reborn. Sculpting my body from the primordial clay of the depths, I chose a form emblematic of my station: long black hair—jet at the roots, fading to silver at the tips—flowed down my shoulders. My eyes remained vivid red, but I added a subtle rim of darker pigment, as if wearing eyeliner, to give them a piercing quality. My lips, once pale, were now dyed an inky black, contrasting starkly with skin as white as moonlight. My physique retained an ambiguous grace between masculine vigor and feminine elegance; my nails had sharpened into onyx-hued claws. Finally, I willed into being a robe of deepest crimson—almost black—cinched at my waist with silver and gold filigree.

Looking upon my new body, a genuine smile touched my blackened lips. How many people in my past life would have paid anything for this kind of makeover ability?

With my new form complete, I surveyed the Underworld stretching around me, only the dim glow of infernal phosphorescence illuminated the place. There wasn't much to comment on aesthetically; it was essentially a vast cavern extending for kilometers. The points of interest were the rivers flowing through this subterranean expanse.

The first river I recognized instantly: Acheron. It was as if the Underworld itself whispered its knowledge to me. I knew this was the River of Woe, the place where Charon would ferry the souls of the dead across. I also knew Charon himself was further ahead, along with other resident deities.

Shaping my back, I formed a pair of draconian wings and took flight above the river. Acheron was immense, easily a kilometer wide at its narrowest point. The water, pure and clear at this nascent stage, reflected my stark new visage. 

I imagine in a few ages, I'll look back on this pure, clear river with nostalgia.

Further on, a palpable cold emanated from Cocytus, the River of Lamentation. Small icebergs floated on its seemingly stagnant surface, hiding the deepest chasms of the Underworld. Passing Cocytus, I reached Phlegethon, the River of Fire – a place vividly familiar from my numerous desperate reincarnations during the battle with Kronos. This river resembled a torrent of molten lava, flowing from some point in the Underworld down into Tartarus, or perhaps rising from Tartarus up into this realm.

Next came Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness. This was a narrow, swift-flowing stream, cascading down numerous small waterfalls and pooling into shallow lakes. This was where I had drunk, yet its waters hadn't erased the memory of my battle. On the contrary, my resistance to its oblivion had purified my soul with each rebirth.

Finally, near the place where I sensed the presence of other deities, flowed the Styx, the River of Inviolability and the source of the flames that had shielded me from Kronos's attacks. The Styx was a sinuous river, winding around the Underworld in multiple ways, forming a natural barrier. It symbolized the eternity of the realm of death – a promise that even if the rest of the universe perished, the Underworld would endure.

Before me stood seven figures. The foremost was a woman whose hair was black as night itself, her robes appearing as if crafted from a patch of starless sky sewn into a tunic that left one breast exposed. She radiated a presence unlike any other, something profoundly more ancient than even my father. It took my mind and body a moment to react. This figure, sculpted from alabaster and the night sky, was Nyx, one of the Primordial beings of the world, the very personification of Night.

Beside her stood two other figures emanating similar, immense power. One was a giant composed of shifting rock and lava, vaguely humanoid but possessing four arms and four faces, each oriented towards a cardinal Direction. A flow of magma trailed from his spine into the subterranean depths—Tartarus, the Abyss personified, the prison of my father.

The third figure was more an Echo, a smudge upon reality that my divine mind struggled to fully grasp. Like Nyx and Tartarus, it radiated immense power, but of a distinct and unknowable nature: Erebus, the personification of Darkness.

Their combined presence squeezed the breath from my lungs. If the battle against my father had seemed arduous, a confrontation with these entities would be utterly impossible, even with my newfound Sovereignty.

"Welcome, Hades, son of Kronos," Nyx's voice whispered, a chorus of echoes rolling from all directions at once. Where night brings rest to mortals, it also births terrors that echo through eternity.

"You have claimed Dominion over the realm that is our home," Tartarus intoned, his words resonating like shifting bedrock. "Tell us: what will you do now?"

All three remained utterly still, their gazes fixed upon me, their presences restrained yet undeniably palpable.

"I will reshape the Underworld," the answer escaped my lips swiftly, born of long contemplation during my struggles. "Make it a place of rest for the worthy and punishment for the unworthy."

"And us, little god?" Tartarus's voice possessed its own gravity, a tangible weight pressing down.

"You resided here long before Kronos was born," I countered, genuinely perplexed. "What authority could I possibly claim over you?" From any perspective, these beings could have seized control of the Underworld eons ago. Yet, for some reason, they had remained confined to their respective domains, leaving the throne empty.

"I told you his arrogance didn't blind him to truth," Erebus whispered to the others, a sound like shadows rustling. "Of all the siblings, he possesses the most sense."

"You also said he'd be a dour and sterile figure," Nyx observed coolly, her starlight eyes appraising me. "Yet I observe a vigorous and curious youth."

"Secrets whispered in Darkness do not always reveal the whole truth," Erebus murmured enigmatically. "Sometimes the Present does not desire the Future it foresees."

"We shall see if his sovereignty lasts a single age." For a moment, these ancient beings conversed as if I weren't present, briefly questioning aspects of my nature – including, pointedly by Nyx, my capacity to generate life.

After a few moments of this unsettling discourse, they took their leave, fading back into the primordial essence of the realm, making way for the four figures who had been waiting patiently in the background.

The first was skeletal, draped in tattered robes – the future ferryman of the dead, who would guide souls across Acheron: Charon.

Beside him stood two female figures whose eyes perpetually wept rivulets of crimson blood. One had hair a deep, unsettling black-green like rotted leaves, the other a stark, ashen grey-white was pale as bone. Beyond their hair, the primary difference lay in their expressions: the first wore an expression of profound weariness – Alecto, Endless Rage; the other radiated cold, focused intensity – Tisiphone, Vengeful Destruction.

Though I scanned the area, I couldn't immediately spot the third sister, Megaera, the Jealous Fury, yet my senses screamed that she observed this gathering intently.

Finally, at the back of the assembly, glided a figure of solemn grace: Thanatos, the personification of Death itself. His wings were broad and white as ash; his countenance calm to the point of indifference.

Transitioning from a conversation with three primordial entities to addressing these four slightly less ancient, yet still immensely powerful, beings was complex, yet expected. While the Olympians might believe themselves atop the world, here in the Underworld resided beings of far older, deeper power.

"I trust we can work well together," I stated, extending my hand towards them. "For we shall be companions for ages to come." Charon merely emitted an unintelligible grunt. The Furies and Thanatos, however, clasped my hand firmly.

"I say the same," Thanatos replied, his voice surprisingly resonant. "According to the Weavers, the Underworld will soon begin receiving its... permanent residents."

I spent considerable time conversing with them. By the end, I began to decipher Charon's grunts. And I must say, for someone who only produced sounds reminiscent of agony, he was strangely eloquent.

And so, beneath the watchful eyes of Night, Darkness, the Abyss, and the very Death, I pledged to guide the souls of mortals with justice and Mercy. Though Olympus shone bright above, I felt no envy. Here in the darkness, I had earned my place.

POV Megaera

I observed from the shadows as the fledgling God of the Dead conversed with my sisters. My eyes traced his every movement, dissected every word that left his lips. Any sign of manipulation, any hint of falsehood towards my precious little sisters, and I would make his existence within my domain a living torment. He didn't seem to harbor ill intent, but appearances were deceiving. My gaze raked over his form, cataloging every detail, seeking weaknesses, imagining the clash: hurling him against the cavern wall, punishing him for the sheer audacity of approaching Alecto and Tisiphone. The vivid scenarios of his defeat, his submission under my wrath, surged through me with such intensity that a sharp pain flared on my lip, shattering my focus and causing the scrying vision to vanish.

Glancing at my reflection in the bronze shield that had shown the distant scene moments before, I saw the blood welling. I had bitten my lip... hard... in a surge of fury. Commanding a trickle of divine energy, I healed the wound instantly and refocused on the shield, willing the image back. The god was now moving away from my sisters. I shifted the focus onto him, moving my field of vision around him, meticulously memorizing every contour, every detail of his new form.

He was flying towards the center of the Underworld, where something colossal seemed to be rising from the gloom. Curiosity warred with indignation as I watched him command the very substance of the realm, raising a palace – grand, imposing, a dwelling fit for a sovereign god. It stood in stark, insulting contrast to the dark caverns my sisters and I inhabited. Why should he have this, while we dwell in shadows?

"Perhaps you could visit him when he is... distracted," the insidious whisper of Erebus brushed against my senses. I ignored what the Darkness desired. Yet... the thought held a kernel of strategy. Perhaps I could demand a place of honor within that palace for my sisters. Staying close to the potential enemy, observing his every move from within his walls, would ensure I was never caught off guard by his schemes.

I would need to keep watch. Constant, unrelenting vigilance. Every second. I must ensure he wouldn't seduce my sisters with those penetrating eyes, or those... kissable lips.

Yes. The moment that palace is complete, I will demand an audience. We, the Furies, will be his honored guests. And I will ensure... he understands the true nature of the realm he presumes to rule. My vigilance would be eternal, my suspicion absolute. He would know the weight of a Fury's watchful eye.