The God of Underworld - Chapter 324
Chapter 324: Chapter 23
The sky over the mortal world was like a bruised tapestry of weeping fissures and falling nightmares, but at its epicenter, Herios remained the picture of absolute stillness.
His eyes seems to cover the entire world, observing every inch of the battlefield with the precise perception of a commander.
He remained completely still, not even moving when a mountain of obsidian sludge, a concentrated wave of the Black Tide, loomed over him like a breaking wave of oil and teeth.
Instead, he simply stared at it for a single moment, before focusing back on the battlefield.
Just then, a streak of visceral crimson light tore through the atmosphere, no it wasn’t just a strike, it was a conceptual puncture, completely annihilating the target.
Under that strike, the entire torrent of darkness didn’t just dissipate, it was obliterated, reduced to harmless red mist.
And then, a woman descended through the haze, landing with the weightless grace of a predator.
Her long reddish-purple hair caught the light of the Hyperverse, and her red eyes burned with a wisdom that felt older than the city walls.
She wore a dark purple robe that seemed to absorb the shadows around her, and in her hand, she gripped a blood red spear that pulsed with a rhythmic, killing intent.
“The air is thick with the scent of the end,” she said, her voice a smooth, dangerous melody as she observed the battlefield.
“Indeed. But humanity won’t end just like this,” said Herios.
The woman turned to Herios and offered a knowing smile. “Greetings, Commander of Humanity.”
“Mn, greetings.” Herios smiled at her.
And as Herios observed her, his eyes widened in shock, and for a heartbeat, his heightened perception shuddered.
Hidden beneath her skin was a power that rivaled the gods, a density of soul that suggested she had walked the borders of life and death so many times that the boundary had simply given up on claiming her.
Yet, she remained human.
A peak beyond peaks.
A mortal capable of rivaling gods.
“I am Scáthach,” she said, stepping closer, her infamous crimson spear the Gáe Bolg, trailing sparks against the stone. “The Witch of Dun Scáith, and the Queen of the Land of Shadows.”
Herios inclined his head, his own blade held loosely at his side. “Herios. I used to be a farmer. Now, I’m just an adventurer trying to keep his backyard clean.”
Scáthach let out a low, enchanting chuckle, closing the distance until she was inches away from him.
Her red eyes seemed to peel back the layers of his history. “A farmer? No need to lie to me, commander. I can see the weight of your soul. I see the crowns you’ve cast aside. Indeed, what you are is not a farmer, but a King so great his name will surely be etched in the history of humanity for eternity. Don’t you think so? Herios, The King Where All Began.”
Herios gave a wry, tired smile. “That man died a long time ago, buried under the city he built from dirt. The man before you now is a simple adventurer.”
“Is that so? Well, let us agree to that. However, you are far more impressive than what the story suggests,” Scáthach murmured, her gaze lingering.
She seemed delighted by the find.
Then, with the casual tone one might use to discuss the weather, she added, “Since we’ve found each other in the middle of a literal apocalypse, why don’t we just skip the pleasantries and get married?”
Herios’s jaw dropped. The legendary composure of the Grand Order’s leader vanished in an instant.
“What?”
Scáthach shrugs, “You never know, we might die here, before that, don’t you want to have a descendant?”
“That is a no!” A cold, commanding voice cut through the air.
In a blur of violet light, Medusa appeared, and with a supernatural strength and speed, she didn’t just step between them, she physically hauled Herios back, positioning herself like a protective wall.
Her blindfold was firmly in place, but the aura she radiated was one of absolute, petrifying territoriality. “I will not allow it! You keep your hands to yourself, woman of shadow!”
Scáthach didn’t seem offended; she merely leaned on her spear, looking amused by Medusa’s reaction. “Oh? Does the Gorgon have a claim? How quaint.”
Before the tension could escalate into a duel, a whistle of displaced air heralded a new arrival.
A golden spear, a relic of undeniable antiquity and power, streaked down from the heavens, thudding into the stone floor precisely between Scáthach and Medusa.
The impact cracked the granite.
The three immediately looked up, wanting to see who dared to strike them.
Hovering above them was a levitating golden throne, shimmering with a radiance that made the sun look dim. Seated upon it was a man with golden blonde hair and golden eyes.
He wore armor of pure, burnished gold that seemed to mock the very idea of being stained by the blood of the battlefield.
“Gilgamesh,” Scáthach noted, her eyes narrowing as she looked up. “We are supposed to be allies in this ‘Grand Order.’ Why throw your treasures at us?”
The King of Uruk snorted, a sound of profound, regal disdain. “You filthy mongrels. You dare to engage in such low-brow flirting while this King’s garden is being trampled by these weeping gnats? You should be honored that I do not execute you all here for dereliction of duty.”
Herios, having recovered his dignity, stepped out from behind Medusa and greeted the golden king with a calm nod.
“There’s no need for the dramatics, Gilgamesh. I’m monitoring the entire battlefield. My scouts are in position, the mages are anchored, and the front line is holding. If a real threat emerges, I’ll be the first to move.”
Gilgamesh observed Herios for a long, silent moment.
His golden eyes searched for a flaw, a moment of weakness, but found only the iron-clad resolve of a man who had already accepted his end.
He grunted, a sound that served as a begrudging acknowledgment of Herios’s competence.
“See that you do, farmer,” Gilgamesh remarked, turning his throne toward the sky.
From above him, the air began to ripple, as one by one, countless swords, spears, axes, weapons with such quality it could be considered as a masterpiece even by a divine smith’s standards.
They are the treasure Gilgamesh had collected in his lifetime, stored in his treasury that he had crafted from the sky so that it can accompany him wherever he goes.
“I will not have the quality of my sky ruined by the stench of these ink-blots.”
With a flick of his wrist, the sky over the world turned gold as thousands upon thousands of legendary weapons launched with the speed of a falling star.
The blades rained down on the Black Tide, vaporizing the infant-like creatures by the thousands.
Gilgamesh remained seated on his throne, his chin resting on his hand as he watched the destruction.
“A pathetic display,” he muttered, waving a hand to release another volley of spears and axes. “They have no soul to harvest, nor treasure to plunder. They are merely trash to be swept. How boring.”
If this battle wasn’t for the survival of all existence, he wouldn’t even bother escaping the after life to revive himself.
After all, he is already dead, and life in the after life was quite satisfying.
Scáthach twirled her crimson spear, its tip glowing with a dark, necrotized light as she looked at Herios and Medusa. “That man has already cleared a path. I will take the left flank. My students are already in position, but they lack a proper lead.”
She turned and was about to leave, but paused and turned towards Herios, her face serious, “Oh, and my proposal was serious. Please think about it carefully.”
With that, she kicked off the ground and descended into the thickest part of the swarm.
Every thrust of her spear created a vacuum of red energy that sucked the Black Tide into nothingness.
She moved with lethal efficiency, her spear dancing through the obsidian mass.
Medusa turned to Herios, her hand still resting on his arm. “Don’t even think about it. Lady Athena wouldn’t allow it. If she found out you got another girl under my watch, she will murder me.”
Herios nodded, “Don’t worry. Now let go, we are still in a middle of a war.”
Medusa let go of his arm and said, “I will handle the right flank with the Pegasus legion. Herios, stay in the center. If the deeper fragments emerge, we need your sword to anchor the line.”
Herios nodded. “Go. I’ll keep the heart of the city secure.”
Medusa vanished into a streak of violet light, reappearing in the sky atop her divine steed.
She unleashed a barrage of mystical chains that bound the larger tentacled monsters, dragging them down to the earth where the infantry could finish them.
Herios stood alone on the battlement for a moment, observing the flow of the battle.
The Grand Order was working like a well-oiled machine.
The Greek legions were forming turtle formations to resist the psychic wails of the infants, while the Eastern cultivators were flying in patterns that channeled lightning into the fissures in the sky.
Truly, this is the might of the mortals of ten pantheons combined.
With this line up, Herios would even dare to take over an entire divine pantheon.
Just then, A massive roar shook the ground.
A Great Fragment, a creature the size of a cathedral with a hundred weeping eyes, crawled out of the tear in the sky.
It landed in the center of the soldiers, and its very presence causing the stone buildings to melt into black sludge.
Herios stared at it and didn’t hesitate. He leaped from his position, his sword glowing with the concentrated prayers of the people.
He landed in front of the monster, the impact of his feet cracking the pavement.
The Great Fragment lashed out with a dozen tentacles at once, but Herios swung his blade in a wide arc, the edge of his sword cutting through the chaotic meat as if it were paper.
He stepped forward, parrying a strike that would have leveled a house, and drove his blade into the central eye of the beast.
Then, channeling his power, hus sword glowed with power as it released a massive light that engulfed the fragment.
The monster shrieked and retreated, but it did not die, merely observing the one it now considered a threat, that is Herios.
Herios wiped a smudge of black ichor from his cheek and looked at the fragment.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Herios roared, and the battlefield froze. Wind and ash twisted around him like a throne.
For a moment, the great fragment flinched.
“You shards of forgotten nightmares… you think wearing the skin of an army makes you real? Don’t joke. You’re a splinters. You’re the leftovers scraped from the belly of dead stars. You crawl here, hoping we’ll tremble? Hoping the sight of you will break us? Look closely.”
He pointed behind him, and the fragment’s eyes turned towards it.
“Do you see them? Those are humans. The first-born of struggle and weaknesses. The children of soil and flame. They were born with nothing but pain in their lungs and somehow learned to breathe anyway. Every scar on their bodies is a testament. They have bled so many times that blood itself learned to fear falling from them.”
His grin was a challenge, a challenge that seems to scare even the fragments.
“You call yourselves fragments of chaos. But we are fragments of eternity. Because every time you break us, we grow stronger. Every time you tear us down, we rise with teeth in our prayers and fire in our grief.”
He raised his weapon, light splitting the dark.
“So come. Try to erase us. Try to erase what was carved from fear and cowardice. And the moment you step forward, remember what waits for you: the roar of a species are so weak and cowardly they defied the gods!”
The sky trembled as Herios took a step forward, his grin widening as all of humanity’s heroes watched him.
“Oh, fragment of chaos, learn of fear! Because today, the prey hunts the predator.”