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Chapter - 4: Blood and Darkness
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Hades Pov
My eyes widened. My son, that stubborn, insolent Zagreus, had just asked me something. Not a challenge, not a provocative joke, but a genuine request.
And for a moment—a very brief moment, as fleeting as it was rare—I found myself thinking that maybe he was finally growing up. Maybe, after all, he was maturing as one would expect from a true prince of the Underworld.
If only he were able to awaken that innate authority that was his by birthright, then yes, he would be perfect. Not in the sterile and motionless sense of the word, but in the purest sense of fully realized potential.
But that power remained silent inside him. I pushed those useless thoughts aside, knowing they would lead me nowhere concrete and, as usual, I chose to provoke him to break the ice and start the conversation.
It was my usual way of finding common ground with him, also because, to be honest, I had never really understood how to relate to him.
Maybe it was because in him I saw a part of myself I didn't want to face. Or maybe it was precisely that held-back potential that made me hope that one day he would be a better version of myself.
"What can the king of such a depressing place do for someone who is about to leave this disheartening hell forever, with no intention of ever returning?" My voice dripped with clear sarcasm.
Zagreus stared at me. His gaze was unreadable, yet familiar. I knew that expression all too well: a mixture of exasperation and frustration, clumsily trying to hide itself.
A vein throbbed on his forehead. Oh yes. That joke was familiar to him. It was one of his: he had used it a thousand times against me to mock my rule.
And after all the time spent by his side, listening to his sharp tongue and that subtle irony he used, I had learned that irony could be quite satisfying.
I wonder what faces the other gods of Olympus would make if they knew. Not that I really care anymore, not since they tore away the place that was rightfully mine on Mount Olympus.
"Oh, so even my presence seems so depressing to you, huh?" A voice cut through the shadows. Sweet, yet imbued with an authority that admitted no argument.
I stiffened instantly. Zagreus froze too. We answered in unison, like two schoolboys caught stealing ambrosia from the gods' pantry: "Absolutely not!"
Persephone.
My queen.
A tall young woman, extremely stunning and seductive, with a beautiful face and slightly tanned skin. Her hair was long, dark, flowing, and curled as if it were weightless.
Her eyes were multicolored, but faded because of the current winter season. Yet I had to admit that even after all the time spent together, I always had the impression that in the world above she would be more beautiful than any other goddess.
Zagreus threw himself into her arms without any shame, like a Cerberus puppy seeking refuge. I rolled my eyes; he was good at playing the victim of bullying.
"Zag, how are you? Mom was worried." Her hands ran over the boy's face, searching for wounds. Tsk. If anything had happened to him, I would have noticed.
He is my son, after all.
"Meg told me that lately you haven't tried to escape anymore. And I started to worry. I thought something had happened, but I never imagined you were spending your time talking to your father." My beloved wife said this while stroking our son's hair with the same tenderness she showed when he was just a child.
A part of me laughed silently. Her concern was sincere, I knew that. But Zagreus had never been weak or harmless. On the contrary, in some ways, he had always been braver than I was in my younger days.
"So, son, if you've finished reassuring your mother, you haven't told me yet why I should accept your request," I said, watching him closely.
Zagreus calmly pulled away from Persephone's arms and looked at me with a steady and determined gaze, a resolve I hadn't seen in his eyes for a long time."If you think I'm going to make some sacrifice or offer something for you, you will be disappointed, father." Those words cut through the silence like a spear.
We stared at each other intensely, neither willing to back down since we were too alike. If it had been up to me, we would have clashed right there, in that moment.
But, of course, Persephone did not allow it. With a single clap, she interrupted everything. A queen doesn't need to shout to be obeyed; her authority was silent but absolute.
Many think Persephone is just the poor daughter kidnapped by me, but they are fools. She is the true queen of the dead, not by chance or obligation, but by choice.
Once her innocence was spring. Now her wisdom is winter. She is the only one who can truly calm me. Sometimes I wonder who really rules between the two of us.
"Dear husband, you should listen to him. It's rare that our son asks for something."I looked at her. Her eyes were certainly not pleading but steady and clear.
I nodded. Not because she ordered me to, but because she was right.
Zagreus smiled. Cunning bastard.
"But you, my son," said Persephone addressing him in a serious tone, "You must remember that your father is the king of this realm. You can't treat him like just another inhabitant of this house. Especially since you are the heir, you must learn to behave like one when you make a request."
She was right.
He sighed, then finally spoke with a more respectful tone while bowing slightly toward me."Father, I ask for your help to forge a weapon. For this reason, I need you to help me contact a blacksmith."
"What kind of weapon?" I asked, intrigued. After all, it's not every day you build a symbol of power with a paranoid king like Zeus.
The answer came immediately, firm and determined: "A spear." For a moment, time seemed to stop.
A spear.
Buried images in my memory suddenly exploded in my mind, as an old memory resurfaced after so long: a woman with long hair as purple as the night and crimson eyes, intense and piercing.
A unique beauty, almost unreal, dressed in a red bodysuit that clung to her body like a second skin. In her hand, she held her weapon: a bloodstained spear, engraved with ancient runes.
Bloodthirsty. Relentless...
Damn Zeus.
His lust left echoes that even time couldn't dissolve. And if it weren't for the fact that Hera is a vengeful goddess, I would have castrated my brother a long time ago.
Even Persephone seemed caught by surprise. "Why a spear, Zag?" she asked, with a curious tone that would fool anyone except me.
I knew her too well.
Zagreus was sincere, at least I had to give him that."Achilles told me it's the weapon I perform best with. I think it's time to use that talent."
I looked at him once more, scrutinizing him like you'd examine a fragment of a soul under the harsh light of Tartarus."I accept. I will put you in contact with a blacksmith…" I paused for a moment, letting the weight of my words settle on him."But in return, I want a promise. If you decide to try to escape again, it will be the last time. No second chances. And if you fail, you will accept to stay. Forever."
Zagreus remained silent. And I understood him. It was a harsh condition: only one chance to succeed at what he had failed thousands of times, dying every attempt.
"Accept it, Zag," said Persephone, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
"But mother—"
"No buts, Zagreus." Her tone sharpened. "A man must make hard choices. And your father never repeats his offers."
And she wasn't lying. My words, once spoken, weigh heavier than molten lead.In the end, Zagreus nodded."Alright. I accept." His voice was steady.
And I smiled. Just barely."Then we have an agreement."
"Won't we swear on the Styx?" he asked, perhaps naïvely.
Tsk. "If you need to swear on the Styx to keep a promise, then you are worthy neither to be my son nor my successor." I spoke coldly, but honestly.
I stared at him.
And, for the first time, I saw something change in him.
Pride.
Finally.
Zagreus had always treated everyone with kindness, offering gifts, polite words, and sincere smiles. But there's a time for kindness, because he had to understand that in this world, in the end, power is what sets the rules.
"You may go," I said at last. "I will call you when the blacksmith arrives."I paused one last time, and a half-smile brushed my lips."And prepare the materials. Although, knowing you, you've probably already looted enough from my kingdom."
He smiled — clearly, I was right.
Then he left, silently.
Persephone and I remained alone.
And for a moment, I was not the King of the Dead.I was just a father. One who, like many others, hopes for the best for his child but dared not admit it aloud.
The truth is that he is not chained to this place by me, but by his own blood. By the nature of what he is.He may defy Hades a thousand times, with courage and stubbornness, but the path to freedom will always be barred to him, even before he can walk it.
Yet… A part of me hoped.Hoped he could find a way. Here, in this hell. Or, if fate allowed it, in the human world.
"Our son is growing," Persephone said softly, her gaze still fixed on him.
He had truly grown. He was no longer that lively child running everywhere through the palace corridors, driving my Grimm Reapers mad trying to contain his urge to explore my domain.
Now he walked like a man."Yes," I answered. "Though he remains a braggart."A small, barely noticeable smile slipped from my lips.
"Oh, come on. You didn't expect him to make such a request, and then, of all things, a spear," Persephone said with a mischievous smile and a hint of nostalgia in her voice.
I said nothing. I simply remained silent, like stone.I didn't want to evoke that sadistic warrior witch who loved blood more than war itself.
Every time I think about that damned story, my blood boils.Since I was born, I have always hated my younger brother.While I was breaking my bones to create order in the underworld, he received everything on a golden platter: glory, power, adulation.
And he has always been an arrogant, reckless fool.
But after that incident, the hatred became personal.And I'm not ashamed to say that, more than once, I seriously considered killing him.
In fact, I still do.
Only a madman without reason would try to subjugate by force a woman who bears the title of God Slayer.
A title not given lightly, nor for vanity.
She survived battles against deities from at least three pantheons, and in each she left behind divine blood and ruins.
When Zeus, in his usual delirium of omnipotence, tried to bend her to his will driven by lust, he risked unleashing a war between Olympus and the Celtic pantheon.
Lugh has never forgotten. Even today he demands Zeus's head served on a golden tray, as compensation for the insult.
And then people wonder why there's a strict rule forbidding demigods from interacting with gods, heroes, or creatures from other pantheons.
And Poseidon? He was no better. But at least he matured over time. He learned from his mistakes. Not that it made him innocent, but at least he was no longer imprisoned by his ego.
Damn family. Divine only in name, dysfunctional in fact.
Persephone, noticing my silence and the shadow that had fallen on my face, wisely decided to change the subject.She had always been skilled at reading my thoughts.
"Who will you call to forge Zagreus's weapon?" Persephone asked, turning to me with her usual regal calm.
I was silent for a moment, my gaze lost in the void, until someone suitable came to mind. "The Telekhine." Ancient beings born from the sea abyss, forgotten children of Pontus and Gaia, but above all skilled craftsmen.
They are not here out of duty, but condemnation. And that is precisely what makes them reliable: no honor, no glory to seek.
Only necessity.
They were the ones who created the sickle with which Cronus castrated our father Uranus. They forged Poseidon's trident, capable of shattering mountains and raising entire oceans.
And they were the ones who wielded enchantments so dark and corrupted that even Zeus trembled, casting them into Tartarus in a fit of divine terror.
A condemnation, yes. But for me, just a huge opportunity.If there was one merit I could attribute to my brother, it was this: by imprisoning them here, he gave me an invaluable resource.
"The Telchines?" Persephone repeated, surprised. "I thought you'd ask Hephaestus, like for our daughters' weapons."
I leaned back against the throne's backrest, closing my eyes for a moment. "I had a pact with Hephaestus. Sworn on the Styx. But that was long ago. Now I don't trust him anymore. He has grown docile. Obedient, compliant, performing orders. And above all, he might talk. Too much. And I can't afford any slip of the tongue. Not with a prophecy weighing on Zagreus."
Persephone nodded slowly, her face marked by a reflection she preferred not to share. Then silence was broken by a new voice. Or rather one I knew too well.
"You should have more faith in your son. He has yet to show his true talents." A figure slowly emerged from the darkness.
You didn't need to see her to recognize her.
Nyx emerged from the shadows as if she were part of the very fabric of the Underworld. You didn't need to see her to recognize her. But once you did, it was impossible to forget her.
Nyx.
Personification of Night. Daughter of Chaos. Mother of Hypnos, Thanatos, Nemesis, the Fates, Eris—and in many ways, also mother to Zagreus.
"Nyx," I said, bowing my head slightly to show respect to this ancient elder. "My Lady of the Night."
She fixed her gaze on me, then turned it to Persephone, and finally toward the corridor where Zagreus had disappeared. "You need not worry too much about him, since he is finally finding the right path for himself. And I will watch over him," Nyx affirmed with a rare smile. "As I always have."
I nodded, because I knew that although he was not blood of her blood, it was she who had guided him on the right path all those years. Honestly, I never fully understood why she took such an interest in my son, but I didn't care since I trusted her to keep him safe.
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