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Chapter - 7: Black Blood
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The Lord of the Dead, as usual, was seated behind his imposing obsidian desk, surrounded by towering mountains of paperwork that never seemed to end.
Every single signature, every decree, every seal made him long—if only for a fleeting moment—to join the damned souls of his realm, just to enjoy a shred of peace and a few more private moments with his beloved wife.
He was engrossed in reading a transfer decree for a few rebellious souls when he felt... something.
Something strange.
No, it wasn't just his imagination. He could sense it—so could the other gods of the Underworld who dwelled in every corner of his domain. They were all searching for the same disturbance.
Even the fiercest beasts of Tartarus—those that constantly tried to crawl out of their prisons to return to the surface—suddenly came to a halt.
Their roars fell silent, and, as if intimidated by a presence even more fearsome than themselves, they slowly withdrew back into their dens.
The spirits and workers of the realm instinctively sought shelter, as if the very air had ceased to belong to them.
Even Cerberus lifted himself slightly from his resting position, his three heads all pointed in the same direction—toward a specific part of Hades' House. His ears were lowered, and his eyes glimmered with genuine concern.
A low whimper, deep and mournful, escaped his jaws, cutting through the silence with a chilling note of unease.
Then it happened.
Hades' gaze flared outward, scanning every corner of his dominion. Every god could feel his stare, and none dared defy it—just like every worker and every wandering spirit.
Not even with Hecate did he stop his probing; though he treated her with a bit more gentleness, perhaps out of respect, given they shared dominion over the same realm.
At the same time, he cast a brief glance at one of his daughters, who was busy training with magic. He observed her intently, a clear flicker of pride shining in his eyes.
Then, suddenly, Hades' eyes widened—and in a swift, almost worried motion, he rose to his feet. "Zagreus?" The name left the god's lips as a whisper.
Before him, the image of his son lay motionless on the ground. His eyes were closed, his chest rising faintly with shallow breaths. Blood was scattered all around him—yet strangely, it appeared to be slowly absorbed back into his body.
For a moment, a flash of panic and concern—emotions almost unthinkable for the Lord of the Underworld—crossed Hades' face.
But, fortified by his immense experience as an ancient god, and seeing that there was no apparent threat to his son, Hades quickly regained his composure.
His racing heartbeat slowed, and the tension in his muscles faded. Ever vigilant, yes—but he could distinguish between a true threat and something that might, in the end, prove beneficial to his son.
Before he could take even a single step forward, a familiar presence materialized at his side, as if drawn by the same anomaly he had sensed.
Persephone was already there. Her eyes, filled with deep concern, searched his. "Husband… what's happening?" she asked softly.
Hades remained silent. For a long moment, he didn't reply. His eyes were filled with conflicting emotions—uncertainty over what exactly to tell his beloved queen.
At last, he spoke, his voice deep and grave, yet not devoid of warmth. "There's nothing you need to worry about." He paused briefly, then continued, more serious: "But I need you to take my place—for just a few hours. There's a matter that can no longer be delayed, and I must handle it myself."
Persephone gave him a knowing look and gently caressed his cheek before placing a light kiss on his lips. "Of course. Leave it to me. Your realm will be in good hands."
Hades nodded slightly, then turned and vanished in a vortex of shadows.
His destination was a place crafted by his own will—a hidden plane within Tartarus, sealed personally by him and accessible only to himself, the absolute Sovereign of the Dead, and to his most trusted high-ranking Grim Reapers.
A sub-dimension where time bent and divine laws faltered—a place not made for the living, nor for the dead, but for that which should never awaken.
Before Hades stood a vast and unsettling creature, its features grotesquely distorted:
The upper body resembled that of a fallen angel—albeit one with fangs jutting from its mouth—while the lower half mirrored the serpentine form of an eastern dragon.
The creature was crucified on a massive cross, with nails driven through various parts of its body—arms, tail, wings, and more. Numerous restraints adorned its limbs, etched with ancient inscriptions. Even its eyes were covered with a cloth, from beneath which tears of blood steadily trickled down.
It was Samael, the angel said to have transformed into a serpent—the one who, according to legend, tempted Adam and Eve into eating the Fruit of Knowledge. For that act, he was cursed by God Himself.
Hades didn't know if that story was true. And to be honest, he didn't care. Heavenly quarrels and the conflicting interpretations of other patheon's sacred texts were of no interest to him—especially when they were so ancient they had long since blurred into human myth.
It was also said that, because of that very incident, God's hatred toward dragons and serpents was born. And from there came the title that preceded Samael to this day: The Last Dragon Slayer, known as The Devourer of Dragons.
That was also why Hades had asked to "borrow" him from some of his new and questionable "allies", even though he was perfectly aware they would try to exploit that favor for their own benefit.
But that didn't trouble him much. After all, he had no intention of maintaining a lasting relationship with them. When everything was done, those ties would be severed—or burned, if necessary.
Hades could only look upon that creature with disgust—an abomination that confirmed just how justified his disdain for the Three Factions truly was:
The world was in a fragile state. The Three Factions of the Abrahamic religion were driving it deeper into chaos with each passing year.
The Devils, simply by existing, with their blatant disdain for the status quo. The Crows, following in their footsteps, imitating their arrogance. And the system left behind by the God of the Bible—unstable, crumbling, making everything worse rather than better.
"A truly miserable existence." Hades muttered the words with contempt, turning his gaze away from the wretched creature chained before him.
He raised one hand and traced a complex magical circle into the air—one that formed with millimetric precision beneath the crucifix that held Samael.
From the being's body dripped a thick, black liquid—not ordinary blood, but something older, more corrupt. Rather than flowing freely, the substance traveled along a network of tiny channels etched into the floor, moving in a deliberate pattern.
At the end of that path, the black liquid pooled into a small vial placed at the far edge of the magical circle. Once it was fully filled, Hades lifted it slowly, watching intently as the substance swirled inside.
"In the end, you're nothing more than a means to an end," he murmured, almost with contempt, casting a glance back at the bound figure before him.
A thin smile curled his lips as he focused again on the vial. "But I must admit you're a useful pawn. With your venom, my son's weapon will be more powerful than ever. And this time… He won't fear another defeat like the one we suffered at the hands of Typhon."
The King of the Dead trembled slightly as he uttered the name of the king of monsters—and he could hardly be blamed for it. After all, that creature had been created for one purpose alone: to slay the gods.
Typhon was the last and most powerful son of Gaia, the earth goddess—also known as the Storm Giant, or the Father of All Monsters.
He was the greatest enemy the gods had ever faced—far more powerful than either the Titans or the Giants.
The Monster King could only be described as a relentless, unstoppable force of nature. Hades remembered all too well the overwhelming power Typhon wielded as he stormed toward Olympus, forcing the gods to flee with monstrous ease. Even Hades, sheltered deep within his realm, had felt the chill of fear at that vision.
All the gods—powerless, humiliated, defeated.
The only thing they could do was run for their lives. Even Zeus himself, King of the Gods, was forced to abandon his pride in the face of that creature—an entity that seemed to embody the very end of all things.
Typhon had been, without question, the greatest humiliation the gods had ever suffered.
If it had been Zagreus, Hades thought with a rare, sincere smile, he would have stayed and fought that monster—even at the cost of his own life.
Zagreus still had much to learn, of course—but he already possessed a strength of character that surpassed that of most gods. Above all, he carried a courage without equal.
"With Samael's venom, those dragons who think themselves invincible in this world will be no problem for him," Hades murmured, a cold light sparking in his eyes.
He would never allow his son to endure what he himself had been forced to. Not even if it meant violating ancient pacts, challenging gods of his own pantheon, or awakening powers that had slumbered for centuries in the dark.
Having completed what he had come for, Hades didn't wait another moment. He vanished like a shadow, leaving behind only the faint glow of the magical circle—and the monstrous abomination still nailed to its cross.
He descended deeper—past the cells that imprisoned the Titans, past the black oceans of screaming souls—until he reached the lower planes the ones even the other gods avoided naming.
At last, he reached a vast circular chamber, carved into the very heart of Tartarus. The heat there was oppressive—a primordial, merciless heat that seemed to melt not only the body, but also the mind.
At the center of the chamber bubbled an enormous crucible, and around it, black, glistening figures emerged from the shadows.
The Telchines.
They were still there. Still alive. Exiled and forgotten—yet still devoted to the only thing that had not been taken from them by the master of this realm: forging.
Their faces resembled those of infernal hounds—black muzzles, brown eyes filled with suspicion and cunning, pointed ears that twitched at every vibration.
Their bodies, black and shiny like seals, moved with cautious steps on stumpy limbs—half fin, half foot. Their hands, however, were far too similar to those of humans—long, knotted fingers tipped with sharp claws, made for shaping metal and damnation.
When Hades stepped into the room, a sharp silence fell. No one moved—yet no one welcomed him either.
The Telchines were clearly not pleased with his visit. Their eyes did not hide their annoyance, nor the clear reverential fear.
Even if they held an alliance with him, it didn't mean they had to adore him. After all, he was still the brother of the man who had once imprisoned them here.
But none of them dared to speak. Not in front of someone who could condemn them to an even deeper eternity with a single thought.
One step. Then another.
Only then did one of the Telchines step forward—the largest one, bowing his head just slightly in a gesture of forced respect."Hades… your arrival was not announced."
"I have no need to announce anything, Lykos," he replied, his voice cold and thunderous, like crumbling stone. "Do I need to remind you of the conditions under which you are still allowed to forge in my domain?"
A pause. No one dared reply.
Hades raised his hand, and between his fingers formed a black and violet flame—a concentrated divine power—which he let fall into the crucible. It erupted in a burst of brilliant light, casting eerie reflections across the chamber walls.
"I came here today because I want you to forge a weapon. Not for me... but for my son."
A tense silence lasted only a second before the chamber erupted in a chorus of mixed reactions.
The Telchines—famously gruff—began whispering among themselves, expressions ranging from skeptical to shocked.
"Wait… did he say son?"
"Don't tell me he's talking about Zagreus..."
"The prince?"
"Oh, well… that changes everything!"
"At least it's not for him..."
"Shh! Shut up, you idiot!"
Hades raised a single eyebrow, observing the scene with an expression difficult to read. His son had become more popular than he was—even here, among creatures forgotten by the gods.
With an almost imperceptible sigh, he spoke again, this time more firmly:"Yes. The weapon will be forged for Zagreus. It must embody his power, his identity… and I want it to be something even the gods will not be able to ignore."
The leader of the Telchines, Lykos, stepped forward. His hound-like muzzle curved into a rare smile. "You're not asking for something small, Hades. If you truly want a weapon of that scale, you'll need rare materials—difficult to obtain—"
"I don't care how," the god interrupted, his voice unyielding. "I only want you to be ready when I decide the time has come. It will be him—Zagreus—who brings you everything you'll need to complete the work."
A hush fell over the forge. The Telchines exchanged quick glances, communicating in the ancient, instinctual ways that had united them for millennia.
No one dared speak aloud.
At last, almost in unison, they bowed with reluctance—but offered no protest.
They understood.
This wasn't a request.
It was a divine command.
And Tartarus itself would bear witness to the birth of something that would make not only Olympus tremble but the entire supernatural world.
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