The God of Underworld - Chapter 264

Chapter 264: Chapter 22
Nyx, who had appeared soundlessly beside Odin, stood with her arms loosely crossed.

Her expression calm and composed amid the storm of divine confusion that swept through the halls of Asgard.

Her black hair shimmered faintly under the dim light, her eyes glowing like distant stars as she gazed at the spectacle unfolding beyond the veil of worlds.

“That thing you call Ymir,” she began in her languid, silken tone, “is nothing more than a vessel now.”

“A vessel?” Asked Odin.

Nyx nodded, “The entity that invaded our realm prefers to inhabit rather than manifest, it always chooses hosts that were once deeply tied to the creation of their universe. Primordial beings, the first Earths, the first Giants, those whose existence is interwoven with the birth of their world. By doing so, it gains control of the universe’s very foundation. It’s the most efficient way to consume a cosmos.”

Odin’s hand trembled slightly, his knuckles whitening as he gripped Gungnir.

“But… we killed Ymir,” he said, his voice hoarse, disbelief cracking through his words. “I and my brothers—Vili, Vé—we tore his body apart! His death made the Nine Realms! His bones, his blood, his breath—every part of him became creation itself! How can he exist?”

Nyx tilted her head, her dark lips curving into the faintest smirk, her tone carrying a detached amusement. “Perhaps the entity found fragments of his corpse, remnants buried in the depths of your reality. No matter how thoroughly you destroy a Primordial, traces of their essence linger in the fabric of their world. That was enough. It does not need the whole, it only needs a piece to make the corpse breathe again.”

She paused, her gaze sharpening as she turned toward the mirror-like surface showing Helheim’s turmoil.

“Regardless of how it happened, it’s irrelevant now. What matters,” she said softly, “is that we destroy him before the infection spreads.”

Her words, simple yet absolute, snapped Odin from his daze.

The Allfather’s confusion gave way to grim resolve. His single eye burned with renewed clarity as he lifted his spear, nodding.

“You’re right. This world will not be consumed, not while I still draw breath.”

*

*

*

Back in the depths of Helheim, beneath the fractured skies and crumbling laws of existence, the enormous abomination let out a soundless roar that reverberated through the concept of reality itself.

It wasn’t a cry one could hear, it was a vibration that bled through meaning, through time, through thought, and every god, spirit, and lost soul below felt their minds twist in pain as the air itself bent under its presence.

The creature’s surface rippled, and from its shifting, liquid-like mass emerged countless limbs, arms, tendrils, and eyes, each a different concept of motion, a different logic of anatomy.

They moved not through space but through possibility, lunging toward Hades from every conceivable angle, breaking distance and direction like fragile illusions.

Hades did not move at first.

He stood at the center of it all, his dark robes unmoving despite the cosmic winds that howled around him, his face calm and cold as though he were simply watching rain fall.

Then, with a faint flicker of purple light in his eyes, the shadows surrounding him came alive.

From the void behind his throne rose countless arms, formed not of matter or magic, but of absence itself.

Each limb was a hole in existence, a wound in the fabric of the world, and where they passed, reality simply ceased to be.

When the abomination’s limbs met those of Hades, there was no explosion, no clash of destructive force.

Instead, reality shivered, concepts collided, growth against negation, hunger against stillness, infinity against void, and the impact sent ripples through the very structure of the universe.

Space folded, laws wavered, and existence trembled like a dream trying to remember itself.

The gods watching from afar could not comprehend what they were seeing; to them, the two beings seemed to be standing still, their forms blurring into abstractions, while the world around them warped, reformed, and broke again, caught between meanings.

Each time Ymir’s colossal limb swung, it distorted countless possibilities, birthing universes of motion in an instant, while Hades’ dark arms erased them, denying their right to exist.

Every gesture was like an argument written in the language of divinity—one proclaiming “I Am,” the other replying “You Are Not.”

The clash between affirmation and negation echoed across dimensions, reshaping the heavens and the underworld alike.

The screams of the dead went silent.

The very idea of sound seemed to retreat, replaced by the resonant hum of collapsing logic.

Darkness folded into light, and light folded into darkness, until only paradox remained.

And there, at the eye of that impossible storm, Hades and Ymir’s entity stared at one another through an eternity compressed into a single breath.

The war was not one of destruction, it was a contest of definition.

To exist, to devour, to rule, to end.

The abomination sought to define the cosmos through consumption, while Hades sought to define it through erasure.

Two gods of opposite truths, locked in combat that could not be seen, only felt, a war not of power, but of reality itself.

At that moment, the entity, an endless amalgamation of eyes, mouths, and shifting geometries, let out a scream that pierced through dimensions, a sound so profound that it tore open a void within the very fabric of the Norse universe.

Reality convulsed, stars flickered into nonexistence, and the fundamental laws of matter quivered like frightened children as the sound rippled through every layer of existence, from the tangible to the abstract.

But before the abomination could lash out again, before it could unleash the tide of chaos that seethed within its impossible body, a blinding radiance flooded the cosmos.

A colossal silver barrier manifested, its light sharp and absolute, expanding outward like the dawn of a new creation, encircling the entity in a vast and seamless sphere of divine geometry.

Runes older than time itself ignited along its surface, forming constellations of forbidden meaning, while golden chains, impossibly vast, erupted from the depths of the void beneath.

They coiled upward like serpents of judgment, wrapping around the entity’s monstrous form, binding its countless limbs and mouths, forcing it to stillness.

The abomination howled again, its sound bending the silver barrier, cracking the firmament of space, but this time, its power faltered.

The golden chains glowed brighter in response, feeding upon its defiance, each link pulsing like a beating heart as they began to drain the creature’s very essence.

The light grew so intense that even the gods, those who had long since transcended mortal senses, had to shield their eyes.

Then, through the rifted skies of Helheim, they appeared.

From the storm of collapsing worlds descended Nyx, radiant and terrible in her serenity, her form wreathed in both night and light.

Odin, the Allfather, his spear blazing like the axis of the cosmos.

Hecate, her purple shadow moving in harmony with her flesh, every movement a spell in itself.

Frigg, the All-Mother, haloed in sapphire divinity.

Loki, his presence flickering like a living contradiction, half-smile hiding a mind sharper than blades.

And behind them, hundreds of the highest ranking gods of both pantheons stood at once.

They are hovering above the bound entity, forming a circle whose brilliance illuminated the dying universe.

And within that light, the darkness writhed helplessly, its endless mouths gnashing, its infinite eyes leaking shadows as its essence was pulled taut by the golden chains.

Nyx descended beside Hades, her feet not so much touching as rewriting the concept of distance itself.

Her eyes, twin galaxies of living night, were fixed upon the entity. Her tone, when she finally spoke, was soft, gentle even, but carried a weight that silenced even gods.

“The Κληρονομία Αποκάλυψις,” she said. “The Inheritance of Revelation.”

It was a sealing spell—a culmination of countless years of divine research.

Nyx and Hecate, with aid from other Primordials like Khronos and Gaia, had spent eternity refining it.

A spell designed for one purpose alone: to imprison fragments of the Outer Ones, those aberrations that lay beyond comprehension and sought to consume creation itself.

Once sealed, these fragments would not simply be destroyed, but they would be repurposed.

Converted into power, a battery of pure conceptual energy, to fuel “The Hyperverse Project,” which Nyx and Odin have already discussed to create together.

After all, as Nyx herself had mused, they could not leave everything to Hades.

She glanced at him now, her expression inscrutable but faintly touched with amusement.

Doing it once or twice, perhaps even three times, is acceptable, but asking him to shoulder the energy needed to fuse an entire multiverse alone would be… impolite.

“Aren’t you glad you’re not going to be a glorified battery?”

Hades gave a soft, exasperated sigh, his gaze never leaving the thrashing giant within the barrier.

“You say that,” he replied, his voice calm and deep, carrying the weight of eternity, “but let’s be honest, it won’t completely eliminate my job.”

A faint smile touched Nyx’s lips.

“No, it would not.” she said simply.

Around them, the divine circle tightened as the spell began to hum with transcendental resonance.

The silver barrier shifted, no longer light but meaning, an idea of imprisonment woven from divine law itself.

The golden chains pulsed in rhythm with Hecate’s chant, each syllable rewriting the logic of existence, turning the entity’s infinite power inward, forcing it to consume itself.

The abomination screamed, its countless voices merging into a single, incomprehensible wail that reached the outer edges of reality, echoing across dimensions that no longer had names.

The chains responded by glowing brighter, their brilliance swallowing everything in its path until there was nothing left but silence and light.

And when the light finally dimmed, all that remained was a sphere, a crystalline core floating in the void, humming softly, radiating quiet menace and infinite energy.

Within it, the fragment of the Outer One was sealed, bound for eternity to serve as fuel for the gods’ next creation.

Hades exhaled slowly, feeling the stillness return to the air.

Beside him, Nyx folded her hands behind her back, her eyes on the faintly pulsing crystal.

“One universe cleansed,” she murmured. “Countless more waiting. This is so easy.”

Hades’ gaze darkened slightly, his voice a low whisper that trembled through the silence.

“Nyx, you just doomed us all.”

Nyx tilted her head, confused.

And at that moment, another roar echoes throughout the cosmos.