Chapter 160: Hades Might
The lotus lakes shook with every strike, waves of fire and milk scattering into the air like storms breaking through worlds. The Olympians fought hard, every god pressed to their limits, but all eyes were drawn again and again to one figure—the one who refused to falter.
Hades.
He moved like a shadow given weight, every step spilling darkness across the glowing rivers. His pale fire no longer clung only to his bident—it pulsed out of his skin, out of his cloak, as though the abyss itself had chosen him as its vessel.
Kala, the Primordial of Time, advanced, his body bending centuries with each motion. The hymns in the air cracked as if they’d aged into ruin, Apollo’s bowstring snapped as though it had been strung for a thousand years. Every strike of Kala’s hand was not just an attack—it was decay, centuries forced in a blink.
But Hades did not wither.
He pressed forward, his cloak dragging behind him like a sea of coffins. Where Kala’s hand tried to age him, the abyss pulled the years into itself, devouring them whole. His eyes, once cold, now burned red, his skin blackened by the fire that crawled from within.
"Time has no hold on the grave," Hades said, voice low and heavy.
He thrust his bident forward. Shadows erupted in pillars, crashing into Kala’s chest. For the first time since his rising, the Primordial of Time staggered. The tree above groaned, its branches shuddering as though it felt its own roots being torn.
–––
Prakriti moved to cover him, her endless arms flaring with new forms. Mountains rose from her hands, forests bled into existence, oceans split open like veins. Gaia met her with roots thicker than temples, stone fists tearing through the false forests, but Prakriti was endless, and Gaia faltered.
Hades turned, his cloak snapping like wings. Shadows spilled outward, weaving into Nyx’s stars. Together, their powers cut into Prakriti’s creations, turning her animals into bones, her rivers into dust, her skies into silence.
The goddess screamed, her forms flickering, her endless shape unraveling.
Hades did not slow. He was not satisfied with stalemates.
He pressed closer, bident carving through her veil of forms, until he drove its tips deep into her chest. The pale fire burst outward, shadows flooding into her body, dragging her creations back into him. For a moment, Prakriti convulsed, galaxies dimming in her eyes, her countless hands clawing in panic.
He was consuming her.
He was taking a Primordial into the abyss.
–––
The Hindu gods felt it. Vishnu’s calm cracked, his discus spinning faster. Brahma’s heads turned frantic, words falling too fast to stitch reality. Durga screamed, Kali’s tongue hissed, Indra threw thunder wild. The balance shook, their realm on the verge of losing one of its oldest.
And then Shiva moved.
He had been still, his eyes half-lidded, his trident humming faintly as if waiting for a song only he could hear. But now the beat rose. His dance began.
Ash shook from his skin, his serpent hissed, and the ground cracked under the rhythm of his steps. Every strike of his foot was a drumbeat, every sway of his body a storm. The air itself bowed to his dance.
He spun forward, his trident flashing, striking across Hades’s bident just as it began to tear Prakriti apart. The clash detonated across the lotus lakes, waves bursting miles high, palaces cracking into shards.
Hades staggered back, his cloak tearing open in shreds of shadow. His eyes flared redder, his teeth bared in a snarl. Shiva’s dance carried him closer, every step spilling power that wrapped the battlefield.
"You step too far, Lord of the Dead," Shiva said, his voice calm but heavy, every syllable thundering in rhythm. "This realm will not fall to your hunger."
–––
Hades laughed—low, rough, but steady. "You dance to stop me? Then dance until the abyss swallows your steps."
He surged forward, pale fire raging, his cloak exploding outward in rivers of black flame. His bident spun with both hands, shadows carving arcs through the air. Shiva’s trident met it, the rhythm of his dance never faltering. Sparks screamed at every strike, rivers boiling beneath their feet.
Each clash shook the sky. Nyx staggered, her stars dimming under the pressure. Gaia pressed deeper into the ground, roots cracking to hold the battlefield steady. Athena’s voice was drowned out, Ares’s laughter silenced.
The fight was no longer gods against gods—it was Shiva and Hades tearing the realm apart.
–––
Hades grew sharper, heavier. His cloak was no longer cloth—it was wings of shadow, stretching wide, blotting out the lotuses, blotting out even Vishnu’s light. His fire burned white at its edges, no longer pale, as if Tartarus itself was straining to pour through him.
Every strike he dealt bent reality inward, like gravity crushing itself into black holes. Kala staggered to stand again, but even Time itself shivered under Hades’s blows.
"You are no god," Kala rasped, his voice cracked. "You... are becoming..."
"A Primordial," Hades finished, his voice booming, his fire bursting into the sky. "And I will not stop."
–––
Shiva pressed harder, his dance faster now, his trident cutting arcs that broke shadows apart. But Hades’s strikes were no longer those of a god—each one bent light, bent fire, bent time. He struck into Shiva’s chest, his pale fire burning through the ash, leaving scars that glowed red.
The Hindu gods rushed to aid him. Vishnu hurled his discus, Brahma’s words rewrote space, Kali shrieked, Durga’s lion pounced, Indra’s thunder cracked.
But Hades’s cloak expanded, swallowing their strikes into his abyss. Their powers vanished into silence, their fury eaten whole.
Shiva’s trident caught Hades’s bident again, both locked, shadows screaming against rhythm. The serpent at Shiva’s throat hissed and lunged, sinking its fangs into Hades’s arm. Blood spilled—black, not red. It hissed against the lotus water, burning holes through it.
Still Hades did not slow. He pressed harder, his face twisted with a fury that was not just his own.
He was close. So close.
–––
Prakriti staggered, her forms shredded, her countless arms dripping into dust. Kala bent, centuries leaking from his chest. The Primordials, ancient as they were, could not stand unbroken against this new abyss Hades carried.
Nyx whispered, her silver eyes wide. "He’s changing... he’s not ours anymore."
Gaia clenched her fists, stone cracking in her palms. "He’s beyond gods."
–––
Shiva roared. His dance turned wild, no longer graceful, but furious. He drove his trident into Hades’s chest, through his fire, through his cloak. The strike pierced, the rhythm collapsing the abyss for a heartbeat. Hades coughed black flame, shadows tearing free of him.
But he only laughed, his hand grabbing the trident’s shaft, pulling it deeper. His eyes burned red, his voice rolling like the void itself.
"You cannot kill what is already death."
He thrust his bident upward, pale fire exploding across the battlefield, swallowing palaces, burning rivers dry, shaking the tree itself until its roots screamed.
–––
The Hindu realm bent, screaming, shaking, breaking under the clash.
The Olympians could only watch. Their battles paused, their wounds forgotten, as they saw their brother teetering on the edge—not a god anymore, but something more, something darker.
Shiva staggered, his chest glowing with scars, his rhythm broken. Kala and Prakriti bled essence into the lotus lakes.
And Hades stood at the center, bident blazing, cloak spread wide, pale fire climbing the tree of dharma itself.
On the edge of becoming a Primordial.
And no one knew if he would stop.