The God of Underworld - Chapter 261
Chapter 261: Chapter 19
High atop the golden spires of Valaskjalf, within the radiant throne hall that overlooked all realms, Odin stood before the great window that faced the void beyond.
His single eye, glimmering with the faint traces of near-omniscient sight, was locked upon the distant expanse of Helheim.
There, far beyond the reach of Asgard’s light, he could feel it—an overwhelming, suffocating pressure that seemed to ripple through the very fabric of creation itself.
The air trembled, the light dimmed, and the cosmic threads of fate twisted ever so slightly under the weight of a presence that was beyond anything he had ever known.
Odin’s fingers tightened around Gungnir’s shaft. His breath caught in his throat, his godly heart pounding in disbelief. So this… this is the power of a Transcendent?
His mind struggled to grasp it.
That vast, silent authority that emanated from Hades’ being wasn’t merely divine might or supreme magic, it was existence itself bending in reverence.
The very laws that shaped gods and mortals alike bowed before it, as though afraid to offend.
Even from this immeasurable distance, Odin felt as though the entire cosmos might crumble under that weight, as though every star would shatter into dust if that man willed it.
Behind him, Frigg stood frozen, her hands clasped tightly at her chest as she used her magic mirror to gaze into Helheim.
Her face, usually calm and compassionate, had gone pale. The divine runes carved into her mirror pulsed erratically, unable to properly display the magnitude of the energy they were witnessing.
She trembled slightly, her voice low but incredulous.
“This… this is what you meant?” she whispered, eyes wide. “This is what you called transcendence? Odin… by the Asgard, I thought you were exaggerating. But you…”
She swallowed hard, unable to finish. “You understated it.”
Odin didn’t respond, his single eye reflecting both awe and a creeping sense of insignificance.
For the first time in countless eons, the Allfather of Asgard felt like a child standing before a force that dwarfed the sum of his wisdom, his power, and his centuries of battle and triumph.
Just then, a low, melodic chuckle echoed softly from behind them.
“Impressed, are we?” Nyx said with a sly smile, her voice carrying that strange, timeless calm that only beings of infinite age could have.
The shadows of her presence rippled across the marble floor, staining the golden light with night’s embrace. “You should be. That was Hades restraining himself.”
Both Odin and Frigg turned sharply toward her, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Restraining—?” Frigg began, but her voice faltered.
Nyx’s smile deepened, her dark eyes gleaming like twin stars in a void.
“He has not even revealed a fragment of his true strength,” she said lightly, as though speaking of the weather. “What you just witnessed was merely the faint echo of his divinity, an idle thought given form. If he wished, not even Helheim’s foundation could endure a fraction of his full will.”
Odin’s mind raced. Not even full power? He clenched his jaw, his thoughts spinning. Then just how powerful… how far beyond are we… compared to the Transcendents?
As if reading his mind, as she often did, Nyx’s smile turned faintly wistful. “You cannot measure it, Odin. It is not simply a difference in strength or scale. It is a difference in existence.”
She turned her gaze toward the endless dark beyond the window, where distant Helheim burned with flickering divine lights.
“If the universe is a book,” she said softly, her tone almost poetic, “then the Transcendent is the reader holding it. They do not dwell within reality but they observe it, shape it, choose how it is written. They are beyond the reach of cause and effect, beyond the perception of even gods like us.”
Her words hung in the air like a prophecy carved in the bones of eternity.
Frigg’s hands trembled, and she turned to Odin.
“A being who reads the universe like a story…” she murmured, her voice shaking with awe and fear. “Then even fate itself bends to them.”
Odin slowly nodded, his eye still distant, reflecting that unreachable light from beyond reality.
“Yes,” he whispered. “And to think… one such being walks among us.”
But Nyx’s expression darkened, her tone turning cold and sharp, breaking through their wonder.
“Do not let admiration cloud your vigilance, Allfather. We may have a Transcendent among us, but the Outer Fragment will soon realize its advance has halted. When it does, it will act directly.”
Her gaze shifted to Odin, her presence pressing down like the weight of the cosmos. “Prepare your armies. Ready your gods. When that thing moves, not even Hades will be able to shield all of you at once.”
Odin’s awe hardened into resolve. He turned, his cloak of stars fluttering behind him, and gave a solemn nod.
“I understand. Then we shall be ready,” he said gravely. “I don’t want the Norse to be forgotten.”
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Zeus bellowed with the fury of a tempest, his golden hair crackling with electricity as he hurled bolts of lightning that split the darkened skies of Helheim apart.
The heavens roared in unison with him, and every flash of his thunderous wrath disintegrated thousands of abominations in a heartbeat.
Turning with a wild grin, his sharp eyes found Thor—his Norse counterpart—and his voice boomed across the battlefield like the voice of a god who had never known defeat.
“Watch closely, boy!” Zeus taunted, his laughter filled with arrogance and thunder. “This is how one wields the power of the skies! Not with brute force, but with divine command!”
With a roar of challenge, he ascended once more into the storm, lightning wreathing around his body like a crown of chaos.
Thor’s brow twitched, his teeth grinding audibly. He glared upward, raising Mjolnir high as divine thunder gathered around him like a hurricane waiting to be unleashed.
“You think that was thunder, old man?” Thor growled, his voice echoing like the rumble before a storm. “Let me show you how the son of Odin calls upon the skies!”
With that, Mjolnir blazed with light, and the heavens cracked open. Bolts of pure blue lightning, thicker and brighter than anything Zeus had summoned, rained down in torrents, turning vast legions of the abominations into ash.
The ground quaked from the sheer force, and in an instant, the sea of darkness that Zeus had been about to obliterate was gone.
Zeus froze mid-flight, his smirk faltering as the smell of burnt ozone filled the air.
He looked down, only to see Thor standing below with a smug grin plastered across his bearded face, lightning still dancing around him like a living mantle.
“Hah!’ Thor barked with satisfaction. “Seems like the old storm god’s lost his touch. Must be hard, sharing the skies with someone who does it better!”
Zeus’s expression twitched dangerously.
“You insolent oaf!” he shouted, lightning flaring violently around him as the air rippled from his fury. “You dare mock the King of Olympus?!”
“Oh, I dare plenty,” Thor retorted with a grin that was half challenge, half laughter. “Especially when the so-called king gets outshined by a hammer swing!”
Before anyone could stop them, the sky exploded into a duel of lightning.
Bolts clashed against bolts, turning the heavens above Helheim into a storm of pure chaos.
Gods on both sides stared upward in disbelief, two storm deities battling for dominance in the middle of an apocalyptic war.
Poseidon, standing on a floating crest of water that surged from nowhere, pinched the bridge of his nose with an expression of pure disdain.
His trident gleamed as oceans began to rise behind him, his voice booming cold and contemptuous.
“Children,” Poseidon muttered, as colossal tsunamis coiled around him like serpents. “Eager to compare whose thunder is louder… while the real work remains undone.”
With a mighty thrust of his trident, the seas obeyed his call.
Walls of water higher than mountains surged forward, devouring thousands of abominations in a single, roaring deluge.
The battlefield was swallowed by the tide, and only gods could remain standing amidst the flood.
Hel, her pale skin reflecting the dim light of Helheim, watched the spectacle in shock.
Her eyes widened not out of fear, but in fierce admiration and pride. The foreign gods fought like titans, their presence shaking even her dominion of death.
Snapping out of awe, she clenched her sword and raised it high, her voice carrying through the battlefield like a cold wind from the grave.
“Are you just going to stand there while outsiders fight our war?!” she roared. “Prove that you are still gods of the Norse! Let us show our allies the courage and strength of the Nordic Gods!”
Her soldiers—ghosts, warriors, and divine spirits—answered her with a united roar that made the abyss tremble.
The Norse pantheon surged forward again, clashing alongside the Greeks, their divine energies mingling in a chaotic, brilliant storm of destruction.
While gods and warriors fought across the wasteland, Hades descended silently.
His feet touched the ashen ground, and the darkness itself seemed to retreat from him.
He raised a single hand, and an obsidian throne materialized from the shattered soil, carved from shadow and death itself.
Without a word, he sat—legs crossed, posture regal—as if he were merely observing a performance.
The black infant-like abominations turned toward him, sensing the immense divinity that emanated from his calm form.
They screamed and charged, an ocean of twisted flesh and darkness surging toward the seated god.
But before they could reach him, a deafening roar split the air.
A crimson dragon tore through the battlefield like a living inferno, its scales burning brighter than molten metal.
With one mighty breath, it unleashed a torrent of flames so fierce that even the ground melted into rivers of magma.
The abominations disintegrated instantly, reduced to ash before they could even scream.
The dragon landed behind Hades, its titanic form bowing its head low in reverence.
Smoke curled from its nostrils as it growled deeply, a sound like thunder rolling beneath the earth.
Hades glanced over his shoulder, his expression as unreadable as the void itself.
His voice was calm, almost casual, yet carried enough weight to silence even the gods nearby.
“Campe,” he said softly. “Guard my throne. I don’t want to be touched by those disgusting things.”
The dragon growled again in acknowledgment, lowering itself into a coiled position behind him, its glowing eyes sweeping over the battlefield like twin suns of crimson fury.
And there Hades sat, an unmoving monarch in the midst of chaos, while gods clashed, seas rose, and lightning shattered the skies.
For in the presence of the Lord of the Dead, even the heavens itself seemed to bow.