Chapter 125 - 24: - The God of Underworld - NovelsTime

The God of Underworld

Chapter 125 - 24:

Author: The God of Underworld
updatedAt: 2025-07-13

CHAPTER 125: CHAPTER 24:

The fire of conquest had dimmed, if only momentarily.

In the blackened depths of the Giants’ Dominion, far below the surface of the mortal world, Porphyrion, King of Giants, leaned back against the jagged stone of his twisted throne.

The chamber pulsed with ambient energy—residual power from the battle that had nearly ended the age of gods.

His breath was slow but heavy from relief.

All around him, the other giants hissed and growled, some pacing like rabid wolves, others gripping shattered weapons still wet with divine ichor.

The stench of their frustration was thick in the air.

"We had them!" Ephialtes roared, slamming his fist into the wall. The stone cracked but did not break.

"They were collapsing!" snarled Alcyoneus, golden blood still smeared across his chest from his battle with Poseidon. "Olympus was a breath away from crumbling. Why did you call us back?"

Mimas, his arms crossed and armor fractured, narrowed his glowing eyes. "It was cowardice."

Porphyrion didn’t flinch.

He said nothing for a long moment, letting their rage stew. Then, his hand moved, slowly and deliberately to stroke the hilt of his sword.

A simple motion, yet all the giants were silenced.

Then came his voice, calm and deep, like the pressure beneath the ocean floor.

"Because Nyx arrived."

The silence became absolute.

No one dared interrupt him now.

Porphyrion’s fingers drummed the armrest of his jagged throne as he continued.

"Nyx, the primordial night, the mother of fates, sleep, death, and darkness itself. She birthed other primordials more fearsome than even the gods we now oppose."

His eyes narrowed.

"She is older than our mother, Gaia. More ancient than Tartarus. And far more powerful than any of us—even me."

Some of the giants shifted uncomfortably, their pride wounded.

Otis growled, "Someone like her shouldn’t have cared about the affairs of divines beneath her."

"She doesn’t," Porphyrion agreed. "But I don’t want to take a risk. People like her prefer to as they please. They care for nothing but their own interests. And that’s what makes them even more dangerous."

He leaned forward, his face falling into shadow.

"If she got bored enough, she might’ve joined in and helped the Olympians. Then she would have erased us. Not destroyed, erased. Wiped from every record, memory, and possibility."

That quieted them.

Even Alcyoneus lowered his head, the realization setting in. Though the Giants prided themselves on their invulnerability against gods, Primordials were different.

Porphyrion stood from his throne, black cloak trailing behind him. His height dwarfed even the largest of his kin. He raised his hand and dismissed them.

"Go. Rest. Recover. There will be other battles."

Grumbling, snarling, but defeated in debate, the giants dispersed, melting back into the catacombs, the war caverns, the endless black tunnels of their kingdom.

When the last one had gone, Porphyrion sighed.

He closed his eyes.

And a third eye, unseen before, opened on his forehead.

It glowed with radiant malice, not of flesh, but of some higher sight—something that pierced through the layers of reality.

It observed, before once again closing and vanishing.

Porphyrion opened his eyes, he leaned forward, clutching his head in pain as his broes furrowed.

He doesn’t know why, but he felt a massive fear towards Nyx, more than he should have. He even feel like she was looking for him and he needed to hide.

It feels like, if Nyx found him, something terrible is going to happen.

But he has never met her...so why does he feel like this?

Nyx couldn’t really be searching for him right?

*

*

*

Meanwhile, Olympus smoldered.

What had once been a realm of beauty, gold, and marble, a symbol of divinity, was now charred and broken.

Columns lay in ruins. Divine trees had burned to ash. The once-brilliant sky above was streaked with soot. The ambrosia rivers had turned crimson, tainted with divine blood.

The surviving Olympians had gathered at the central temple, surrounding their fallen king.

Zeus, beaten, lay propped up against the shattered throne, divine bandages glowing faintly around his torso.

Poseidon, limping but alive, stood nearby, arms folded and face grim.

Athena, her armor cracked but her eyes clear, surveyed the gathering gods.

There was no pride of being a god above here.

Only humiliation.

And quiet, simmering shame.

The result of this battle made them realize one undeniable fact.

Even gods can lose.

"Spirit," Poseidon rasped, his voice like crashing waves. "What are the final numbers?"

A quiet divine spirit, bloodied and trembling, stepped forward with a parchment.

"Forty percent," she said softly. "Of all divine spirits, lesser gods, and sacred guardians—gone."

The words hit like hammers.

No one spoke. Not even Apollo, usually quick to find humor. Not even Ares, who had returned with injuries and silence.

Athena closed her eyes for a moment.

Then Poseidon took a deep breath. "We need to speak to Hades. Those lost... we must have them back. We need every hand we can gather. We can’t have them remain in underworld."

That suggestion alone made many gods shift uncomfortably.

Because they all knew the rule.

Hades did not release the dead.

Especially not the divine ones.

When a god died, their soul—dense with divine energy—could not be purified like mortal spirits.

If released carelessly, they could corrupt the realm or explode from instability.

Instead, Hades sent them to Tartarus, where their essence was sealed and repurposed to stabilize the balance of the Underworld.

Resurrecting them would distablize the balance of Underworld.

Poseidon clenched a fist. "We need them."

Athena turned toward him, her expression grave.

"And if Lord Hades says no?"

Poseidon didn’t answer.

"You know what he’ll say," she continued. "He keeps the balance. That’s his role. Forcing him would only invite his wrath, and let’s be honest, I would rather fight the giants than challenge the Underworld."

The gods all turned to her, feeling uncomfortable.

Yes. Although many of them would privately insult Hades and calling him names, but no one actually wanted to straight up challenge his authority.

Forget about Hades, his Patrons alone is more than enough trouble.

Artemis stepped forward, quiet but firm. "For now, we must focus on what we can do. Relying on Lord Hades to bring back the dead is like hoping for sky to fall."

Athena nodded grimly.

"Then, let’s get the mortals ready."

She pointed to the broken temples surrounding them.

"We saw it during the invasion. The Giants cannot be killed by us. Our divinity only fuels their return."

Poseidon grunted, still bruised. "If they weren’t, I alone would’ve been enough to destroy them."

"Yes, unfortunately, that isn’t the case," Athena raised her voice. "So, we must train the mortals to help us."

A hush fell.

"Prometheus told us long ago," she continued. "Mortals are the key. Their absence of divinity is a strength. The Giants’ resistance to us doesn’t work against mortals."

"You already said that before, and we agreed." Zeus looked up to her, eyes sharp.

"You did," Athena nodded, "But now I request that we come down the mortal world and personally train mortals."

She walked forward, her presence once again commanding.

"Enough pride. Enough isolation. This war isn’t about Olympians fighting a rebellion—it’s about survival. Mortals are our last hope to beat the giants, and the giants knew that."

She gestured to the horizon—where the mortal world still burned.

"They tried to annihilate the mortals because they knew they are a threat. So we will have to guide them. Protect them. Empower them. And they... will fight for all of us."

Silence.

Then Zeus, despite his pain, nodded faintly.

"So be it."

One by one, the gods lowered their heads in agreement.

No longer lords of untouchable realms.

Now...

Allies.

For the first time since the First Age, Olympus would walk among mortals.

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