The God of Underworld - Chapter 309
Chapter 309: Chapter 8
The battle was reaching its breaking point.
Despite the immense, primal forces they wielded, Gaia, Erebus, and Khronos began to visibly strain against the monstrous, adaptive power of the trapped Outer One.
Gaia’s hyper-Adamantine chains groaned, threatening to snap under the relentless metaphysical force.
Khronos’s temporal distortion field flickered, moments of absolute stillness collapsing into chaotic, unpredictable surges, and even the suffocating darkness of Erebus began to thin under the pressure of the Outer One’s evolving logic.
“Tsk, we can’t keep this up. I’m running out of power.” Said Erebus.
Gaia was breathing heavily, even her unmatched life force as the Primordial Earth and Mother of Life couldn’t keep in healing and rejuvenating her.
Khronos took a deep breath, his eyes not leaving the body of the Outer One, “We need something to break this deadlock or else we’d be exhausted before we can do any real damage to it.”
“Everyone! Stand aside!” Just then, a sudden, fierce surge of power stabilized the area.
Hecate, her wound fully closed by Nyx’s restorative touch, surged forward, her eyes blazing with renewed tactical fury and heightened determination.
Flanking her were Frigg and Freya, their conceptual tears mended, their shared mastery of fate once again whole.
This time, the three of them was augmented by the transcendent power of Nyx.
The Goddess of Night stood directly behind Hecate, her form shimmering as she channeled the boundless essence of primordial night into the nexus of the spell.
With a unified, guttural chant, the four goddesses unleashed the binding, now amplified by transcendent authority.
“Hadesphragis Katadesmos!”
The command tore through the void.
The infinite layers of causality and fate, previously shattered, reformed instantly, reinforced by the absolute, fundamental truth of Night and Time.
The golden and obsidian threads of the spell wrapped around the Outer One, trapping its physical projection once more in the unbreakable logic of the Hyperverse.
This time, the bonds were not merely strong; they were transcendentally absolute, preventing even the subtle conceptual adaptation that had saved the creature moments before.
Nyx’s voice, amplified by the sheer scale of her existence, roared across the battlefield and echoed into every corner of the Hyperverse.
“Primordials! Kings! Warriors! The creature is bound and weakened! Attack! Annihilate that thing! Now!”
The command was a singular call to total warfare, and the Hyperverse responded with an energy expenditure that defied logic.
Erebus made the first, shattering move. He unleashed the full, conceptual weight of his existence.
The surrounding darkness condensed upon his frame, becoming an absolute, singular point of erasure.
“Protokótos Skóteinon!” He roared.
It was not a beam of energy, but a wave of absolute conceptual nothingness, a black wave designed to swallow existence itself, consuming the Outer One’s chaotic form with the ancient truth that darkness precedes everything.
Gaia followed instantly.
Behind her, the visual concept of the entire, immense Earth materialized—mountains, seas, and molten core—a rotating sphere of boundless life and gravity.
Then, with a monumental exertion of will, she compressed this image into a single, marble-sized orb of overwhelming geological power, firing it as a dense, irresistible projectile designed to crush the Outer One’s projection into inert singularity.
From the flanks, the allied pantheons unleashed a spectacular, unified barrage.
Every Egyptian god and every Celtic warrior focused their most potent magic.
Ra and Lugh, the two suns, combined their powers in a devastating symbiosis.
Their solar auras merged into a single, colossal orb of terrifying yellow-white energy.
They did not fire a light beam; they projected a massive, miniature sun whose focused heat was comparable to the moment of the Big Bang’s inception.
It was the light and heat of absolute creation aimed directly at absolute chaos.
Finally, Khronos acted to ensure the Outer One had no escape through the timeline.
Drawing upon his entire power, the vortex of time expanded, bathing the Outer One and the incoming barrage in a complex temporal field.
He simultaneously sent the annihilating attack to the past, present, and future of the Outer One’s projection.
The chaos was being struck not just now, but in every moment of its brief, agonizing entanglement with the Hyperverse.
The combined attacks—the consuming darkness of Erebus, the crushing density of Gaia, the annihilating fire of Ra and Lugh, and the chronological absolute of Khronos—struck the Bound Outer One at the precise, fatal temporal junction.
The void exploded.
The resulting detonation was a cataclysm that transcended sound.
It was an overwhelming shockwave of light, compressed matter, and temporal collapse.
The force violently shook the very foundation of reality, sending palpable tremors even into the deepest, most secure corners of the Hyperverse, as if announcing that the Hyperverse had drawn first blood in the war against ultimate chaos.
A moment later, the catastrophic explosion subsided, leaving behind a profound, unnerving silence in the void.
As the residual light of the combined Hyperverse attack faded, every eye strained to locate the enemy.
And there it was.
The figure of the Outer One, its gelatinous mass intact, its myriad eyes rotating, appeared utterly unharmed.
A wave of crushing despair and raw disbelief swept through the ranks.
“Impossible!” roared Ra, his voice ragged with exhaustion, his solar aura momentarily flickering in shock.
“That was the force of three Primordials, the power of two allied divine pantheons, channeled through absolute causality!” shouted Athena, her tactical mind unable to reconcile the result with the observed input.
“It was sealed! How could it survive?”
The gods collectively voiced their fear and frustration, the overwhelming magnitude of their expenditure clashing violently with the enemy’s apparent resilience.
But then, the voice of Nyx cut through the rising panic.
She had maintained her focus, observing the entity with a perspective that transcended the physical, and immediately noticed the anomaly
“Calm yourselves! We have won!” Nyx announced, her voice ringing with quiet certainty.
Everyone turned toward her, confusion replacing fear.
“Won? What do you mean, Nyx? It still stands!” cried Athena, trying to push past her stabilizing exhaustion.
Nyx pointed a delicate, unwavering finger at the immobile figure of the chaos god.
“Observe its consistency. That is merely a projection, a fading ember of its being, forced out by the sheer magnitude of our collective focus. The creature’s true essence has retracted. It will soon dissipate.”
As if obeying her command, the figure of the Outer One began to disintegrate.
It crumbled like a figure made of fine sand, dissolving into wisps of neutral gray vapor that vanished into the darkness.
The infinite black tide of infant spawn, losing their progenitor’s sustaining will, withered and dissipated along with the projection.
In a matter of moments, the void was utterly clean, the only remaining traces of the battle being the weary, wounded gods and the shattered reality Hecate’s binding had briefly created.
A profound, suffocating silence consumed the space.
They stared, unmoving, at the empty void.
Then, a minor Celtic god, a warrior covered in scorch marks and Celtic blood, let out a raw, triumphant roar.
It was a sound of release, a primal scream of surviving the unsurvivable.
As if a conceptual barrier had shattered, the pent-up tension released as the entire coalition erupted in chaotic, delirious celebration.
They roared their victory.
“WE WON!”
“HAIL CELTS! HAIL LUGH!”
“HAIL EGYPT! HAIL RA!”
They embraced across pantheon lines, tears of relief and exhaustion streaming down their faces.
They had faced the monster from their nightmares and sent it back to the dark.
They had won.
Ra and Lugh, the two blazing suns, met in a joyous collision.
They laughed, their voices booming with mutual respect, and exchanged a powerful fist bump that sparked with residual solar energy.
“That was a fine sight, Ra,” Lugh grinned, his face streaked with soot and ichor. “After this is settled, and my universe is properly integrated, you owe me that drink. I want to toast to the courage of your people.”
Ra’s chest swelled with pride. “It would be my honor, Lugh. Bring your strongest brew. We have much to celebrate.”
Near the center, the Primordials were recovering.
Erebus slumped against the newly stabilized dimensional barrier, his strength utterly spent.
He felt as though he were merely a ghost of darkness, having exhausted every fragment of his conceptual power in the Protokótos Skóteinon.
He would require quite a long time of deep slumber to fully recover, but the exhaustion was worth the silence.
Gaia appeared the most stable. As the Primordial Earth, her regenerative capacity was second only to Hades’ own state.
Her self-healing capabilities were beyond a normal Transcendent being, and she was already drawing ambient energy from the Hyperverse to knit her strength back together.
Khronos, however, observed the celebrating gods with a profound, terrifying indifference.
He looked at the clean, empty void where the deletion entity had been and his face remained grim.
He knew the truth.
They are still too weak, the Primordial God of Time thought, his awareness already mapping the necessary future crises.
It took the total, concerted effort of three Primordials and two full pantheons to banish one newborn fragment.
What happens when two, five, or a legion of them arrive? He knew, with the cold certainty of time itself, that he could not answer that question.
He was about to issue a stark warning, to remind them that this was merely a skirmish, that they must not lower their guard—
A soft hand settled on his shoulder.
He turned to find Nyx standing beside him, her expression gentle but firm.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “Do not speak, Khronos. Do not lower the morale of our people. They faced their greatest fear and succeeded. Let them have this victory. They need the strength of this celebration more than they need your counsel right now.”
Khronos, the master of all time, the being who saw the inevitable future, wanted to argue against the emotional foolishness.
But he met Nyx’s persistent, knowing gaze, and relented.
He sighed, and gave a brief, curt nod. Honestly, he couldn’t understand why they have to cater to the feelings of these gods.
They need to face the truth. They are still far from being able to stand on their own.
Hecate, supported by her own strength now, was breathing heavily, but a genuine smile lit her face.
They had survived.
The immediate crisis was averted, and Hades’ struggle in the timelines could continue undisturbed.
She moved toward Frigg and Freya, who were sitting on the dimensional floor, inhaling deeply as their divine ichor replenished.
“Thank you, both of you. Without your help, this spell wouldn’t even be possible.”
Frigg and Freya smiled back, their faces radiant with relief.
“There is no need for thanks, Hecate,” Frigg replied, her voice steady. “We are all in this together, now.”
The gods cheered their victory, their voices echoing through the newly claimed Hyperverse.
They had survived, they had conquered, and for this brief, shining moment, they had defeated the inevitable.