CHAPTER 163: CHAPTER 8

The scratching of Hades’ quill echoed dully in the cavernous silence of his office.

Mountains of parchment leaned precariously on either side of his desk, each scroll sealed with the names of petitioners.

He muttered as he worked through them, crimson eyes flicking over the neat script.

"Naiads... Cocytus River is really cold Lord Hades, we humbly request for permission to add more hot springs. Our morale is low due to cold."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, already picturing yet another council of minor spirits complaining about space.

"Charon... Lord Hades, your humble servant has been overworked lately. I humbly request for more workers, or at least, a few more boats."

Hades considered it for a moment. The overworld has yet to recover from the devastation brought by the entity, and the souls who passed away has yet to be fully settled.

It is normal for Charon to require more workers or boats.

"Very well." He signed it.

His hand drifted to the next stack.

"Lesser god... Lord Hades, I have served you faithfully for centuries. I’m not asking for much. Just a little promotion, if not, then an increase in salary."

"Rejected. Everyone will suffer here."

His quill scratched another denial across the parchment when the doors to his office suddenly slammed open.

Before Hades could even lift his gaze, a blur of golden hair and perfumed silk rushed him.

Aphrodite flung herself into his lap, arms coiling tightly around his neck as she pressed her cheek against his, moaning his name in a voice dripping with longing.

"Lord Haaades~! Oh, I missed you so much... your scent, your warmth... mmm." She nuzzled into him like a cat, inhaling deeply.

Hades did not move. He simply adjusted the parchment so her hair wouldn’t obscure the ink, his expression flat, the quill still gliding as if nothing had changed.

He was used to this by now. Aphrodite’s clinginess was as regular as Charon’s complaints.

The quiet scratching, however, was drowned a moment later by a sharp, furious cry.

"Get off of him!"

Hera stormed in behind her, her face carved with fury. Without hesitation, she grabbed Aphrodite by the legs and yanked.

Aphrodite shrieked as she was torn from Hades’ lap, her body hitting the obsidian floor with a hard slam.

"Ow! You jealous, bitter hag!" Aphrodite snarled, scrambling to her feet, her perfect face twisted into a glare. "I wasn’t hurting anyone! I was just showing affection. Not that you’d understand what love even is!"

Hera’s eyes narrowed, her voice like a whip. "Love? Is that what you call it? Throwing yourself at every man who gives you a glance? Do not disgrace yourself further, Aphrodite. And keep your filthy hands off Hades."

"Every man!? I will have you know I only do this to Lord Hades!"

"Who cares!? You’re not married! So stop acting like a whore!"

Their divine auras surged in the confined chamber.

Aphrodite’s golden radiance bloomed outward, filling the air with the cloying sweetness of roses, intoxicating and suffocating.

Hera’s aura countered with crushing authority, the sheer weight of a queen’s presence pressing down like a storm.

The torches lining the walls flickered violently, their flames bending under the force. The obsidian floor beneath their feet cracked, glowing faintly red where raw power seeped through.

Foreheads slammed together, sparks of divine energy snapping and hissing at the contact.

Scrolls and inkpots rattled, some rolling off the desk, parchment flying into the air.

And through it all, Hades kept writing, expression unchanging, quill scratching steadily across the page.

"...Next, petition for holiday? We don’t do holidays here, rejected..." he muttered under his breath, flipping to the next petition with unshakable calm as the goddesses nearly tore each other apart.

"You bitch!"

"You whore!"

The stone walls of the Underworld throne room rattled faintly as two divine auras clashed, sparking like lightning against marble.

The air grew hot and heavy, caught between Hera’s stern, immovable will and Aphrodite’s burning, volatile passion.

Their hair whipped around as if pulled by an unseen storm, each goddess pressing harder, neither yielding.

"Jealous cow!" Aphrodite spat, eyes flashing with fury. "Just because no one worships your beauty doesn’t mean you can throw me around like some rag doll!"

"Shameless harlot!" Hera shot back, voice thunderous. "Keep your filthy hands off him! This is the Underworld, not your brothel!"

"It’s my temple! Don’t you dare slander my sacred domain!"

"What’s so sacred about a temple used for orgies!?"

The floor cracked beneath them, dark energy rippling outward.

Just then, a group of minor spirits—scribes and attendants—peered nervously from the corners of the hall, whispering, their parchment fluttering like leaves in a storm.

Seeing the state of the two Goddesses, they decided to hide, but remained to see the drama.

But the lord of the dead sat unmoved at his desk, quill still in hand. He quietly dipped it back into the ink as if the chaos wasn’t unfolding mere feet away.

His eyes, however, twitched at the corner with the faintest sign of exasperation.

Finally, he set the quill down with a tap and sighed.

"Enough."

The single word reverberated through the chamber, deeper and heavier than the clashing of their divine auras.

Both Hera and Aphrodite froze, their heads turning toward him in unison. His calm, controlled tone carried more weight than their fury combined.

"If you two intend to tear down my office, at least have the decency to help me rebuild it afterward." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I am drowning in petitions as it is."

Aphrodite pouted immediately, brushing dust from her thighs.

"But she started it!" she whined, pointing an accusing finger at Hera.

"And you started by throwing yourself onto him like a parasite," Hera snapped, her aura simmering but not fading.

Hades pinched the bridge of his nose. "Both of you. Sit."

To the shock of the onlooking spirits, the King of the Dead didn’t even raise his voice, yet both goddesses obeyed instinctively, compelled by the weight of his authority.

The office fell quiet, save for the scratching of his quill as Hades resumed his paperwork.

After a long moment, he finally spoke again, his eyes not leaving the parchment.

"Now. Tell me why you are here. And this time... without theatrics."

Their power faded slowly, golden radiance dimming, queenly pressure easing, until the torches steadied once more and the papers that had been flung about settled back to the floor.

Hera and Aphrodite both straightened, their auras retracting like blades sheathed, though their glares lingered a heartbeat longer before they finally turned to Hades.

The Lord of the Underworld set his quill down at last. His desk was a battlefield of scrolls and ink stains, but his eyes lifted to the two goddesses, calm and expectant.

Hera spoke first, her tone clipped but earnest. "We did not come here merely to quarrel, Hades. We wish to seek for your permission. You see, there is a mortal, Orpheus. For three hundred and thirty-three days, he has knelt before my temple, not resting for food or drinks. He asks only one thing: to enter your realm, to see his wife once more, and if the Fates allow it... to bring her back."

Aphrodite, quick to take over, pressed her hands to her chest and sighed dreamily. "Lord Hades, his love is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Pure, unwavering, divine in its devotion! Even I was moved to tears by it."

Her voice rose in dramatic cadence, as though she were singing praises to the heavens. "A man who would starve himself nearly to death for love deserves a miracle. Surely even you must feel it?"

But when her gaze drifted back to him, Hades’ face was as still as stone. His crimson eyes betrayed nothing, no flicker of awe, no trace of sentiment.

Aphrodite’s lips parted in disappointment. She had imagined him softening, perhaps swept up by her words, perhaps even reaching for her hand.

But instead, he looked as though he were merely calculating the weight of their request alongside the stacks of petitions still waiting on his desk.

Yet deep within, Hades was moved. Unlike Aphrodite, he did not praise love with glittering words, but he understood endurance, willpower, resolve forged through suffering.

He remembered other mortals who bore such strength.

Herios, who stood unflinching against the gods and defy the heavens for humanity’s sake.

Alcides, who labored through impossible tasks with unyielding determination.

Mortals who, for a fleeting moment, touched the edge of divinity with their spirit alone.

And although Orpheus couldn’t be compared to them, that will and dedication definitely deserves recognition.

So for the first time in a long while, Hades’ lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

"A mortal who kneels for a year, unfed, unwatered, yet unbroken..." His voice was low, measured, but there was a rare warmth beneath it. "That is not something to dismiss. Such commitment deserves to be seen."

He leaned back in his chair, the shadows around him shifting faintly as he gave his verdict.

"Very well. Bring him here. I will grant Orpheus a chance. A trial. If he passed it, not to mention seeing his wife, I will even allow them to leave my realm."

Both Hera and Aphrodite brightened—Aphrodite nearly squealing before catching herself, while Hera allowed herself a small, dignified nod.

The Lord of the Dead had spoken.

Orpheus’ trial would begin.